Chapter Seventeen: I Fear That There Is Nothing in This World I Cannot Buy

Never blame the length of autumn nights, but often lament the brevity of summer days.

Time, in its endless turning, had already brought the world to the light of August. Beyond a slab of cloud like blue stone in the sky, the sun’s blazing orb shone through again, and everything before the eye shimmered with a white, vaporous heat.

In the courtyard, all manner of strange contraptions lay scattered in every direction.

There was an iron rod linking two iron balls at either end; there were two millstones, each with iron rods stuck in them and a bamboo pole set across between; and there was a small stone slab with a wooden stick inserted at its center... Should an ordinary person wander into this yard and behold these oddities, they would hardly be able to guess their purpose.

Beneath the shade of the eaves, a young man sat bare-chested upon a stone stool. His pale back seemed as if just doused with water, and sweat ran down his firm abdomen like a mountain stream, soaking into his shorts and leaving a ring of white salt at the waistband.

A young girl washed a towel in a bucket, wrung it clean, and then laid it across the boy’s back, her delicate hands gently wiping him down. After drying him, she rinsed the cloth again and left it, cool and damp, around his neck. Then, she fetched a small bucket of iced drink and offered it to him.

As for the boy, his long hair was loosely tied at the crown and fell down to his waist. His eyes, bright as gems, were half-closed, and his long, curled lashes quivered slightly, as if silently voicing his fatigue.

Though sweat poured from his brow and torso, there was nothing of the laborer about him. He was like a lotus emerging from water, untouched by dust, so pure that even the fierce sun seemed unwilling to scorch him.

“Young master, how is it you never get tanned?” the girl asked curiously.

After two months, Han Yan’s baby fat had faded, and the delicate contours of an oval face had begun to emerge, though her large eyes remained as innocent—and as adorably vacant—as ever.

“Yan’er, there are always some people in this world who never tan, who never gain weight no matter how much they eat, who ace their studies without effort, and who succeed even if their fathers are penniless.

“Your young master happens to be one of those people.”

“But master is obviously very wealthy…” Han Yan replied, puzzled.

“From now on, don’t take what I say too seriously. I’m responsible for talking nonsense; you’re responsible for being cute. Understood?”

Han Yan shook her head and pouted. “Young master, what does it mean to ‘be cute’?”

Zhang Yu was swayed by the child’s guileless question and, instead of explaining, turned away. “Go fetch your brother for me.”

Sixty days of summer, sun and rain in constant alternation.

Now, Zhang Yu felt his height had surpassed one meter eighty—by ancient reckoning, a man of “eight chi.” Persistent training had left not a trace of scholarly frailty on him; in fact, his half-bare torso in this moment would have driven modern fans of Korean pop idols into a frenzy.

Leaving aside his physique, Zhang Yu’s handwriting had also improved remarkably; his mastery of regular script had reached sixty percent, making it second nature. Over the past two months, he had also perused nearly all the books in his study from this era, and reading was no longer an obstacle.

Returning to his room, Zhang Yu habitually opened the system interface to leisurely review his stats—

Martial: 31

Command: 23

Intelligence: 52

Politics: 37

Charisma: 91

The lower the attribute, the easier it was to increase; the higher, the harder. For example, his command had inexplicably risen over a few days, though it was still just 23. Among all the attributes, only charisma—the highest—remained unchanged.

When Zhang Yu tried to use his reputation points to further raise his charisma, he discovered that once an attribute reached 90, every additional point cost twice as much as before. Thus, his entire 1800 reputation points were just enough to nudge charisma from 90 to 91; raising it to 92 would require a steep 2000 points. So much for any hope of maxing out his charisma in a hurry.

After reviewing his own stats, he glanced at Han Long, who truly surprised him.

Unlike Zhang Yu, whose attributes hovered near the human baseline, Han Long’s martial prowess started at a lofty 72. In just two months, he had broken through to 80, reaching the threshold of a first-rate warrior—all at just ten years old!

Such talent left Zhang Yu, system in hand, amazed. Even if the system did little to boost combat power, it was still a system…

As Zhang Yu pondered this, Han Long appeared at the doorway, long sword on his back.

“Come, have a seat.”

“Did you call for me, young master?” Han Long removed his sword and set it at his waist, settling onto the folding stool beside Zhang Yu.

“No need for formality between us—what, can’t I call for you unless there’s something urgent?”

“Of course you can,” Han Long replied with a grin. Serving such a master was a stroke of luck for both him and his sister.

“Then off you go, nothing urgent.” Zhang Yu waved him away.

“Huh? Young master…”

“I just wanted to see you. You can leave now.” Zhang Yu put on a look of impatience.

“But we just saw each other this morning…”

“Enough,” Zhang Yu laughed, rising and patting Han Long on the shoulder. Han Long stood as well. “You and Yan’er truly are siblings—even the way you stare blankly is exactly the same.”

With a pause, Zhang Yu added, “Want to go riding?”

“I’d love to!” the boy exclaimed, then hesitated. “But horses are expensive and rare, aren’t they?”

“Do you even know what my family does? I sometimes wake at night in terror, worrying there’s nothing left in this world that I can’t buy.” Zhang Yu was clearly enjoying his boast.

Han Long kept silent; when young masters spoke such madness, it was best to stay quiet. He couldn’t exactly draw his sword in protest…

“Let’s get to the point. My father mentioned yesterday that a new batch of foals is due today. Since I’ve recovered, I haven’t visited our stud farm yet. Come with me—”

He arched his elegant brows. “Perhaps we can solve our mount problem.”

“Young master, do you know how to ride?”

“…!” Zhang Yu was momentarily speechless and made as if to strike him, causing Han Long to cover his head in fright. “So what if I don’t? Learning is a lifelong journey—you never master everything, and being able to ride now is nothing special. My road is long!”

With a flourish of his sleeve, he continued, “Besides, can you drive a car?”

“If you can ride, you can drive a cart—”

“Don’t mention riding to me! Do you know where Akina Mountain is? Once, your young master raced his Wuling Hongguang along those winding roads; when I was done, all the insurance companies were lined up at the foot of the mountain… Ah, better not to reminisce.

“If there’s ever a chance, this old driver will take you flying, so you can feel your own insignificance and ignorance! Let’s go, Pipi Long!”

Though, perhaps, that chance may never come.

“Young master, my name is Han Long!”

A stud farm requires vast land and could not be built within the city, but rather on a wide plain just outside Zhongshan City. Most of the Zhang family’s servants and the Su family’s main guards were stationed there, alongside a large force of hired villagers and adventurers—altogether numbering well over a thousand. After all, for the Zhang and Su families, this was the most critical source of wealth. Should bandits raid this place, not only would they suffer great losses, but it would also amount to directly aiding the enemy.

“Halt! Who goes there?” As the two approached the stud farm’s gate, a burly man raised a hand to stop them.

“How dare you!”

“Silence!”

One shout came from Han Long, the other from another gatekeeper.

“Ziru, what’s the meaning of this?” the burly man glared at his companion.

“I’m saving you! These two—one as handsome as an orchid, the other young yet exceptionally brave—who else could they be but Young Master Yu and Guard Han Long?”

At these words, the burly man quickly realized and, together with his companion, saluted Zhang Yu. “Sir—”

“Hahaha, you have a good eye!” Zhang Yu interrupted before they could finish. He found this perceptive “Ziru” a rather scholarly and striking figure, and was intrigued.

“May I ask your full name, Ziru?”

“I bear the compound surname Xiahou, with the given name Lan.”