Life as Su Chen fell into a rhythm as gentle as the stream that gave the town its name. Mornings were for sweeping the courtyard and fetching fresh water. The afternoons were spent in the dusty, sunlit study, grinding ink. The motion was circular, steady, and meditative. The scent of the ink, rich and earthy, was a grounding aroma that tethered him to the present moment.
Old Man Liu was a taskmaster, but a fair one. He would bark orders for specific scrolls, testing Su Chen's memory, and would grunt in approval when the correct one was presented in moments. He began leaving out texts on history, poetry, and philosophy, watching from the corner of his eye as Su Chen read them. He never commented on the impossible speed at which Su Chen absorbed the information, but a quiet respect began to grow between the two.
One week into his new life, Old Man Liu pressed a small string of copper coins into his hand. "Your first week's wages," the scholar said gruffly. "Don't spend it all on sweets."
Su Chen looked at the coins in his palm. They were cool, solid, and surprisingly heavy. He, who had once held the conceptual weight of a collapsing universe, found a profound gravity in these simple pieces of metal. Each one represented a day of labor, a service rendered, a place earned. He had never earned anything before. Everything had simply been his for the taking.
With a newfound sense of purpose, he walked to the same street vendor he had encountered on his first day.
"One bun, please," he said, placing three copper coins on the counter.
The vendor's eyes lit up in recognition. "Ah, the scholar's new boy! Coming into some money, are we?" he said, his tone friendly now. He handed over a plump, steaming bun.
Su Chen took a bite. The soft, savory dough and rich filling were exquisite. It tasted of honest work and the simple dignity of being able to provide for oneself. This single bun was more valuable to him than the entire celestial treasury.
His peaceful existence was interrupted one afternoon by a loud, arrogant voice at the gate. "Old Man Liu! Get out here! You think you can hide from me?"
A young man in gaudy silk robes, flanked by two brawny servants, swaggered into the courtyard. He was Zhang Bo, the son of the town's wealthiest landlord. His face was a mask of petulant entitlement.
"My father wants the rent for this month! You're three days late!" Zhang Bo sneered, kicking over a pot of flowers.
Old Man Liu emerged, his face pale with a mixture of anger and fear. "Zhang Bo, I told your father I would have it by the end of the week. The provincial book order has been delayed."
"Excuses!" Zhang Bo spat. "My father is tired of your excuses. If you can't pay, perhaps you can compensate in other ways. That Northern Song dynasty vase in your study looks quite valuable."
"You will not touch it!" Liu cried, his body trembling. "That is a family heirloom!"
Su Chen, who had been watching from the doorway of the study, stepped forward. His expression was calm, his posture relaxed. He looked utterly harmless.
"My master has already sent the payment," Su Chen said in a level voice. "It seems there has been a mistake in your father's accounting."
Zhang Bo turned his sneer on Su Chen. "And who are you? The old man's charity case? What do you know of accounting?"
"I know that your father's shipping business has recently taken on a new partner to transport salt along the Clearstream River," Su Chen stated plainly. "I also know that government monopolies on salt are very strict. Transporting it without the proper imperial license is a crime punishable by the seizure of all assets and three generations of the family being exiled to the borderlands."
The color drained from Zhang Bo's face. His father's new venture was a secret, a highly illegal and profitable risk. How could this nobody, this dusty assistant, possibly know about it?
Su Chen continued, his voice still quiet, yet carrying an unshakable authority that felt ancient. "I'm sure it's just a clerical error that the rent payment hasn't been registered. You wouldn't want to bother the local magistrate with such a small matter, would you? He might get curious and start looking into other, larger matters of business."
Zhang Bo stared at Su Chen, his bravado completely gone, replaced by a raw, primal fear. He saw no spiritual power, no hidden cultivation. He just saw a man who knew a truth that could shatter his entire world. It was a power more terrifying than any martial arts.
"A... a mistake. It must have been a mistake," Zhang Bo stammered. He bowed hastily, a comical gesture of panic. "My apologies for disturbing the master!"
He and his servants practically tripped over each other as they scrambled to leave the courtyard.
Old Man Liu stared at Su Chen, his mouth agape. He had been ready to beg, to fight, to lose his precious heirloom. He had not expected his quiet, scholarly assistant to dismantle a threat with nothing but a few calm sentences.
"How... how did you know that?" Liu whispered, his voice filled with awe.
Su Chen gave a slight smile, the first genuine one the scholar had ever seen from him. "I read a lot," he said. It was the truth, in a way. He had read the book of Karma, the scrolls of Fate, and the unwritten ledgers of heaven and earth. A small town landlord's dirty secrets were but a footnote.
That evening, Old Man Liu brought out a jug of fragrant rice wine and two cups. He filled one for himself and one for Su Chen.
"You are more than just an assistant, Su Chen," the old man said, his gaze sharp. "I don't know where you came from, but you have a good heart and a mind sharper than any I have ever met. I am glad you are here."
They drank under the light of the moon. The wine was cheap, but it warmed him. For countless ages, Wei Wuji had been alone at the apex of existence. Tonight, Su Chen, the mortal, shared a drink with a friend. And he realized he was no longer looking for a reason to live. He was simply living.