Back at the caravan, Niu Shou saw Doseiichi's book box and asked him what was going on.
“A nobleman in the city said he wanted to see the stories I wrote, so he bought me a set of tools.”
Dao Chengyi's answer was simple. As for whether others were envious or not, Dao Chengyi didn't care. A few busybodies came to beg for money, and they knew about the straw sandals.
Dao Cheng took out all five pairs of shoes and gave them to the women according to their preferences. Looking at the village women who were spitting and talking about him, Dao Cheng made a few notes on them. What they were entitled to, they naturally had to take back.
Once home, I'll carefully store the book box and, while I'm at it, place a Five Poison Gu here to guard it. If it dies from the poison, it'll just be used as Gu material.
He dragged the wandering dog into the dilapidated thatched hut, grinned, and told him that there would be meat to eat today. The dog mumbled something for a while and then hurriedly ran home.
Not long after, he brought out a small jar of wine, which he had saved from various banquets. It tasted rather strange and wasn't very pleasant.
But along with the scraps of braised meat, the bits and pieces that others didn't want, and the slightly smelly and rotten stuff, the two of them ate it sip by sip from a cup.
From the time he arrived here until Zhao Er died, he had hardly ever eaten a proper meal of meat, nor had he ever been full. All he ever suffered was ridicule and bullying from others.
Everyone thought he deserved it, that he couldn't lower himself, but he had no idea what to do. He wanted to live and tried to please others, but all he got was the near-death experience.
He missed home, he missed braised pork, he missed his favorite longan fruit, he missed playing that spicy game with big breasts, and he missed doing that low-paying job where he could slack off.
"Is this meat awful, dog?"
Dao Chengyi looked at the dog opposite him. The dog looked just like him. The dog's face was a little red at the moment, and it was gesturing something. But it must be delicious.
Is it tasty? Not at all, but it's better than swill, better than muddy rice, better than starving to death...
Dao Cheng cried, "Tomorrow will be better, it's not a dream. Tomorrow, I'll buy a chicken, and the day after, I'll eat meat every meal. It won't be like this anymore, it won't be."
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