Chapter 7: Free from Earthly Desires
Chapter 7: Without Earthly Desires
Gurgle...
A rumble came from a flat, taut stomach.
Qin Yuan tidied himself briefly and stepped outside.
Nearby, he found a bustling street food stall brimming with the scent of everyday life, where he settled for breakfast.
The owner was a woman, nicknamed Tofu Diao Chan, exuding a wild, untamed energy—rough yet pure, utterly captivating.
“Customer, do you want savory tofu pudding or sweet tofu pudding?” Tofu Diao Chan asked with a smile.
Only penniless children make such choices.
Wealthy adults want it all.
“I'll have two bowls—one savory, one sweet.”
“Got it.”
Qin Yuan took a seat deep inside to avoid being jostled by passersby.
Street stalls had one drawback: they were too crowded.
“Tofu Diao Chan, I’m here to eat your tofu,” teased a newcomer.
“Go eat your mother’s tofu!” Tofu Diao Chan shot back fiercely, hands on hips, instantly drawing laughter from the crowd.
The stall buzzed with lively cheer.
“New book by Jing Yao, ‘The Pearl Princess,’ new book by Jing Yao, ‘The Pearl Princess’...” A boy with a cloth bag around his neck called out as he walked by.
“Little brother, give me a copy,” Tofu Diao Chan ordered.
Qin Yuan was surprised she could read—literacy was low in this era, especially among women.
“This name Jing Yao sounds beautiful, must be a great beauty,” she murmured, flipping through the book.
Qin Yuan thought to himself: not only is she not a beauty, she’s covered in leg hair.
Indeed, this book was his work—or rather, his plagiarism.
“Brother, want to buy one?” Qin Yuan glanced at the boy winking at him.
Was this kid’s eyesight okay?
The boy smiled mysteriously and revealed a corner of a book inside his bag, titled The Prime Minister’s Captive Concubine.
“Huang Rong’s,” the boy whispered.
Then he showed another: The Female Hero’s Untold History, also by Huang Rong.
If Huang Rong knew, she’d want to kill someone.
Qin Yuan asked coolly, “How are sales?”
“Selling well, almost as good as The Legend of the Condor Heroes,” the boy said enviously.
Qin Yuan almost spat out old blood.
All his hard work—copying, padding word counts—ended up dressing someone else’s bride.
No wonder people say old lechers are the greatest productive force.
After the second hour of the morning, Qin Yuan arrived at the peaceful Left Historical Institute.
He went straight to the library.
First, he found an empty corner and critically read The Prime Minister’s Captive Concubine carefully; it was worse than The Smiling Proud Wanderer and The Condor Heroes he’d read in his past life.
He casually tossed it onto a nearby pile.
He moved to a row of bookshelves, focusing on celebrity anecdotes, tales of immortals and monsters, and notes.
He spared nothing that touched on the mystical.
After a while, Qin Yuan sat before a stack of books and opened one.
The first story read:
“In the seventh year of the Xuanhe era, a black beast suddenly appeared in the Western Capital city. Sometimes it looked like a dog, sometimes like a donkey. It roamed at night and hid by day. Those whose skin was seized by the beast developed poisonous sores. One night, a villager sat cooling himself under the eaves and saw the black beast enter his house. He struck it fiercely with a stick, and the beast fell. By candlelight, he realized he had killed his youngest son.”
Qin Yuan stroked his chin. If the story were true, the black beast was avenging itself.
The second story:
“From the wilds of Yongzhou comes a strange snake: black with white patterns, touching grass and trees brings death; it bites humans, and none can defend against it...”
The beginning was normal enough, but the further Qin Yuan read, the more incredulous he became.
It told of a hundred-zhang-long white giant python destroying villages, flooding cities, then vanishing without a trace.
He threw the book aside and soon found a story in a travelogue:
“In the Eastern Sea lies a vast island stretching a thousand miles, adorned with strange stones that absorb the essence of sun and moon. One day, the heavens and earth cracked, and a stone man was born, calling himself the Holy Spirit, claiming to have gestated for hundreds of thousands of years before emerging.”
Qin Yuan’s mind went blank.
These literati outdid each other in exaggeration.
He cursed them to an unlucky old age, covered in red hair.
“You’re here! Been looking for you everywhere,” said Shao Guilin, the chief editor, waddling in with his belly noticeably larger.
“Chief editor,” Qin Yuan glanced at Shao’s ample paunch, suspecting he wouldn’t survive long with his high blood pressure, cholesterol, and sugar.
“Here you go,” Shao shook a thick stack of papers.
Not to the dungeon again, was it?
He was becoming a regular at the prison.
Qin Yuan suspected everyone avoided the dungeon assignments by offloading them onto him.
“Whose record is this time?”
“See for yourself.”
Shao tossed the papers on the table and sat down.
“Yuanda, I heard your martial arts are quite good?”
“Not bad,” Qin Yuan said, deliberately showing off a bit.
Being too inconspicuous made it easy to be stepped on.
Since revealing some skill, people treated him with more respect.
Almost no one picked on him anymore.
“Good to practice martial arts; these days, without it, you can’t rest easy even in your sleep,” Shao leaned closer.
“If you really want to advance, I can help.”
“No thanks.”
Qin Yuan was content with this peaceful life, low risk and comfortable.
“Practicing martial arts but not wanting to advance—do you not have faith in the times?” Shao suddenly said.
Qin Yuan thought to himself: no wonder this veteran official was so sharp-eyed.
Seeing Qin Yuan remain silent, Shao gave a faint, bitter smile.
“Since ancient times, dynasties rarely last over three hundred years; the Great Hun state has already survived more than two and a half centuries.”
Qin Yuan answered solemnly, “With Her Majesty the Empress Dowager reigning, the Great Hun dynasty can certainly endure for centuries more.”
He had long learned never to tell anyone the truth.
Especially not a seasoned official—say one thing today, and you might be betrayed tomorrow.
Shao cursed with a laugh, “I pour my heart out, and you just play along.”
He’d seen cautious people before, but never someone so young yet so extremely guarded.
“I’ve always been on the same page as the chief editor,” Qin Yuan said, unblinking.
At first, saying such blatantly false words felt awkward.
Now, they came out naturally.
Shao lost interest in the conversation, laboriously stood, and was about to leave, then thought of something and smiled:
“Yuanda, I have a niece.”
“I have no intention of marrying,” Qin Yuan replied swiftly.
He was an immortal.
Marriage was impossible—this lifetime, and all lifetimes.
Shao coughed violently, stroking his beard and glaring, “My niece is only five. I want you to be her tutor.”
“Ah...” Qin Yuan smiled awkwardly and declined gently, “I’m not cut out for teaching. Chief editor, you should find someone else.”
What a joke—what if he got attached to the child?
Not long ago, a grandmaster was murdered by his own disciple.
Shao grunted discontentedly after repeated refusals and waddled away.
At that moment, Qin Yuan noticed his hair had grown quite a few white strands.
Time, oh time.
A moment later, Qin Yuan took the papers to his rented room.
He sat down and brewed himself a cup of tea.
Leisurely, he began to read.
(End of chapter)