The real beggar was filthy and unkempt, his face obscured beneath tangled hair. Yet the stench clinging to him was oddly wrong—not the natural odor of one man, old or young, but something that did not quite belong to either. He crouched beneath the same large tree where Miss Player had lingered earlier, using the thick trunk to block the chill wind of late spring.
One trembling hand reached toward a chipped, broken bowl.
Inside lay a coarse flour bun, long since gone cold.
Miss Player walked up to him. Her cloth shoes stepped on dry, withered leaves, producing a crisp “crack.”
The beggar looked up.
At about the same height as him, the little girl lifted the thin veil of her hat and said, “Brother, I’m hungry. May I have that bun?”
His stomach growled loudly.
He was starving. Hunger gnawed at him like a cat trapped inside his belly, licking at his organs again and again with a barbed tongue.
And so, no matter what, he could not bear to let someone so small—so soft, so lovely—taste the same suffering he endured.
Even if the girl clearly looked like a pampered young lady who lacked nothing, and might very well just be toying with him.
His face twisted with struggle.
Yet without hesitation, he held the bowl out to her.
Miss Player took it, lifted the coarse bun, and brought it to her lips.
Taozi could not hold back any longer. She stepped forward to stop her.
“Miss, it’s made of coarse flour. It’s already cold—it’ll choke you, and it’s filthy.”
“It’s not filthy.”
Her voice was soft, yet it struck like a stone cast into still water.
“A kindness offered by someone who is enduring hunger—is the cleanest thing in this world.”
Miss Player lowered her head and bit into the bun.
It was even harder than she had imagined. Fine bits of bran scraped against her gums like crushed sandpaper, pricking her tongue after only a few chews. But if she persisted, chewing a little longer, a faint sweetness would emerge.
When humans chew starch, it breaks down into malt sugar.
The longer one chews, the sweeter it becomes.
When she swallowed, the rough crumbs slid down her throat like a handful of small stones.
Fortunately, the bun was not large. Even eating slowly, she soon finished it.
She turned back, took the pouch from Taozi’s waist, and fished out a piece of broken silver. Placing it into the cracked bowl, she held it with both hands and offered it to the beggar.
“Thank you, brother.”
“This is in return.”
She lowered the veil again and walked back toward the two beggars—the old man and the boy.
Both stared at her in astonishment.
The old beggar found himself thinking wildly—was the real beggar simply unusually kind? Did he perhaps once have a daughter around the same age as this little girl, and so his affection extended to her?
One speculation after another sprang to mind.
As he marveled at the beggar’s kindness, he also found himself in awe of the young girl’s noble character.
The young beggar felt the same.
Miss Player needed only a glance at their expressions to know her goal had been achieved.
“What is the second question?” she asked.
The old beggar hurriedly cast aside his tangled thoughts. Only one idea remained in his mind—
She had solved the first!
If she solved the next as well, he would win.
At once, excitement lit up his face, his eyes narrowing into slits with joy. For that sudden glimmer of victory, he eagerly shoved the young beggar.
“Boy, hurry and set the question. Don’t keep Miss waiting.”
The young beggar glanced around, his gaze settling on the second shop to the left.
It was a gambling house named Zhongyi. Its doors stood open wide—clearly in business.
He pointed at it.
“From now on, you must persuade the next three people who intend to enter that place to give up gambling and leave. That is my second question. As before—no threats, no bribery.”
The old beggar exploded in anger.
“What kind of question is that? You’re making things difficult on purpose! Gamblers have no reason—there’s no way they’ll listen to a little girl!”
“Alright,” Miss Player agreed immediately.
The old beggar: “…”
The rare hope he had just grasped was already slipping away. He felt as though he himself might fall apart with it.
Seeing his expression, Miss Player comforted him, “My voice is pleasant. They’ll listen.”
The old beggar: “…”
Her voice was indeed lovely.
But even the teachings of the Buddha could not awaken the obstinate—let alone turn hardened gamblers back from their path.
The old beggar began to pray.
Let the next three people be unlucky wretches who had been losing all along.
Please—let there not be a seasoned gambler convinced today was his lucky day. And certainly not some fresh fool newly intoxicated with winning.
The two yamen runners assigned to guard her exchanged quiet words.
They came to a shared conclusion: if the young lady insisted on entering the gambling house, they would have the owner come out personally to keep order, lest she be jostled by reckless gamblers.
