Chapter Thirty-Three: Friendship Across Generations

After about half a cup of tea’s time had passed, Luo Changning’s ears twitched, a smile bloomed on his lips, and he slowly opened his eyes to look at the newcomer.

An elderly man stood before him, hair white as snow, his face smeared with black mud, his clothes filthy and tattered, their original color unrecognizable.

It was none other than He Guanzhong—the old white-haired beggar from the tea stall earlier!

“Hahaha, I knew it was you, boy!” He Guanzhong laughed as he walked, taking a deep breath, his face full of delight. “To think you really know how to make Beggar’s Chicken—that’s a skill only our Beggar’s Sect disciples possess. For a pampered young gentleman like you to know it, that’s truly rare.”

“I happened to learn it once. If you enjoy it, that’s all that matters.”

“Back at the tea stall, when I saw you ask that woman in yellow for those ingredients, I began to suspect your intent. But seeing you actually make the dish, I must admit, you surprised this old man.”

He Guanzhong approached the still-smoldering pit, peered inside, and nodded in satisfaction. “Not bad, not bad, there’s still rice!”

“A true beggar gets his rice by begging, steals the chicken. You gentlemen are different, buying all your ingredients with coin.”

He Guanzhong winked mischievously at Luo Changning. “Want me to teach you how to steal a chicken?”

Luo Changning smiled. “I know you, friend—you steal the chicken but always pay for it afterward. The theft is just for fun.”

He Guanzhong paused, then burst out laughing. “You’re mistaken, friend! I’m a poor beggar—where would I find money to pay for chickens? It’s been ages since I’ve tasted fragrant Beggar’s Chicken. You don’t mind if I join you for a meal, do you?”

“Of course not. In fact, this meal was prepared especially for you.”

Their eyes met, and laughter erupted between them, a silent understanding passed. Hahaha!

The birds in the forest, just poking their heads out to sing, were frightened into silence.

Luo Changning rose from the stone and sat beside He Guanzhong. Each took a large hen, breaking the dried clay shell. The feathers came off cleanly with the clay, no need to pluck them by hand.

Soon, both chickens were perfectly cleaned, gleaming and smooth, the aroma in the air growing richer.

“I’ve got good wine, too,” Luo Changning said, bringing out an aged yellow wine and coarse pottery bowls, pouring them both a full cup.

They clinked their bowls, tilted their heads back, and drained them in one gulp.

Only then did they begin to eat the Beggar’s Chicken.

He Guanzhong tore at the meat, praising, “You’re a young man I had high hopes for. The chicken is cooked perfectly, full of flavor, delicious!”

He finished speaking, then grabbed the whole chicken to gnaw on, oil running down his chin, eating with great relish. Luo Changning was more refined, but their speed was matched. Soon, nothing but clean bones remained, scattered on the ground.

He Guanzhong glanced at the pit. “The rice should be ready too. Let’s bring it out.”

Luo Changning responded, placing bamboo bowls on the ground. He took the cloth-wrapped rice from the pit, dusted off the clay, untied the hemp string, and revealed perfectly cooked white rice.

The aroma was enticing, rivaling the Beggar’s Chicken.

With no utensils, they scooped the rice into bamboo bowls by hand and ate it the same way.

“Haha, good thing these old hands are always washed and clean, otherwise I’d insult today’s meal! Just now, eating chicken and not washing my hands—grabbing the rice transfers the chicken oil, making it all the tastier!” He Guanzhong exclaimed, shoving rice into his mouth.

“Indeed, who’d have thought plain white rice could taste so good,” Luo Changning agreed.

He Guanzhong gave him a sidelong glance, shaking his head knowingly. “Changning, don’t take your fortune for granted. When I was young, even white rice was a rare treat—only occasionally could I beg a little, and never enough for a meal.”

“Back then, I ate exposed to wind and dew, nowhere to cook. I’d put the rice I’d begged together and cook it like now. Rice gathered from many households was called ‘Hundred Family Rice,’ said to ward off disaster. Even coarse, throat-scratching rice was a pleasure—at least it wasn’t someone else’s leftovers, at least there was something to eat!”

He Guanzhong’s face showed nostalgia, recalling joyful times long ago.

“Hehe, later I met my master. He taught me to put coarse rice in a bamboo tube, grab a handful of bamboo chopsticks, and pound it slowly, over a thousand times. After sifting out the husks, the coarse rice would turn into fine rice…”

“From then on, I always did so. Life was sweet! Unfortunately… my master is gone now…”

At this, Luo Changning looked at He Guanzhong, noticing that his expression remained as carefree and untroubled as ever. Yet deep in his eyes, a hint of sadness and longing could not be concealed.

