Scholarship Is Cheap, Martial Arts Are Expensive; Master Xin Steps In

The wind off Xun River Wharf carried a briny, fishy tang and the smell of coal cinders, worming its way down people's collars.

Dusk was falling. The laborers who hauled heavy loads at the wharf drifted away, leaving a mess behind and a few carriage drivers waiting for evening fares.

Qin Geng parked his carriage in its usual spot and pulled a cloth pouch from his coat. Inside was everything he had earned that day.

Copper coins clinked against copper coins with a crisp, pleasant sound, but Qin Geng could not smooth the furrow from his brow.

After a full day's work, once he had paid Ping'an Cart Company its cut, he had two hundred and thirty coins left at most.

To an ordinary carriage driver, that was an astonishing day's wage, enough to feed the whole family and still put a little aside.

For Qin Geng now, it was not even enough to fill the gaps between his teeth.

That bowl of Imperial City Special Supply medicinal broth packed a fierce punch. It took three days for the heat to finally start fading. But there are still ten days until I head into the mountains on the fifteenth.

Qin Geng worked through the figures in his head.

Ten days meant ten doses of medicine.

Pulling a carriage, it would take him five days to save enough for one dose.

The shortfall was enormous.

Without the medicine, not only would his [Martial Artist] experience rise slowly, his body might not withstand such punishing training. Worse, he could end up wearing down his very foundations.

That was what people meant by "Scholarship Is Cheap, Martial Arts Are Expensive."

Qin Geng sighed and tucked the coins back into his coat. He kept the silver dollar pressed against his skin.

Whatever happens, I need to eat my fill.

Training martial arts burned through his reserves. Without medicine to nourish him, Qin Geng could only rely on food.

It was less effective and came with more impurities, but it beat going hungry.

He took hold of the carriage shafts. Instead of heading back to the shanties, he turned down a back alley in South City that he knew well.

Smoke and cooking fires filled the alley. The smell of braised offal mingled with sweat and cheap tobacco—the scent of street life.

The stall Master Zhu Xin frequented stood at the alley entrance. A greasy lantern lit the great iron pot where broth roiled endlessly.

"Brother Wu, you're here?"

The stallkeeper was a bald man. The moment Qin Geng parked his carriage, he greeted him warmly.

Qin Geng's name carried weight in this part of South City now. Who did not know he was a man who could kill with a single punch?

"Give me something substantial."

Qin Geng sat down. Instead of his usual cheap, filling braised-offal flatbread, he pointed to the glossy red pork head meat and roast chickens on the chopping board. "Three roast chickens, two catties of pork head meat, sliced, ten flatbreads, and a bowl of broth."

The stallkeeper froze for a moment, then gave him a thumbs-up. "That's some appetite, Brother Wu! A martial artist through and through!"

Before long, everything was served.

Qin Geng wasted no words. He picked up a roast chicken and tore into it.

There was nothing refined about the way he ate now. It was almost savage.

His teeth ripped through the chicken. He even crunched up the bones and swallowed them.

With every mouthful, his stomach and intestines churned like millstones, wringing out the nourishment and sending it through every limb and bone.

This was hardly eating. It was shoveling coal into a furnace.

Three roast chickens vanished into his stomach, along with two catties of pork head meat. He washed down all ten flatbreads with the broth, leaving nothing behind.

The other diners stared, dumbfounded. Even the stallkeeper's hand slowed as he sliced meat.

At this rate, the lad could eat his old man out of house and home.

Qin Geng rubbed his slightly swollen belly and let out a long breath. At last, the burning hunger had subsided, and a little strength had returned to his body.

But that one meal had also swallowed every one of the two hundred-odd coins he had earned that day.

"Well, I worked for nothing today."

Qin Geng gave a rueful laugh.

He was wondering whether he should push himself harder tomorrow and take a couple more fares to the foreign concession when the stool across from him creaked under someone's weight. A familiar figure sat down.

"Well now, what's all this?"

Master Zhu Xin held a small wine flask and smiled at the table covered in chicken bones. "Come into money, Brother Wu?"

Qin Geng looked up. Seeing Master Zhu Xin, he smiled too. "Master Xin, don't make fun of me. Brother Wu? Calling me Xiao Wu would be more than I deserve. If I'd come into money, would I be eating at a street stall?"

"If you haven't come into money, then you're short of it?"

Master Zhu Xin was an old hand with a sharp eye.

Ever since Qin Geng had started taking Bone-Strengthening Powder, his appetite had shrunk considerably. These days, he only came by for a little treat.

Seeing him eat like this again made it easy to guess that Qin Geng was broke.

Qin Geng did not hide it. He nodded. "Nothing gets past you. Martial arts are a bottomless pit. Money's been tight lately, and I can't afford more medicine, so I'm making do with plenty of meat. But it's all right. I've taken a private job. In a few days, I'll make a big run, and I'll have money again when I get back."

Master Zhu Xin listened, a flicker passing through his eyes. He turned his wine cup in his hand without answering at once.

He studied Qin Geng across the table.

The boy was only half-grown, and he did not look particularly sturdy. Yet he sat there like a bow drawn to its limit, brimming with a vigor that was almost frightening.

Those eyes, especially, shone so brightly that it was hard to meet them.

How long had it been? The young carriage driver who had been bullied in the shanties now carried something of a grandmaster's bearing.

"Listen, Xiao Wu."

Master Zhu Xin set down his cup, a note of feeling in his voice. "Do you really mean to stick with that carriage your whole life? Pull it till you're old?"

"Of course not."

Qin Geng poured Master Zhu Xin a bowl of wine and smiled. "If I wanted to pull a carriage all my life, why would I go to all this trouble training martial arts?"

"Then what trade do you want to take up?"

"I don't know."

Qin Geng shook his head. That much was true.

He had the Book of a Hundred Trades. There were plenty of paths open to him.

Today he was a carriage driver, tomorrow a martial artist, and the day after that, he might be something else entirely.

"No ambition."

Master Zhu Xin scolded him with a smile and drained his cup. "All right, wait here. Don't go wandering off. Master Xin will be right back."

With that, Master Zhu Xin got up and left.

Qin Geng had no idea what he was up to, but he stayed put, sitting there while his food settled.

About fifteen minutes later, Master Zhu Xin returned, panting.

His coat bulged at the front. Without bothering to hide it from anyone, he pulled out a patched blue cloth bundle and pushed it across the table to Qin Geng.

"Take it."

The bundle landed on the table with a heavy thud.

Qin Geng froze. He reached out and felt it without thinking, and his face changed at once.

Hard and round. That feel... silver dollars!

And from the weight, there had to be at least ten!

"Master Xin, what are you..."

Qin Geng shot to his feet and snatched his hand back as if he had been burned.

What did ten silver dollars mean in these times?

Enough for an ordinary family to live comfortably for a year or two.

To Master Zhu Xin, that was his funeral money, his lifeline!

"Sit down! What are you making a fuss for?"

Master Zhu Xin glared at Qin Geng and pressed him back onto the stool, then poured him another bowl of wine. "I'm giving it to you, so take it."