Fortunately, she showed no intention of going inside.
Miss Player stood with her back to the two beggars, facing the gambling house.
There were few pedestrians at the moment. She simply removed her veiled hat.
A lookout from inside the gambling house spotted the child lingering at the entrance and came out to chase her away.
But the moment he saw her face—
His legs gave out.
He stood there, stunned, unable to move.
Just then, two scholarly-looking men approached.
One of them wore a faint trace of envy on his face. Animated, he said to the other, “I’m telling you, dice are incredible. Yesterday, I went in with five copper coins—less than half an hour later, I walked out with three taels of silver. Isn’t that faster than copying books for money?”
They reached the entrance.
The moment they saw Miss Player, their feet turned stiffly, veering off course—only for them to realize they had already stopped in front of her.
Miss Player asked, “Why do you want to lead your classmate into gambling?”
The trace of envy on the scholar’s face turned instantly into shame at being exposed.
Before such piercing beauty, he could not even summon anger.
Unable to bear revealing such an ugly part of himself before a girl so pure and lovely, he covered his face and fled without a word.
The other scholar remained, staring blankly at her, not even remembering to question his companion.
“Remember this—anyone who urges you to gamble is harming you.”
Miss Player waved lightly. “Go home.”
The scholar left, turning back again and again.
Not long after, the second man appeared.
He was tall and broad, his face covered in beard. Though it was not yet afternoon, his cheeks were already flushed with drink, his steps unsteady.
A servant ran up and blocked him.
“Master, please—don’t gamble anymore!”
The man shoved him aside.
“Move! I had someone calculate it—today, if I enter the gambling house, I’ll win back the two shops I lost!”
His blurred eyes fell upon Miss Player—and widened abruptly.
“Imm—imm—immortal child…”
Miss Player recognized him.
He had once been the son of a wealthy household in the city. After his father’s death, he fell into gambling, squandering the family fortune. In the end, he sold even the ancestral home and disappeared.
“You were misled,” she said calmly. “You won’t recover anything today. Go home.”
The man crouched down.
“Immortal child… which day will favor me? When can I win it back?”
“Through gambling, you will never win it back.”
The servant wiped his tears, bowing repeatedly in gratitude, and dragged the dazed man away.
As soon as they left, the third person appeared.
He hummed a tune, swaggering along with loose limbs, his gait splayed like a duck on land. When he saw Miss Player, the broken silver in his hand dropped to the ground.
He hunched slightly, hands tucked, approaching with a soft tone.
“Little sister, are you lost?”
Taozi stepped forward immediately, blocking him with a wary glare.
The man took two steps back.
These two—one big, one small—were clearly not ordinary. Their clothing said as much, and not far away, two yamen runners were watching.
Ordinarily, he would have slipped straight into the gambling house at the sight of such a group.
But today—
He found himself unable to ignore the girl who might very well be trouble.
“Can you not enter the gambling house today?” she asked.
He rubbed his right hand—missing a finger.
“If I don’t go in for a day, I feel like my whole body itches…”
Miss Player looked at him seriously.
The man thought to himself—was this child playing some sort of game?
When he was young, games meant jumping from heights to see who survived, or tossing firecrackers into latrines to see whose exploded higher.
A game played at the entrance of a gambling house… was not so strange.
If he refused, she would probably lose.
He sighed.
“Fine. I promise.”
For the first time, he realized he could soften toward a child.
He turned and left.
Inside the gambling house, the lookout had already recovered and was agonizing over how to drive the girl away. When she turned and left on her own, he felt a flicker of regret for not seizing the chance to speak with her.
Miss Player walked back.
The old and young beggars stared at her, mouths slowly opening wide.
All the doubts that had filled them moments ago vanished completely.
Like everyone who saw her for the first time, they could only stand stunned before a perfection beyond imagination.
The young beggar’s clear gaze shattered. His pupils trembled violently. He shut his eyes at once, lips moving as he chanted:
“Namo saduo nan… sanmiao sanputuo… jhidi nan… dazhita… om… zheli zhuli… zhunti suopohe…”
Miss Player had long grown used to the many reactions people had upon seeing her.
She simply waited, watching the boy who had not shaved his head, yet seemed like a monk.
After a moment, he stopped chanting.