Luo Changning thought, he must miss his master dearly. He wondered who He Guanzhong’s master was—likely another member of the Beggar’s Sect.

Soon, the pound of rice was finished. Having eaten plenty at the tea stall, then splitting two large hens and a pound of rice, they were only nine-tenths full. After all, both were hearty eaters and martial artists, their consumption naturally greater than ordinary people.

Satisfied, Luo Changning washed the bowls clean. He doused the coals still burning in the pit.

The rain had not yet fully dried; the two lay side by side on the grass, unmindful of dirt, gazing up at the sky, still shrouded in gray.

“So, tell me—what’s your reason for luring me here with Beggar’s Chicken?” He Guanzhong asked.

Luo Changning smiled, radiant as the June sun, then grew solemn.

“Though I used a little trick to bring you here, my intention was genuine. I truly regard you as a friend, and my wish to befriend you is purely admiration. But yes, I do have something to ask of you.”

“Hmph. This old man has lived more than half a lifetime, eaten more salt than you’ve eaten rice. I can see through your schemes, know you’re no villain and bear me no ill will. Otherwise, at the tea stall, I wouldn’t have toasted you with tea as wine, forming our bond. If it had been that boy in coarse clothes, I’d have ignored him.”

Luo Changning wondered why He Guanzhong’s words seemed to disparage Ma Qingyun, but he was moved by the trust and regard.

After all, there are those who, without asking for reasons, treat you as a true friend simply because you suit their eye.

“I know, Brother He, you must be a martial arts master. Perhaps your status in the Beggar’s Sect is high, maybe very high. What I ask is for your guidance in martial arts, because I have a great vengeance to avenge. The hatred of a murdered kin, deep as the sea, cannot be ignored. Alas, my enemy’s strength is too great—I cannot even touch a hair on his head…”

As he spoke, the hatred in Luo Changning’s eyes could no longer be concealed. He knew he was reckless, confessing his enmity to someone he’d known less than half a day.

But he was willing to trust He Guanzhong!

From their first meeting, he knew this was not a man who would betray a brother.

Such trust, without reason, seemed fragile yet could also be unbreakable…

He Guanzhong looked at the barely adolescent youth pouring out his hatred and sighed deeply: life is short, bearing a deep blood feud is no easy matter. Especially when the enemy’s power is so much greater.

But—was vengeance really so important? His own master died in pursuit of revenge!

He recalled his master’s mad, twisted smile as he achieved vengeance and perished with his enemy…

Perhaps revenge would become this young man’s lifelong faith, unwavering to death. Pitiful, yet impossible not to pursue.

He wished to advise him, but lacked the power or the right. All he could do was help.

Besides…

“In that case, why not simply become my disciple?” he asked.

“Ah, because I already have a master. Once a teacher, always as a father; I would never take a second. Besides, I feel your character, Brother He, suits being my confidant and friend—a friendship that spans generations,” Luo Changning replied, his gaze sincere.

“Hahaha, a friendship across generations! I truly did not misjudge you. A pity, though—I wonder who had the good fortune to take you as a disciple. I had hoped to accept you myself, since your martial arts talent is beyond the ordinary—genius would not be an exaggeration!”

“Ah, it is fate. You call me ‘friend,’ so be it. Rarely does a youth catch my eye; I will teach you martial arts as your friend, not your master!”

“With your experience, you likely don’t know my name—I am He Guanzhong, the current chief of the Beggar’s Sect. Our sect has a rule: one person, one disciple. You cannot be mine, nor will I take another.”

Though Luo Changning had long suspected He Guanzhong’s identity, hearing him admit he was the current chief of the Beggar’s Sect came as a shock. He never imagined this disheveled, mud-covered, white-haired old man was the legendary, elusive leader of the Beggar’s Sect.

“Haha, in that case, I am the lucky one—a nameless youth fortunate enough to befriend Chief He,” Luo Changning said.

His tone was respectful, but not self-effacing.

He Guanzhong was pleased: this young man’s character was truly remarkable. When he himself was young, if a man claiming to be the Beggar’s Sect chief had wanted him as a disciple, he’d have been overwhelmed, not knowing what to do, stunned and delighted for days.

This boy, though, was calm and composed, showing no sign of awe.