Chapter Thirty-Two: The Greatest Fear of a Chivalrous Hero—Running Out of Paper

Chen Buqun stood at the very front of the crowd. He had meant to see what was going on, but the people behind him, desperate and impatient, shoved him forward forcefully into the privy, nearly sending him headfirst into the pit.

After a moment of relief, Chen Buqun realized there was no paper.

How frustrating! Nothing frightens a wandering hero more than running out of paper... Was he really going to use his finger?

Terrifying...

He extended his finger, bracing himself to finish the ordeal. At worst, he could wash thoroughly...

Had he been born two thousand years later, perhaps he would have understood why privies came to be called washrooms.

Still, fate did not abandon him.

He spotted a delicate wooden box before him, with some crooked, ugly characters scrawled across it.

“Toilet paper, one tael. Insert silver for paper.”

“What... damn it... That’s too expensive! Might as well just rob them!”

Chen Buqun patted his coat, but gritted his teeth and dropped a tael into the box.

A single tael of silver could feed an ordinary person for a month, and Chen Buqun felt a pang in his heart for a second. But he was the descendant of a distinguished clan—he could afford it.

Expensive, yes, but at least he wouldn’t have to wash his hands...

As he was just pulling up his trousers, a hero in the stall next to him, separated by a wooden partition, asked, “Master Chen, all done? Did you really throw in a tael of silver?”

“Mm...” Chen Buqun replied reluctantly.

“Hahaha... You’re too gullible. This is obviously a trick designed by that fool Xiao Yan. I’ve learned the craftsman’s trade—no way I’d fall for it. I’ll try tossing in a stone instead; I bet the paper will come out just the same! Hahaha...”

Chen Buqun thought it over and regretted it a bit. He’d been too hasty—a stone could have solved the problem. Why spend a tael of silver?

But just as the neighboring hero finished speaking,

Bang!

A tremendous noise erupted. Startled, Chen Buqun forgot to finish pulling up his trousers and rushed out. The floor of the adjacent privy had vanished completely, and the man had fallen straight into the pit... now entirely transformed into a man of filth...

Chen Buqun’s eyes widened. Thankfully, he hadn’t been clever enough to try that trick, or he would have been the one covered in filth.

...

When the crowd emerged, they found people still arguing, and the exit was barricaded by railings. With those at the front refusing to move, no one could get out.

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Chen Buqun, being tall, could easily see what was happening ahead.

He saw an old man with white hair, clutching a monk’s whisk, his brows like swords and his gaze bright, bearing a dignified air. Yet at this moment, he was red-faced and shouting at a young monk.

“Tell me! Who gave you the right to charge money for relieving oneself in this grand Golden Mountain Temple? Is there any justice left?”

“Well... my master instructed me, we must collect payment. Each time, one tael of silver. You’ve gone ten times...” The young monk’s voice faltered, clearly uneasy, perhaps because he too felt the rule was unreasonable.

“Who’s your master? What gives him the authority? Where’s the abbot? I know your abbot!” The sword-browed old Daoist grew angrier, his bout of diarrhea exposed in front of everyone. How could a hero like him ever hold his head up in the martial world again?

“Well... my master is Elder Xiao Yan...” Lin Dong was forced to push forward his troublesome master.

“Scoundrel! Xiao Yan? Never heard of him. Either way, I’m not paying... Wait... Xiao Yan?” The sword-browed Daoist suddenly paused, his anger startling even himself, nearly making him forget the name Xiao Yan.

“It’s that bastard?”

He had come to the mountain specifically to defeat Xiao Yan and make a name for himself.

“If I don’t pay, what will you do? Call Xiao Yan out here—I’ll thrash him myself!” the sword-browed Daoist shouted loudly.

He habitually tried to stroke his beloved monk’s whisk, but as his hand moved, an awkward realization struck him, and his palm froze in midair.

“Hm? Look... why did he suddenly freeze? Has he been bewitched?”

A martial hero, noticing the old Daoist’s strange behavior, asked in confusion.

“No... look at his monk’s whisk. Wasn’t it pure white before? Why has it turned yellow now?”

“Now that you mention it, I think I understand... Didn’t you just use the privy?”

Another hero suddenly saw the light.

“Are you saying... the sword-browed Daoist didn’t toss in any silver?”

“Think about it—he’s gone ten times... He probably didn’t carry that much money.”

The old Daoist blushed, embarrassed that such things had happened at Golden Mountain Temple. His reputation was truly at risk.

“Hmph, enough nonsense. I won’t pay. Young man, I suggest you hand over Xiao Yan.”

The sword-browed Daoist, mortified and angry, spoke with a flushed face and neck.

“My master Elder Xiao Yan instructed that if you refuse to pay, you must get past me first...” Lin Dong blocked the exit, speaking timidly.

“Hmph... You? Are you out of your mind? If the master isn’t normal, is the disciple a fool as well?” The old Daoist sneered coldly.

“...” Lin Dong’s expression grew tense.

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Though Lin Dong had practiced martial arts since childhood, his aptitude was poor. This year, he was only about equal to Xiao Yan: his internal strength was at the fifth level.

But he could not help it—being Xiao Yan’s disciple, he cared deeply for respect and tradition. Since it was his master’s command, he would fulfill it even if it cost him everything.

“Hahaha... Internal strength at the fifth level? Boy! Who gave you the courage?” The sword-browed old Daoist scoffed, and began to circulate his internal energy.

His own internal strength was at the tenth level!

...

Lin Dong had heard tales of the sword-browed Daoist. It was said he had originally been a Daoist priest, reaching the twentieth level of internal strength by the age of thirty. But due to improper conduct, he made many enemies. Ambushed by them, he suffered internal injuries and became deranged, causing his internal strength to regress.

Though his internal strength was now only at the tenth level, his experience in the martial world was vast and his attacks ruthless. Many masters at the twelfth level had met their end at his hands.

“This time, the sword-browed Daoist seems serious... Isn’t this bullying a child?”

People began to discuss.

“Hmph, serves him right... He doesn’t know his limits, only blame himself for lacking a good master.”

“...”

...

At that moment, a voice rang out from the distance, “Wait! Let’s talk this through!”

Immediately, everyone turned toward the speaker.

They saw a young man of eighteen striding forward—it was Chen Buqun.

“Sword-browed Daoist, Lin Dong is my friend. May I speak with him for a moment?”

Chen Buqun cupped his hands respectfully.

The sword-browed Daoist frowned slightly, but having heard Chen Buqun’s name before, he realized he could not afford to offend him. He said, “I’ll grant you this courtesy. If you play any tricks, I’ll go straight to your father at the Chen Sword Sect.”

“Thank you, elder.”

Chen Buqun cupped his hands again, and pulled Lin Dong aside.

“Lin Dong! What’s going on? I haven’t seen you in days—how come you’re a monk now...”

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