To possess such a face—this was nothing less than divine craftsmanship.
He turned to the old beggar.
“Foster father, your earlier worry was unnecessary.”
Why would a beggar share his precious food with a stranger?
Why would gamblers treat a stranger with kindness?
At the sight of Miss Player’s true face—
Everything had its answer.
The old beggar had yet to recover.
The young beggar continued, “Miss, the second question has been solved.”
Miss Player nodded and looked at the old beggar.
The young beggar did the same.
Under their gazes, the old beggar’s eyes slowly focused. Then, with a slight nod from the boy, he acknowledged defeat.
A wager lost must be honored.
His entire body trembled. With a thud, he dropped to his knees and kowtowed before Miss Player.
“From this moment on, my life belongs to you! This old servant, Lu Wumou, pays his respects, Miss.”
Startled, Miss Player quickly reached out to help him up—
But when she noticed the damp traces on the ground, she paused, withdrew her hand, and turned her back.
Not looking upon another’s loss of composure was a basic courtesy.
Only after the sound behind her ceased did she speak.
“It’s getting late. Come back with me.”
“Not yet,” Lu Wumou said as he rose with the young beggar’s help. “This old servant still has a few personal matters to settle. Please grant me a few days’ grace. Once I am done, I will bring my indenture and present myself at your residence.”
Miss Player turned back.
Now that his face had been wiped clean, not only were there no traces of tears, even the features he had deliberately concealed were revealed.
Though advanced in years, his face bore little sign of hardship. His goatee was neatly kept. He did not resemble a beggar who had weathered the elements. And those sharp, bright eyes—no ordinary man possessed such eyes.
“Very well.”
She agreed at once and gestured for Taozi to leave their address.
“No need. Allow this old servant to guess Miss’s identity.”
Lu Wumou stroked his goatee, speaking leisurely.
“You are accompanied by yamen runners—so you must be from the household of an official managing the county yamen. At most, from the County Magistrate, the County Deputy Magistrate, or the Principal Clerk. Ah—since Cuixi County is a superior county, there is also the Registrar’s residence. You might be the daughter of the Registrar.”
You’re wrong.
But Lu Wumou continued.
“In the stable across from that cloth shop, there is a carriage. It is not an official carriage, yet it bears a government mark—it must belong to the local yamen. That should be Miss’s carriage. In the Treasure Pavilion, there is only one carriage bearing the Wang merchant insignia. The two women leaning out from the second-floor private room—one must be Miss’s mother, and the other the young lady of the Wang family. They are so intimate; in their maiden days, they must have been equals to form such a bond. I have heard that the County Deputy Magistrate here married a daughter of the Qian tea merchant family in the eastern city. Miss’s household resides in the official residence—am I correct?”
Miss Player: “All correct!”
Under Madam Qian’s urging, Miss Player climbed into the carriage, full of frustration, sighing inwardly:
Why didn’t you show up earlier? Not even much earlier—just before I chose Qian Yuanyuan. I would’ve picked A instead… wouldn’t the task have been easier?
The sound of hooves faded into the distance.
Lu Wumou broke into a grin.
At first, silent.
Then he laughed.
And laughed.
And laughed wildly.
Passersby turned to look at him in astonishment.
No matter how he doubled over with laughter, the young beggar remained calm as still water—only the faintest trace of helplessness flickering deep in his eyes.
“A wager where I held the advantage—yet foster father won. It seems this is fate. My worldly ties are not yet severed. I am destined to walk once more through this mortal world.”
Lu Wumou stopped laughing and said, “Let’s go. Finish what needs to be done quickly—no need to delay and leave a bad impression on our future master.”
The young beggar said, “Miss Jiang left cleanly and decisively. She likely knows she has no means to compel you to honor your promise. Foster father, why not simply go back on your word? Whether we return to secular life or not is a matter between us—strictly speaking, it has nothing to do with her.”
“Don’t mock this old man,” Lu Wumou said. “A gentleman’s promise is worth more than gold. Besides—serving a young lady of such character and bearing is no disgrace to either of us.”
The young beggar blinked in surprise.
“Me?”
“Who else but you, you little burden,” Lu Wumou said. “You’ll follow me to the Jiang family for now.”
The young beggar smiled. “And your revenge?”
Lu Wumou stroked his goatee.
“The time has not yet come.”