Fang Jie never expected the place the old cripple had brought him to be like this. Before him lay a place completely unrelated to the prosperity of Chang'an. It looked dirty, chaotic, and dilapidated. This was a market hidden in a dark corner, its patrons seemingly completely isolated from the glamour of Chang'an. Yet, it was bustling with activity; even stewards of wealthy families came here to shop.
The market wasn't small; a rough estimate suggested at least a hundred stalls. The sewage on the ground had frozen, making it slippery. A closer look revealed fish entrails, hairy pigskin, chicken and duck feathers, and even pig and sheep droppings hidden among the ice.
The first person Fang Jie saw was a butcher with a pipe, wearing only a leather apron in the dead of winter, his chest bare, revealing a thick patch of black hair. He puffed out smoke as he used a boning knife to remove bones from the pork. Judging from his movements, it was clear he could do it skillfully even with his eyes closed. Three knives were stuck in the chopping block beside him: a thick-backed cleaver for chopping meat, a spatula for removing the skin, and a heavier cleaver.
Behind him, a burly woman squatted on the ground, cleaning the pig's offal. Everything was in a large wooden basin—pig's heart, lungs, liver, and intestines—still steaming.
"Wife, I'm hungry!"
The butcher called out as he continued boning. His wife hummed in response, stood up, wiped her bloodied hands hastily on her apron, went to the stove, and lifted the lid of a pot. Inside was a freshly baked, steaming flatbread. The woman used her still-bloodied hands to lift the flatbread and place it on the chopping board. She used a knife to scoop out a large chunk of raw lard and spread it evenly on top, then sprinkled some salt. Finally, he peeled a large scallion, rolled it up on a flatbread, and handed it to the butcher: "Eat."
The butcher took off his pipe and set it aside, then slammed his cleaver into the chopping block with a bang. The four cleavers were neatly arranged, perfectly spaced.
He squatted down, clutching the flatbread with his greasy hands and swallowing it greedily, clearly enjoying it. Judging from his expression, it seemed the most delicious thing in the world couldn't be better.
Next to the butcher's stall was a cabbage vendor. He didn't appear thin, but compared to the butcher, he looked rather frail. He sat in a worn-out chair, legs crossed, humming an unknown tune with half-closed eyes. Fang Jie listened intently and realized it was the Qinqiang opera style of the Northwest mountain people—long, rough, and resonant—but he couldn't make out the lyrics.
An old goat was tied to his stall, occasionally stealing bits of his cabbage. But he paid no attention, humming his little tune with complete contentment.
Perhaps drawn by the aroma of the pancakes, he opened his eyes and glanced at the butcher, then sneered, "If Chun Gu had married me, how could I have let her do such vulgar work? Dealing with raw pig meat and blood all day, a beautiful young woman ruined like this!"
"What? It's your place to complain?!"
The butcher's wife, hands on her hips, asked sharply.
The cabbage seller immediately cowered, forcing a smile, "I'm just worried about you."
The butcher's wife glared at him fiercely, then spread raw lard, sprinkled salt, rolled up some scallions, and casually tossed the second cooked pancake to the cabbage seller. It looked exactly the same, but this pancake had at least half the amount of raw lard.
The butcher chuckled, as if he'd gotten a great deal. He thought, "Chun Gu still cares about me; she gave me less raw lard."
The vegetable farmer chuckled, looking as if he'd gotten a great deal. He thought to himself, "Chun Gu really does care about me; she knows I can't eat anything too oily."
Further inside, there was a fish stall. Seeing business was slow, the burly fisherman quickly cleaned two grass carp, scaling and gutting them, rinsing them briefly in water, tying them with straw rope through their gills, and carrying the fish in one hand and his wine gourd in the other, he approached.
"For flatbread!"
He didn't say another word.
The butcher's wife glared at him and said, "Wait!"
The fisherman grunted and squatted down by the stall, casually tossing the two cleaned fish into the bucket next to the butcher's wife. He squatted to one side, drinking and waiting for the pancakes to cook. He glanced at the chuckling butcher and sneered, "I just don't understand why Chun Gu married a simpleton like you! I thought even if she didn't marry me, she'd marry a vegetable seller—at least he's smarter than you! But I never expected she'd choose you after all that."
"I'm lucky," the butcher chuckled, seemingly unperturbed.
The fisherman shook his head helplessly, handing him the wine jug. The butcher, having finished his pancakes, quickly wiped his hands on his apron, as if afraid of soiling the fisherman's jug. He took it, carefully took a sip, smacked his lips, savoring the taste with a blissful expression. But he didn't take a second sip, instead handing the jug back.
"Really, you don't dare take another sip?" the fisherman mocked.
The butcher smiled sheepishly and said, "Aunt Chun said I can only have a small sip of wine a day."
Just then, Aunt Chun, who was making pancakes, seemed to casually notice the old cripple, then smiled and asked, "Uncle Cripple, what do you want to trade your Northwest liquor for today?"
The old cripple replied matter-of-factly, "A pancake, of course."
