Chapter 19: A Stall Passed Down Through Three Generations, The Business Remains Long After the Owner Is Gone

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Summer Wanqiao had heard this many times before.
She had grown accustomed to it.
But getting used to something was one thing; being consoled by others was quite another.
Fortunately, Summer Wanqiao was not someone prone to sinking into pessimism. She quickly composed herself and urged Xu Yingying to hurry.
In truth, there was no need for Summer Wanqiao to prompt her—Xu Yingying moved much faster than they did.
Even if the two of them started behind, by the time they arrived, the others probably wouldn’t have shown up yet.
...
The Sword Sect, Yunyi Mountain.
This was where the Sword Sect intersected with the mortal world.
Along the way, the bustling cries of street vendors never ceased, creating a lively and vibrant atmosphere, filled with the hum of voices—a scene brimming with life.
Mortals loved to come here to trade.
The Sword Sect was much more reasonable than other sects; they cared little for money and more for the intrinsic quality of items.
They also valued fairness.
From time to time, they would even let fragments of pills usable by mortals slip through their fingers.
For those cultivators, these pill fragments were not precious, but for mortals, such powder could be life-saving.
Thus, the merchants at the foot of Yunyi Mountain were often the most devout and honest.
Their stalls passed down through generations, enduring even when their owners left.
Similarly, the rent was exorbitant—most people could not afford it.
However, the former was due to steadfast integrity, while the latter was driven by greed.
Struggles among mortals rarely unfolded openly before cultivators; instead, they made life harder for their own kind.
Suffering of equal measure was often brought about by equals.
It seemed like an unsolvable curse.
When Summer Wanqiao and Xu Yingying arrived at Yunyi Mountain, some sect members were already there.
They were monks from Golden Mountain Temple.
These monks were always punctual, so their early arrival was not surprising.
Upon arrival, they stayed in the inn, going nowhere else, chanting scriptures.
Originally, there had been some squabbling near the inn, but after days of hearing the chanting, people felt they had cultivated their character and renounced worldly desires.
Summer Wanqiao, however, was none too pleased to deal with those bald-headed monks.
Every year, they sent people to the Sword Sect, claiming affinity with Buddhism and Taoism, insisting she become a nun.
How laughable.

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Who in their right mind would want to become a nun!
So this time, Summer Wanqiao chose the inn farthest from them, also the most expensive.
This place boasted the best view in the entire Yunyi town.
They booked a “Yun” room; opening the window to one side revealed the bustling market, while the window by the bed overlooked a courtyard bursting with spring scenery.
The inn’s owner likely had ties with the Sword Sect disciples and had cast a silence enchantment on the room, so no noisy sounds could penetrate inside.
The coexistence of lively street life and serene quietude was rather fascinating.
Both had their luggage in their spatial pouches, so they only needed to register and get a room.
Summer Wanqiao couldn’t wait to head out into the street.
Anyone with business acumen wouldn’t miss such a prime opportunity to make a fortune.
Surely, the street held many delightful things.
Of course, Summer Wanqiao had seen plenty of “delightful” things; what she truly hungered for was good food.
She was about to burst from holding back.
Yet she couldn’t gorge herself while being watched so closely.
No sooner had she stepped out of the inn than she heard the lively cries of vendors.
“Delicious Yunyi Mountain candied hawthorn, ten wen a skewer! Not sweet? No charge!”
Ten wen? That expensive?
“Ten wen? So expensive?”
The words weren’t hers but came from a little novice monk dressed in a cassock.
The novice monk was barely taller than Summer Wanqiao, his chubby hands clasped in prayer, holding a string of eighteen beads, softly chanting, “Amitabha, well spoken, benefactor, please do not inflate prices.”
Summer Wanqiao had never seen this novice before; he wasn’t among the monks who had come earlier.
The vendor, initially thinking it was just a mortal complaining, was about to lose his temper but fell silent upon hearing the familiar "Amitabha," sinking back down in place.
Mortals only dared to bully mortals.
Cultivators were not to be trifled with, even if the cultivator before them was but a child.
Unaware of the vendor’s fear, the novice spoke with compassion: “Originally, the candied hawthorn cost only one wen. Why sell it for ten?”
“The residents of Yunyi Street cannot afford it.”
“If you can’t afford it, then don’t buy!” The vendor, tired of the novice’s nagging, grabbed his skewers and prepared to leave, muttering curses: “Pretending to be so righteous! No Sword Sect disciple meddles like this!”
If Summer Wanqiao had only been watching the exchange before, she was merely a spectator.
But after hearing that last statement, things changed.
She could not allow the Sword Sect’s reputation to be slandered.
Yet the other was merely a mortal.

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If her response was too harsh, it could cost him his life; if too mild, he wouldn’t learn his lesson.
Suddenly, Summer Wanqiao’s gaze fell on a nearby pebble. She casually picked it up and flicked it against the vendor’s calf.
After all, she was just a child and not very strong; it was only meant as a small reprimand.
The vendor staggered from the pebble’s impact, teetering as if about to fall.
He struggled to regain his footing, but his clumsy stance was witnessed by all present.
Everyone had long grown tired of his price gouging, and seeing him take such a blow made it clear that a hero had intervened from the shadows.
Laughter erupted.
Cold sweat broke out on the vendor’s back; he dared not investigate who had done this and hurriedly left the scene, swearing never to return.
Losing money was minor; losing one’s life was not.
The novice monk watched the vendor’s fleeing back, closed his eyes, and quietly recited his dharma name.
The red mark between his brows stood out vividly, like fresh blood.
He lingered a moment, then turned and went to a nearby pastry shop to buy a substantial amount of sweets.
Summer Wanqiao was curious about his intentions.
Why not stay quietly with those bald-headed monks at the inn? What was the purpose of his wandering?
Unexpectedly, the novice entered a dilapidated courtyard.
Sounds of children’s voices emerged from within—somewhat noisy.
“Brother Xuanqing, you bought us pastries? That’s too generous—we only wanted candied hawthorn...”
“Thank you, Brother Xuanqing. We won’t take your gifts for free. If there’s anything you want to know and we can tell, we will.”
“No one knows Yunyi Mountain better than us!”
“That’s right! We know every path up the mountain. Are you planning to enter? We can guide you.”
Hearing this, Summer Wanqiao leaned silently against the wall, saying nothing.
What would this novice do next?
Xuanqing shook his head, set down the pastries, and recited: “Amitabha.”
“I, a humble monk, did not bring these sweets for repayment.”
“I simply feel that today’s sunshine is bright, and everyone should taste something sweet.”