"Sir, spare me a tip!"
The skinny boy held out his broken bowl, forcing the most ingratiating smile he could.
"Get lost!" the man barked. "With a face that ugly, you dare call yourself a performer? I should be charging you! Just looking at you nearly blinded me!"
Laughter rang through the tavern.
The boy did not understand why. These adults had dragged him into the tavern to perform, rolling in muddy water and imitating a pig's squeals.
He had clearly made them all laugh.
Why were they insulting him now?
Was it really because he was ugly?
The boy was not good-looking. A chronically malnourished beggar child with tangled hair, his face looked all the more like a goblin from a picture book.
He lowered his head and silently walked toward the tavern door.
The door opened, but he walked straight into a wall.
He looked up and realized with a start that it was a cold-faced Black-Haired Youth. Mud from his body had already stained the youth's white clothes.
The boy's throat went dry. Instinctively, he reached out to wipe the mud away, but only made the clothes dirtier.
Tears fell in his panic. He dropped to his knees and prostrated himself, trying to touch his forehead to the tips of the youth's shoes.
Here, this was how the poor paid their respects to nobles-the ultimate display of humility.
The drunks in the tavern were still jeering:
"Brat, aren't you afraid you'll make the noble lord's shoes even dirtier? Oh, if you ask me, you should turn around and stick your backside out so his lordship can give your ass a good hard kick!"
The boy grew even more lost at their words.
Then the youth lifted him by his collar and made him stand.
The boy did