Fang Jie stood not far from them, subconsciously rubbing his temples and muttering to himself, "What a mess of relationships..."
...
...
The only relatively clean place in the market was the wonton stall, although the cook himself looked anything but clean. His apron was so filthy its original color was unrecognizable, and the dirt under his fingernails was so black it looked like a layer of coal dust. It was truly baffling how anyone would buy his wontons, and quite a few at that.
Two tables were pushed together, and a dozen or so people sat around them.
Fang Jie carefully observed the people in front of him, inwardly hoping that the old cripple wasn't playing a trick on him.
Butcher, vegetable farmer, fisherman, cook, peddler, bartender, porter, smoker, fortune teller, and Chun Gu.
A diverse group, none of them seem like experts.
But it's clear the old cripple knows them well and respects them. Although he spews profanities like "fuck you" and "go to hell," there's an unpretentious warmth about him. Sitting among them, Fang Jie felt like he was from Mars. He seemed too clean, so clean it made him feel out of place.
"Not bad."
"So-so."
"Somewhat presentable."
"Barely passable."
These men muttered these words, scrutinizing Fang Jie like inspecting livestock. Fang Jie had no doubt that if they wanted, they could strip him naked in the next second to check his quality. The large, burly woman named Chun Gu, in particular, looked at Fang Jie most closely, and she was clearly the common dream girl of these men. Her gaze lingered on Fang Jie's body, inch by inch, until Fang Jie even had the illusion that she couldn't hide the appearance of his underwear.
The reason for those comments stemmed from the old cripple's straightforward statement:
"He is the prince's heir."
Then these people stared at him, their comments tinged with dissatisfaction but at least not with disgust. Perhaps in their eyes, Prince Zhong, Yang Qi, possessed an otherworldly air, making him incomparable to any man. Fang Jie appeared tall and slender but not thin, with delicate features but a masculine air; in women's eyes, he would be considered a handsome man, but in these people's eyes, he barely lived up to the name of Prince Zhong.
"You say he is, how can you prove it?"
The fisherman asked the old cripple.
"I'll naturally provide proof. Do you think I would lie?"
The old cripple replied, eating his pancakes and wontons.
"That won't do."
The fortune teller curled his lip. "You've never been an honest gentleman, and lying is nothing new to you. Without evidence, we won't believe you, unless..."
The old cripple scoffed. "Unless what?"
The fortune teller carefully examined Fang Jie's face, then held out his hand. "Unless you let me feel your bones. Come here, let me feel them."
"Pah!"
The old cripple spat and cursed. "Who doesn't know you're a homosexual?"
The fortune teller blushed, glanced at Chun Gu with annoyance, and said, "Why didn't she choose me? She chose that fool, the butcher! Since then, I've lost interest in women, unless Chun Gu marries me again."
"Shut up!"
Chun Gu cursed and looked at Fang Jie, asking, "What can prove you're the prince's successor? Anything, any cultivation level, show it to us. Don't worry, the truth will out, and the fake can't hide it from us!"
Fang Jie was silent for a moment, then shook his head and answered seriously, "Nothing."
"Nothing?"
Chun Gu frowned and asked, "Then why should we believe you?"
Fang Jie thought for a moment and said, "To be honest, my master and I only spent a very short time together in Fan Gu in the Northwest. I don't know why my master chose me as his successor, and he didn't pass on anything to prove his identity."
"Then what kind of successor is that?"
The vegetable farmer cursed under his breath, clearly somewhat resistant to Fang Jie.
"Where did you pick up this pretty boy, Crippled? Anyone can pretend to be the prince's successor. Did you go crazy in the Red Sleeve Pavilion?"
The fisherman muttered in dissatisfaction. "Old Cripple, you didn't just grab some random young master from a brothel to scam us out of food and drink, did you? Did he offer you a pot of Northwest liquor, or a pair of white buttocks?"
Li Ba asked, chewing on a cabbage stalk he'd torn from a vegetable stall.
The old cripple glanced at Fang Jie, but didn't seem inclined to help him out. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy the pancakes rolled in raw lard that Fang Jie found somewhat disgusting, and the wontons made by those black hands. Fang Jie knew what the old cripple meant by not helping him; to gain these people's acceptance, he had to find a way himself.
"I can't find anything to prove my identity because my master gave me nothing. The only thing he gave me was a small golden pill, which I ate. But if you still refuse to believe I'm my master's successor, I'll still find my own way to make you believe."
"What way?"
asked Spring Lady.
Fang Jie laughed and said, "When I was in Fan Gu, I once asked my master how to make people believe what you say. My master said, 'By reasoning.' I asked again, 'What if the other person doesn't listen to your reasoning?' My master said, 'Then just beat them until they believe in you.'
"So..."
Fang Jie stood up, slowly took off his robe, and asked, "Are you going to fight together or one by one?"
"Eh?"
The only woman among the ten, Chun Gu, let out a gasp and her gaze towards Fang Jie slightly changed. She tsked and said, "Now it looks a bit like him."