As the days flipped by, Joen found the pickled mountain mushrooms the Village Chief had brought.
Only he could make them in the village; others could not get it right, and eating theirs would upset one’s stomach.
Joen hurriedly asked about the Village Chief’s mischievous son.
Constantine shook his head.
“He still does not listen well and spends all day thinking about becoming an adventurer.”
“Why does he suddenly want to be an adventurer? Didn’t he want to be a Priest before?”
“Perhaps it is because the young Priest girl in the village got married.”
Joen suddenly understood.
There was a pile of miscellaneous items; some Joen could recognize, while he could not name others.
He remembered some, but others were already fading from his memory.
At the very bottom was a pair of cotton gloves, stitched with fine, dense thread, featuring an elegantly embroidered spirited steed.
“I know, this must have been made by Sister Margaret, our neighbor,” Joen said, holding the gloves up with eyes full of nostalgia. “Did she remarry?”
“She did, to a young man about your age.”
Joen laughed heartily.
“I know who it is. Is it Rollo?”
Constantine fell silent for a moment before saying, “No, it was an outsider.”
Joen’s smile vanished, and he became somewhat sullen.
“She must have settled down far away with her new husband… How sad Rollo must be. This was knitted long ago…”
“Rollo… is dead,” Constantine said softly.
“What?” Joen froze in shock.
“About 3 months ago, he accidentally fell in the mountains and scratched his arm. At the time, he thought it was fine and, wanting to save money, he didn’t see a Priest. He didn’t want to spend money on medicine when he developed a fever. As a result, the wound became severely infected, and he passed away the second day he was bedridden.”
A cold wind blew across the bridge, and the gift in Joen’s hands suddenly felt heavier.
Rollo was not actually his “best friend.”
They had fought countless times as children, but through the fighting, they developed a strange relationship of mutual insults and hanging out.
Joen had even thought that one day, when he went back, he would challenge Rollo to a stone-skipping contest again and terrify him with a new record.
“My condolences; the world is impermanent,” Constantine reached out and patted Joen’s shoulder gently.
“Whenever you are tired out there, just come home and take a look. There are many people back home who still think of you.”
*
By the time he returned to the manor, the evening was deep.
Joen did not go back to his room, nor did he go to the Hot Spring Room for a steamy bath, but instead leaped onto the roof to stare blankly at the starry sky.
Liya crawled out from his arms, hopped gently onto his right shoulder, and wiped the moisture from the corner of Joen’s eyes with her hand.
“Do you think… if I had helped Rollo get an official position sooner, he wouldn’t have saved that money and wouldn’t have died?”
Joen muttered to himself.
“If I had done something earlier, would Aunt Roin not have lost her son? I clearly… have the power to change everyone’s fate.”
Liya extended a small hand, gently grasped his finger, and comforted him in a soft voice, “Friend, this is not your fault. Everyone will not blame you.”
Joen shook his head, saying dejectedly, “I once heard a story. A devoted son’s mother got into a conflict with a neighbor, caused by the mother’s arrogance and unreasonableness. In the end, the son mediated the conflict and handled the matter fairly. But soon after… the son committed suicide.”
“Because the villagers cursed him for being a corrupt official who favored the wicked woman and did not punish her enough. And back home, his mother also scolded him for being unfilial and siding with outsiders to bully his own mother.”
“Being perfect is so hard.”
“Actually, it is not without a way,” Liya chuckled.
“Just let the upright official stop being a good official and instead become a wicked one who recognizes no family relations!”
She bounced on Joen’s lap, waving her little fists.
“First, punish the old mother—arrogant and picking fights, idiot! Then, punish the neighbor—daring to bully my mother, idiot! Finally, lock both sides in jail, let them fight each other, and have a cage match!”
“After the fighting, the old mother wouldn’t dare pick fights again, and she would tuck her tail between her legs; the villagers wouldn’t dare look down on the son’s authority again, and they would keep their distance from her out of respect. Similar things would never happen again.”
Joen chuckled in spite of himself.
“What kind of solution is this?”
“Just tell me if the problem was solved and if it was satisfying,” Liya shrugged.
“Of course, it is difficult to make everyone happy, but making everyone dissatisfied while they are too scared to voice their complaints? That is just too simple!”
For instance, in this story, Joen saw the dilemma of the devoted son, while Liya saw that the son was too soft and gentle as an official, lacking any authority at all.
A moral dilemma?
An excellent opportunity to establish authority!
Distracted by Liya’s banter, the tide of grief in Joen’s heart dissipated significantly.
He lowered his gaze to stare at Liya, unable to resist gently kneading her body like dough.
“Ah~”
Liya lay flat obediently,眯 her eyes in comfort from the massage of those large hands.
“Hateful~ It is so ticklish~”
“I will pull myself together,” he took a deep breath, his eyes burning with intensity.
“If saving one person is selfishness, then I will expand this selfishness a thousand times over. I want to create a world where no one will ever be unable to afford a meal or see a doctor.”
“Great! How does friend plan to do that?”
The grand ambition came to an abrupt halt.
Joen froze, embarrassed, and rubbed his cheeks.
After a long while, he sighed gloomily, “In any case, first try to raise the disaster relief funds for the Dry River Territory.”
*
On the other side, at the Canal Bridge.
After seeing Joen off, Constantine and his foster son, Romanod, were still sitting at a street stall, eating a slightly “formal” dinner.
Romanod was somewhat unhappy and said coldly, “Foster Father, why have you always been unwilling to discuss business with that Hero? Did we come to the Empire Capital just to reminisce?”
Constantine wiped his mouth methodically, lifted his gaze, and tapped his forehead gently.
“I was discussing business. You, you are just too impatient and do not understand human nature; you should learn more from Joen.”
“What kind of business is that?” Romanod only felt it was absurd.
“What do you think is business? The fate of the nation? Power and schemes? Or do you think only your affairs are called business?”
Constantine scolded gently.
His tone was light, yet authoritative.
“Roman, put away that arrogance of yours. Reminiscing is the most important business between him and me.”
“Young man, bill please,” Constantine counted out the exact number of copper coins and set them on the table.
The stall owner lowered his head and ran over with small steps, picking up the coins one by one.
When he picked up the last one, it was suddenly pressed down by Constantine’s aged but rough index finger, and the copper coin did not budge.
Constantine smiled benevolently.
“Young man, this ancestral craft of yours is much rustier than your grandfather’s.”
The stall owner hurriedly averted his gaze, revealing a flicker of panic.
“Convey a message to His Majesty for me,” Constantine said slowly.
“Both His Majesty and I know the true nature of the Heroic Power. This Hero is quite different, but perhaps my Empire has truly reached a great turning point, unseen in 1,000 years. I hope His Majesty… will put the national interest first.”
Constantine called over his puzzled foster son, and they strolled slowly back to the inn they were renting.
The inn was not large, costing 1 Silver Coin for 2 nights; in a place like the Empire Capital, that was a price so low it might leak when it rained.
His neighbors were all young adventurers, small merchants, and beautiful girls, all travelers from far away, harboring the cheapest dreams and talents in this city, yearning to take root in this flourishing, dreamlike, heavenly kingdom.
“Old Grandfather! You are back?”
No one knew he was a Duke.
The young men and women playing cards greeted him with smiles.
“Mm,” Constantine chuckled softly, responding with a kind demeanor.
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