The road to Jianghu started from the martial arts hall

It was a dusk, and in a small town in Jizhou in the northern border, the sad setting sun seeped into the clouds in the sky.

It was clearly the February spring breeze that was as sharp as a pair of scissors, but the orange-red clouds floating in the sky looked like flames that would fall at any time, bringing with them a bleak and solemn atmosphere.

There was still some chill in the early spring of February, and the long, crystal clear line under the eaves looked very beautiful in the afterglow.

However, there were not many people in the town. The figures were stretched into long and slender shapes by the setting sun light. Looking around, most of them were ordinary people.

The one or two that you occasionally see are just small fry in the acquired realm. You basically can’t see anyone in the innate realm on the street because all of them have left.

It was a time of turmoil, and although the south of the Yangtze River was peaceful, other parts of the world were not.

The imperial court no longer has any deterrent power, causing some civilian warriors to become more arrogant.

There are even many places where the bad situation of martial arts sects and aristocratic families controlling local prefectures and counties has emerged.

Although they still obeyed the government's rule on the surface, the ones who actually made the decisions were these martial arts masters.

Correspondingly, seeing that the world was getting worse, various bandits and outlaws began to take up jobs, some killing people, some setting fires.

However, the innate warriors in this town did not leave because the bandits were coming here to rob.

Because sixty miles west of the town is the Burial Valley, one of the thirty-six eight demons, and the Burial Valley's fifty-yearly soldier-seizing conference will be officially held tomorrow.

By then, a group of people in the Zhenwu realm will gather together, and if things go wrong, a fight will break out.

And the town was nearby, so the wealthy families here, all the warriors who had reached the Xiantian realm, upon receiving the news, packed up their belongings and left the town with their families without saying a word.

The Zhenwu masters were fighting each other, and they didn't want to be the innocent victims.

And most of the rest are ordinary people who are not even in the innate realm.

Either he had no idea about the Burial Valley, or he just didn't have much experience and didn't understand the meaning of the four words "human-shaped disaster" used by the True Martial Realm expert.

Or maybe you want to leave but don’t dare to.

Not to mention that it is hard to leave one's hometown, in this era, if one rashly leaves one's hometown with one's family, one will become a rootless duckweed that will fall down at the slightest breeze.

Take the wilderness for example. Those green forest heroes who work diligently and stick to their posts make people dare not easily make up their minds to leave the town, otherwise they will be killed and not buried.

But no matter what, life still has to go on. These ordinary people have no ability to change the overall situation, so they can only live one day at a time.

The north wind howled and swept the long dirt-stained street, raising dust. Vendors on both sides of the street were packing up their stalls and pedestrians were hurrying home.

While the residents of the town were returning home, they were also looking at the two people.

One of them was a man, but a very handsome young man.

The man was wearing a gray robe, but the clothes had fine stitching and were embroidered with fine lines. It did not look luxurious, but it was clean, tidy, decent and generous.

The reason why the word "beautiful" is used to describe the young man is not because his clothes are beautiful, but because he is describing his face.

The smooth black shoulder-length hair was casually tied into a ponytail hanging behind her head, with a strand of hair hanging down on both sides of her temples. Coupled with the bright red teardrop mole at the corner of her eye, she looked indescribably delicate and beautiful.

The first word that comes to mind is not handsome, but beautiful.

The young man looked like a foreigner. He was just walking casually on the street, looking around.

No matter where passers-by were going, they couldn't help but take a look at him when they saw him. Once they took a look, they couldn't move their gazes away, as if they were attracted by the bright red teardrop mole.

Then, some people bumped into each other, grimacing in pain, while others directly bumped into the wall, getting dust on their faces.

It was not until many people noticed the bulging Adam's apple in the young man's throat that they felt a little disappointed. After taking a reluctant look at him, they finally looked away.

But not everyone on the street is looking at the young man.

On the other side, at a street corner, a lot of people gathered together in three layers, as if they were watching something.

I saw a small desk and behind it was a young scholar, who was dressed simply but neatly.

The scholar was seen holding a pen in each hand, writing with great skill.

His left hand was copying a book, while his right hand was writing a letter according to the dictation of an old man at the table.

This scholar, like the young man with teardrop mole, was also from another place and temporarily settled in the small town.

When passing through a small town, he would set up a stall and make a living by copying books and writing letters for others, and earn some money for the journey. It is said that scholars are good for nothing, but this is not entirely true.

At least in this era, as long as you can write, you won’t starve to death. After all, eight to nine out of ten people in the world cannot write.

Whether he was copying books for others, writing letters for others, or writing his own vernacular novels to sell, he had no fear of going hungry.

This scholar not only knew how to write, but also wrote very well.

Each word is vividly displayed on the paper, and even many illiterate people can't help but praise it after reading it.

Although they don't know what's good about it, they just think the word is good.

That's why it attracted so many people to watch.

The scholar wrote without distraction and soon the letter was finished. The old man opposite took the letter, packed it carefully, left two cents and hurried away, preparing to go to the post station to mail the letter.

Soon, the book came to an end, and when only the last rays of sunset remained in the sky, the book was finally copied.

Then a middle-aged man dressed like a foreigner picked it up carefully, blew the ink dry and flipped through it.

After a while, he nodded with satisfaction, put a string of copper coins on the table and left, about fifty or sixty cents.

At this time, the scholar also bowed to the people around him and said, "My fellow villagers, it is getting late today, and I will also close my stall. I will leave here early tomorrow morning and continue my journey."

The others were disappointed when they heard this: "Sir, you are leaving soon. Can't you stay one more day and help me copy a book? I will give you twice the price?"

"Yes, I have a letter to mail."

"All the scholars in this town who are willing to write for others have gone with the rich families. Others who can write are unlikely to write for us. Sir, why don't you stay for one more day and help me write a letter before leaving? I will double your money!"

"Everyone, I'm sorry."

The scholar shook his head apologetically, but his tone of refusal was firm.

"I really have something important to do and I am in a hurry to get on the road. I have only been setting up my stall here for half a month because I didn't have enough money. Now I can't delay any longer and must get on the road as soon as possible."

After saying this, the scholar started to pack up his stall.

Seeing that the other party had made up his mind, the others stopped pestering him and could only leave in disappointment.

Soon, the number of people in front of the stall became sparse and the sky darkened.

At this moment, the scholar who was packing up his stall suddenly stopped what he was doing, looked up, and met the gaze of the young man with teardrop mole.

The other party came to the table at some point and was looking at him quietly.

For a moment, their eyes met.

The wind blowing into the town suddenly stopped, and a hint of warmth appeared in the air, which made many residents confused and wondered what was going on.

The young man and the scholar just stared at each other quietly.

After a long while, the young man bowed and broke the silence.

"Brother, I don't know your name."

The scholar also returned the greeting and said solemnly, "My surname is Shangguan, my given name is Qingyuan. May I ask if your surname is Fang?"

The young man immediately laughed: "My surname is Fang, and my given name is Xun!"

While Fang Xun was answering, he felt extremely strange in his heart.

He had imagined many times what the scene would be like when he met Shangguan Wudi for the first time.

But I never expected that this would be the case.

The famous sword god Shangguan Wudi is now like a down-and-out scholar, relying on setting up a stall to write for others to earn money.

Shangguan Wudi also laughed at this time.

"Wait till I finish packing up my stall, let's go to the inn and have a couple of drinks together?"

"Okay!" (End of this chapter)