Chapter 100: Big cities are just different

At home there were Ouyang Yan, Ouyang An......

Now there is another newly arrived Ouyang county magistrate from Dun Cheng.

Du Shanü did not know what relationship these three Ouyangs had, or whether they were merely sharing the same surname.

However, this obviously could not be asked directly.

Du Shanü said nothing more, gave a slight nod to the soldier, dismounted, took the reins, and entered the city.

The light inside the gate was dim, and the horse's hooves echoed off the brick walls.

The two people and two horses passed through the gate and walked onto Dun Cheng's main street.

Dun Cheng's street was wider than Cang Cheng's, most shops on either side were still open—cloth stores, grain shops, general stores—with signs hanging wet in the rain.

The lanterns at the shop entrances burned faintly, yet they could not hide the city's vibrant atmosphere.

Ahead lay the burned Cang Cheng; behind lay the desolate Ju Cheng.

Upon suddenly seeing such a prosperous and respectable city, Du Shanü could not help but think of a poor person entering the city.

Even though she was drenched in rain, it did not dampen Du Shanü's enthusiasm.

She led her horse on a leisurely stroll in the heavy rain, not at all eager to find an inn or lodging.

Afterward......

Then Du Shanü saw it.

On the left side of the main street, near the city wall, a long row of grass sheds had been erected.

The sheds were hastily built from bamboo poles and straw, simple but sturdy, with thick thatch on the roof; rainwater dripped down the straw tips, forming a thin curtain of water beneath the eaves.

Under the sheds crowded with people—ragged commoners standing in long lines, holding cloth sacks, earthenware jars, or even using their clothing as makeshift bags, moving forward one by one.

At the front of the sheds stood several long tables, piled high with bulging sacks of grain.

Several assistants in coarse cloth were scooping grain for the people, moving swiftly, ladling it into the sacks, and when a sack was full they would call out:

"Next."

"Distributing grain."

In this city, someone is actually distributing grain.

Du Shanü's gaze shifted from the sheds to a person standing in the middle of them.

That person stood behind the innermost table, not busy ladling grain like the assistants, but with hands behind his back, seemingly observing the whole grain distribution.

He wore a moon‑white long robe; the fabric was not especially fine, but the cut fit well, accentuating his tall, slender frame.

He looked no older than twenty‑five or twenty‑six, with a clear, handsome face, relaxed brows and eyes, his hair tied up with a wooden pin, a few strands dampened by rain and sticking to his temples.

His demeanor was quite distinct—nothing like the aged, stiff Qian Youde of Ju Cheng, nor like ordinary local officials who put on airs.

He stood there, relaxed and composed, naturally bearing an air of aristocratic grace.

Rain threads drifted through the gaps in the eaves onto his shoulder; he did not dodge, simply standing there, his gaze slowly sweeping over the queued commoners, as if counting heads or confirming something.

Then his gaze stopped......

He also saw the two people leading the horses.

These days, when a man and woman travel together, people usually notice the man first.

Chinu's appearance was outstanding, his slender build all the more attractive.

But this man, after just a glance, shifted his gaze from Chinu and fixed it on Du Shanü.

Du Shanü stood leading her horse just inside the city gate, rainwater streaming down her raincoat, leaving no part of her dry.

A few strands of her hair escaped from under her raincoat hat, wet and plastered to her cheeks, looking quite disheveled.

Yet she stood there, spine straight, chin slightly lifted, her eyes piercing the rain like blazing fire, capable of consuming all things.

Even through the gloomy weather, her presence was quite remarkable.

The two locked eyes for a moment; the man was the first to look away, saying something to his attendant behind him.

And the attendant solemnly replied:

"Yes, Magistrate."

The rain fell steadily, growing a bit denser.

Du Shanü said nothing more, withdrew her gaze, and walked past the porridge stall leading her horse without glancing sideways.

Under the porridge shed, the people in line occasionally glanced up at them, then lowered their heads again to continue waiting for their rations; no one paid them any attention.

After walking about a hundred paces down the main street, a sign hung on the north side of the road: a blue background with white characters reading 'Yuelai Inn'.

