Chapter 987

Chen Guanlou returned to Jingcheng and took a vacation to adjust his mood.

Master Du fell ill, his health drastically declined, and he visibly aged.

Chen Guanlou accompanied him while drinking tea to clear his mind.

Master Du found tea dull and wanted wine instead.

He hesitated a moment, then gave a slight nod. “Fine, wine it is!” He pulled out money and arranged for someone to buy a jug from the tavern.

“One jug isn’t enough,” Master Du complained.

“Your body now can’t handle too much wine.”

“Who knows better than me whether it’s good or not? Since I got sick, I’ve known this broken body won’t last long. At least let me die with some peace—don’t restrict me like this and that. Even death won’t be peaceful if I’m held back.”

“It’s not that bad yet,” Chen Guanlou patiently urged. “There’s still a long way before death. For your health, drink less—just to do me a favor, how about that?”

Master Du’s lips trembled. “How much longer can I live? Can a ninth-rank martialist see someone’s lifespan at a glance?”

“It’s not that miraculous. It’s not seeing—it’s sensing. I sense a person’s vital energy. Yours is fading, but not to the point of imminent death. Rest well, and you still have one or two years.”

Chen Guanlou spoke plainly, without evasion or empty comfort. He simply told him: one or two years remained.

Given their bond, there was no need to hide the truth.

Only when one accepts life and death can one depart in peace.

Master Du sighed, then brightened. “So I still have that long? I shouldn’t waste it recklessly. I’ll push on—I’ll try to live until next autumn. Hahaha…”

He laughed freely, openly.

At this age, one either grows more afraid of death—or more at peace with it.

Clearly, he belonged to the latter.

“If you have any wishes, plans, or needs, tell me,” Chen Guanlou said. “If money is tight, say so—I’ll handle it.”

Master Du waved his hand repeatedly. “All these years, thanks to your care, I’ve earned enough. I’ve bought a house, land, and built a family. My children and grandchildren are all taken care of. Even if I died right now, I’d have no regrets.”

“If I must name a regret… well, I studied my whole life but never held an official post. Never worn an official robe. Hah… don’t take it seriously—I’m just speaking offhand.”

“I’ve been lucky to have the protection of Hou Fu. The heir has promised that after my death, my son will take my place.”

“Any other wishes?” Chen Guanlou asked softly. “Plan ahead. It brings peace when you go.”

“None left! If you have time, come drink with me and chat. I’ll be content. Too bad I won’t be able to help you appraise antiques and paintings anymore—you’ll need to find someone else. I know a few old fellows, though. Odd temperaments, but I’ll introduce you. If you think they suit you, consider working with them.”

Master Du laid out his thoughts.

Chen Guanlou nodded, sipping his wine slowly.

To him, life and death had long been accepted. As a jailer, he dealt with them daily—he felt no sorrow.

Master Du’s age, in this era, was exceptional among common folk. Most never lived this long. What was there to mourn?

Besides, Master Du still had one or two years—enough time to speak his mind, share his thoughts, and fulfill his wishes.

The two drank, eating their snacks, until the moon hung high overhead.

Master Du voiced his question. “I rarely see you take such a long break. What’s happened? Have you finally grown tired of your post at Tianlaomiao and want to transfer to another yamen?”

Chen Guanlou shook his head. “No. I still love Tianlaomiao—I’ll stay. Recently, I traveled outside, wandered around, and felt uneasy inside. So I took the chance to rest.”

“Outside… life is hard,” Master Du sighed. “Only Jingcheng and Jiangnan are bearable. Everywhere else is miserable.”

“Especially in the last decade, public resentment has boiled over. Rebellions flare up constantly. The court keeps raising taxes. Natural disasters and human suffering—calling it ‘the people cannot live’ isn’t an exaggeration.”

“We’ve lived in Jingcheng so long, we barely notice. Especially you—you earn well, so price changes don’t touch you. But step outside, and you see a living hell. No wonder you feel uneasy. Rest, adjust your mindset. The world is this way—it’s beyond one man’s power to change.”

“Are prices in Jingcheng rising sharply?”

Chen Guanlou was oblivious to prices—he felt nothing.

Either he ate in Tianlaomiao’s mess hall, or cooked his own small meals. Or he went to brothels to indulge.

Occasionally he cooked himself, but the money spent meant nothing to him. To him, it was less than a drop in the ocean.

Chunxiang’s sister sometimes scolded him, telling him to save money—it didn’t last.

How it didn’t last, he never felt.

His wealth had grown so vast that he’d lost all sensitivity to the cost of daily goods.

“It’s terrible!” Master Du was meticulous with spending—he kept household accounts, so he knew every price fluctuation and how deeply it crushed the common folk.

“Grain, oil, cloth—all rose in price. Firewood too. A cartload of firewood I bought last week cost fifty cash more than last month. Unbearable! Such a small amount of firewood, and they dare charge so much. It’s still summer—wait till winter, and the price will double, triple.”

Firewood, rice, oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar, tea!

For a household, the most vital resource is firewood for cooking. Without firewood, you can’t cook, boil water, do anything.

Especially in winter: go three days without food, you won’t die. But go three days without warmth, without fire—you’ll freeze to death.

Master Du opened up, ranting about how fast prices in Jingcheng had risen, how people could barely afford meals. Before, two full meals a day; now, one full, one thin porridge.

“The forests around Jingcheng are banned from cutting. To get firewood, you must go farther into the mountains. Round trip, the price climbs.”

“Why are the forests around Jingcheng banned from cutting? Who ordered that?” Chen Guanlou asked, curious—he’d never heard of it.

Master Du recalled. “I heard it was a court order—said Jingcheng has too much dust and sand, so the forests must stay to block it. But I’ve seen plenty of dust this year! This rule came from Hou Fu. Even Hou Fu’s own forests are banned from cutting for two years. So they bought forests farther away to cut trees and make charcoal.”