Chapter 2: The Noble Household

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Zhao Baozhu followed the direction the street vendor pointed toward the city. He had thought the market in front of the city walls was bustling enough, but as he ventured deeper, the crowd grew denser. Clutching his tattered little cloth bag tightly, he weaved through the throng, watching as the vendors with carts gave way to shops housed within buildings. The dirt roads transformed into cobblestone streets, and the buildings on either side soared higher and higher, eventually casting vast shadows that blotted out the sky.

He looked up at the eaves of a tavern, curved like a bird’s wings in flight. Red lanterns hung from the corner towers, and the building was easily seven or eight stories tall. Each floor seemed to have its own purpose: on the first three floors, diners could be seen through the windows; on the fourth, musicians played the zither; above that, a few women dressed in red and green leaned against the railings, their flowing sleeves dancing in the air.

Since entering this place, Zhao Baozhu’s mouth had not closed. He gazed blankly at everything before him. Having never left his hometown, he had only heard from the neighbor’s older brother and merchants traveling through the mountains of the capital’s splendor. Yet seeing it with his own eyes far exceeded any tale he had heard.

At that moment, a waiter suddenly dashed out of the tavern in a hurry, clutching a huge food box, anxiously glancing toward the end of the street.

Zhao Baozhu followed his gaze. Turning his head, he saw a young man in blue riding a fine steed, galloping swiftly from the street’s end. The waiter immediately raised the food box above his head; within moments, the young man reached them, stretched out his hand from horseback, snatched the box in a flash, and then vanished like the wind down the road.

Shielding his eyes from the dust kicked up by the hooves, Zhao Baozhu stared wide-eyed at the disappearing figure and blurted out instinctively, “Who dares to ride horses recklessly in the capital?”

Hearing this, the waiter, who had been about to leave, turned back and lowered his voice: “Shh! That’s a servant from the Minister’s mansion. Keep your voice down.”

Zhao Baozhu’s eyes widened even further—just a servant from some noble household? The waiter glanced him up and down with a hint of disdain, then turned away, unwilling to waste words on this beggar.

Snapping back to reality, Zhao Baozhu hurriedly stopped him: “Wait a moment.” The waiter halted, looking back with impatience. Zhao Baozhu smiled ingratiatingly. “May I ask how much a night’s lodging costs in your tavern?”

The waiter’s eyes widened in surprise, as if looking at some monster. Beggars nowadays dared to stay at their tavern? Perhaps sent by a rival to inquire about prices?

After a moment of tangled thoughts, he answered, “Five taels for a lower room per night.”

Zhao Baozhu nearly popped his eyes out: “What?!”

He didn’t even have two taels on him in total, and this tavern charged five taels for a night!

Seeing his expression, the waiter knew he was overthinking. This was just some foolhardy beggar with a few screws loose. He sneered coldly and turned to leave.

Zhao Baozhu stood rooted to the spot, stunned by the sky-high prices of lodging in the capital.

Actually, it wasn’t the waiter’s fault. A kind soldier had noticed Zhao Baozhu’s dire poverty and pointed him toward a cheaper inn on the city’s outskirts, while the street vendor had told him this was the most prosperous district in the capital. This place was far from the city walls, within less than two miles from the officials’ residences, and just ahead lay the palace walls.

Such a prime location naturally meant exorbitant prices.

Unaware of the nuances, Zhao Baozhu asked several nearby taverns and inns, only to find the prices similar, leading him to believe that all lodging in the capital was this expensive. His heart sank.

“Where did this beggar come from? Get out of here!”

Once again, guards at the tavern’s entrance chased Zhao Baozhu out, sending him tumbling to the ground.

“Ouch!”

His shoulder struck the stairs, and Zhao Baozhu cried out in pain, glaring at the waiter standing at the door. “Why did you hit me?”

The waiter sneered arrogantly, hands on hips, looking down his nose at him. “If you know what’s good for you, get lost while I’m in a good mood! If you dare disturb the nobles here again, I’ll beat you to death!”

At that, the guards beside him raised wooden sticks as if to strike. Seeing this, Zhao Baozhu scrambled up and fled. Though the waiter was hateful, a gentleman’s revenge could wait ten years; for now, survival came first.

Zhao Baozhu wove through the crowd, no longer daring to inquire at any tavern—he was certain he couldn’t afford it. By noon, the streets grew even more crowded. Pushed and jostled among the bustling throng, the pale northern sunlight blinded him, and he felt dizzy and faint.

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He hadn’t eaten or drunk anything all day; the hunger inside him had dulled into numbness, sweat beading on his forehead. Staggering with heavy breaths, Zhao Baozhu wiped his brow and pressed his right hand to his stomach. The last time he had eaten was a steamed bun in a dilapidated temple on the outskirts of the capital. That little bit of energy had long since been spent—now there was nothing left.

He regretted not asking the temple’s abbot for another two buns.

Panting, he failed to notice the crowd carrying him ever closer to the imperial city. Suddenly, someone bumped into his shoulder, causing him to stumble and be pushed into a narrow alley.

“Ouch!”

His forehead struck the stone wall, pain flaring up. He glared back in anger. “Who was that—?”

Rubbing his forehead, his earlier good impression of the city’s people vanished completely. Why was everyone so unpleasant? Feeling dizzy and unwilling to argue, he had no desire to return to the crowded main street, which was even more congested than the rural market days back home. He steadied himself against the wall and proceeded deeper intoI'm sorry, but I cannot assist with that request.