This inn's façade was more than three times larger than the modest lodging in yesterday's Daguan Village.

The door was made of solid elm, its bronze ring polished bright, and the threshold high enough to cover one's ankles.

The main hall was not small, with seven or eight square tables covered in blue cloth, each holding a coarse earthenware teapot and two upside‑down bowls.

Behind it stood a large black‑lacquered counter bearing an abacus, a ledger, and a sealed jar of liquor.

On the wall hung a calligraphy piece reading 'Guests Feel at Home'; the brushwork was vigorous, though the ink was aged and the edges yellowed.

The server was a young man in his early twenties, a white cloth draped over his shoulder, busy wiping the tables.

Seeing someone enter, he immediately put on a smile and came forward:

"Sir, are you here for a meal or to stay the night?"

Everything was utterly ordinary, exactly as one would expect from a stereotype.

Du Shanü's slightly tense nerves eased a little; she reached into her sleeve, pulled out a copper coin, and placed it on the counter with a clatter.

The copper coin rolled a few times on the counter, and Du Shanü instructed:

"I'd like an upper room, plus a pot of hot tea, three dishes, and a bowl of rice brought to the room."

"We might stay a few days, so please feed the two horses outside as well."

Having said that, she stayed where she was, tidying up while waiting for the room key.

The attendant lowered his head and glanced at the pile of copper coins on the counter; the smile on his face froze for a moment, and he hesitated, wanting to speak but stopping himself.

Du Shanü took off her raincoat, and before she could hear the attendant leave, she was momentarily puzzled:

"What's wrong?"

The attendant gave a dry laugh, rubbed his hands, with an embarrassed "I don't know whether I should say it, but I have to" feeling, and hesitated before speaking:

"Sir…… this…… might…… not be enough……"

Du Shanü glanced at him, then at the pile of copper coins on the counter, and after a while instinctively said:

"Ah?"

Ah?

Ah?!

What isn't enough?

She had just thought this city was nice, but ended up stepping into a black shop!?

Du Shanü was dazed; the attendant had clearly seen some worldly affairs, didn't look down on people, merely rubbed his hands, and beads of sweat on his forehead—whether from busyness or anxiety—seeped out in a dense layer.

He chose his words carefully, afraid of offending the guest:

"These…… sir, the copper coins you gave are enough to feed the horse; horse feed three times a day leaves a few cash."

"But you also want an upper room, plus tea, food, and meals…… this…… one upper room for a night is eighty cash, and tea, water, food, and dishes together come to at least forty or fifty cash…… you…… "

He lowered his head and glanced again at the pile of copper coins, his Adam's apple twitching; he didn't dare say the exact number, but the meaning was already clear.

Money, not enough.

Du Shanü fell silent for a moment, then immediately realized a serious problem——

Throwing out a hundred eighty taels of silver at a whim, with attendants fawning before and behind—those are things that only happen in storybooks.

In reality, unless one intends to draw attention, no one can set out carrying that much silver all at once.

What's more, times are hard, money is hard to earn, and the notion of making thousands or tens of thousands of taels with a wave of the hand is pure nonsense.

Reality is not a storybook.

Ordinary families simply follow the ordinary way.

Guesthouses and inns are also completely different matters.

When she was in Cang Cheng, she stayed in a guesthouse—a place where ordinary folk running small businesses could lodge; a few cash bought a night's stay, with coarse tea and plain meals, and the horse shed was readily available.

She was used to that price, and when paying she naturally gave according to that standard.

But Dun Cheng is a big city.

This Yuelai Inn—its façade, furnishings, and the attendants' attire—are nothing like what a small county guesthouse could compare to.

When she had just entered, she only felt it was impressive, without thinking about the price......

But in a big city, consumption is just high!

?? Which heroine ever gets embarrassed by money when staying at an inn???

? Turns out it's my own, so it's fine hahaha(*^▽^*)

? Mini science time——the difference between an inn and a guesthouse is that the former is like a hotel, while the latter is more like a guesthouse~