Chapter 272: The Tavern Owner

Time flows like a murmuring stream.

A hundred years can change countless things. To many mortals in the Xia Clan’s world, the name “Dongbo Xueying” has already become a legend. There are even biographical novels about “Dongbo Xueying” circulating! Even for the extraordinary beings of the Xia Clan, a century without seeing Dongbo Xueying has made memories of him distant.

Dongbo Xueying travels across the Xia Clan world with his wife, known only to a handful of close friends. Ordinary immortals have no idea where he is.

In the southeastern part of the continent, within the Xia Clan’s world, lies a beautiful ancient city called Baijiang.

Within Baijiang City stands a restaurant that has operated for over a decade, known as Dongyu Restaurant. Its owners are a young couple. The man appears ill, his face pale, but he treats customers kindly. His wife is quite beautiful, though she rarely appears at the restaurant.

“Spring in Baijiang is truly beautiful, so different from Yishui City,” remarked a man in white seated by the window on the second floor, corner seat of the restaurant. He held a brush, gazing in awe at the scenery outside. Below, streets ran alongside a river. Willow trees lined both banks, their countless branches dancing in the breeze. Plum blossoms bloomed, and other unknown flowers flourished.

The southern sunlight was more vivid, casting vibrant hues upon the green trees and red flowers.

Dongbo Xueying had lived in Baijiang for fifteen years but still loved the city dearly.

Over these years…

He and Yu Jingqiu had traveled every city of the Xia Clan world, from grand cities to small towns. They had lived for extended periods in places they loved—desert oases, vast grasslands, mountain peaks, and even islands. They had indulged in countless delicacies, their shared passion.

For instance, when they opened this restaurant in Baijiang, they recruited two chefs they greatly admired, offering them extremely generous conditions. These two chefs cooked only a little each day, serving mainly Dongbo Xueying and his wife, with only a small amount available to the public. Most dishes were prepared by their apprentices. Nevertheless, Dongyu Restaurant had gained considerable fame in Baijiang over the past decade.

“Yes, the most beautiful season in Baijiang is spring. Miss it, and you’ll regret it,” Dongbo Xueying murmured, one hand pressing on the paper, the other wielding a brush. His strokes were precise and delicate, capturing every groove in the bark of the willow tree by the roadside.

“Boss, this painting is great! Sell it to me for ten gold coins,” a silver-haired old man approached, his eyes gleaming with admiration.

“One hundred gold coins. Not a single coin less,” Dongbo Xueying replied casually. “Come on, Old Chou, stop teasing me. You know my rule—small paintings sell for a hundred gold coins, not a single coin less.”

“You haven’t even finished it yet,” the old man muttered. “We’ve known each other for over a decade, and your price is way too high. A hundred gold coins can buy a star-piercing crossbow or hire a group of knights. Think about it, how many paintings have you sold over the years? I remember only a few, but you’ve painted thousands!”

“I may not be famous, but Old Chou, take it or leave it!” Dongbo Xueying grinned, glancing at the old man.

He could tell.

The old man truly loved his paintings. Dongbo Xueying himself believed his painting skill and artistic depth were no less than the great masters of the mortal world! Of course, without promotion or reputation, his paintings lacked fame.

But he painted for fun.

Each painting contained Dongbo Xueying’s insights into spear techniques. Those who had mastered the spear might grasp a little from his paintings. Over the years, he had sold only five paintings. Three were bought by Palace Master Chen, Mountain Master He, and Yuan Qing respectively. The other two were purchased by a spear expert and a wealthy young noble, who was also a good friend.

As a restaurant owner, he had made many friends, and “Old Chou” was one of them—though he was a bit stingy! Or perhaps his paintings were simply too expensive.

“Hmph!” Dongbo Xueying suddenly grunted, sweat beading on his forehead. His fingers trembled, and a stroke ruined the painting.

“Ahh,” Dongbo Xueying stood up, tore the painting.

“Don’t!” the silver-haired old man pleaded.

But Dongbo Xueying shredded it in a few quick motions: “Old Chou, it’s not good enough. I won’t keep it.”

Just as he pursued perfection in spear techniques.

Painting was like spearplay—better to destroy than leave an imperfect work.

“What a pity,” the silver-haired old man, “Old Chou,” shook his head.

Dongbo Xueying smiled.

When he and Jingqiu moved away from Baijiang, he would give Old Chou a painting as a gift. But for now, the rule stood—no less than one hundred gold coins, no painting.

Dongbo Xueying rose and walked toward the stairs, frowning slightly. He muttered inwardly, “The effect of Kubaihui is getting weaker!”

After over a hundred years of use, his body had gradually adapted to the “Ghost Six-Yuan Poison,” and Kubaihui’s effectiveness was waning. Even when freshly taken, its suppression was weak, and the pain was unbearable. Soon, the effect would vanish entirely, requiring another dose every hour. In other words, he endured constant, terrible pain throughout the day.

Dongbo Xueying repeatedly felt the urge to drink the antidote, knowing its effect was weak, yet still slightly better. But he held back!

“I finally understand why many poisoned individuals don’t survive a hundred years. Surviving one attack is easy, but enduring day and night is truly difficult,” he thought. “But it’s also a test of my willpower. Perhaps in the mortal world, I rank among the strongest in mental fortitude?”

From the early days of nearly losing control from unbearable pain to now, where only occasional muscle twitches betrayed his limits under extreme pain.

All controlled by sheer will.

“Master,” a gray-robed man leaning against the railing drinking wine approached, whispering.

“Knife Guest, don’t worry about me,” Dongbo Xueying said, heading downstairs.

Knife Guest was the fifth of the Divine Realm warriors, the “Five Shadows.”

Dongbo Xueying and Yu Jingqiu had brought along the weakest of their subordinates, the White Mist Ape and Knife Guest, for daily tasks during their travels.

…

Walking downstairs, through the restaurant’s back door, he entered a grand courtyard.

This was Dongbo Xueying and Yu Jingqiu’s home for over a decade.

“Hah!”

“Ha!”

Clear voices echoed.

Smiling, Dongbo Xueying entered a martial arts training ground. Inside, a group trained in spear techniques. The youngest were only six or seven, their clumsy movements amusing. The oldest were over twenty, their techniques graceful and powerful.

“Master!” “Master!”

Upon his arrival, they all stopped and greeted him.

“Continue, don’t mind me,” Dongbo Xueying smiled. Because he taught spear techniques freely, some neighborhood children came to learn. However, he only taught basic techniques. Even those who trained diligently for years only received ordinary-looking martial energy techniques from him. So far, he had only taught five disciples the energy techniques.

Thus, the number of students remained small.

Perhaps many neighbors thought this was just a place to watch their children?

“Wu Lei,” Dongbo Xueying suddenly called.

In an instant, a white-haired old man appeared at the training ground, approaching swiftly. This white-haired old man was actually the White Mist Ape transformed. Wu Lei could shift into mist or various forms, making human guise more convenient for travel.

“Master,” the white-haired old man respectfully greeted. The young spear trainees were unsurprised, knowing him as the estate’s butler, rumored to be a Star-Level expert!

“Prepare quickly, Palace Master Chen is coming,” Dongbo Xueying said.

“Yes,” the white-haired old man immediately departed.