Tonight at dawn, this book hits the rankings for the first time; there will be another update later. I hope all heroes will lend a hand then. This week's performance will determine future official recommendations—it's crucial. Whether the results are good or bad depends on your support. Xiao Mo earnestly asks for your recommendation votes.
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Yang Kai didn't think much of it, though. This is Wumei Town, so close to Lingxiao Pavilion—it's normal for disciples to come down and move around.
Soon, Yang Kai arrived at He's Rice Shop. The shop occupied two storefronts on the street, business was booming, and a clerk bustled inside and out. The shop owner was busy with an abacus at the counter, while the owner's wife greeted customers.
After waiting a while, the crowd of people coming to buy rice thinned, and Yang Kai finally stepped inside the shop.
“Madam.” Yang Kai greeted her; the owner's wife, about forty, looked up and immediately smiled: “Little brother, you're here to buy rice again.”
“Yeah.” Yang Kai walked straight to the cheapest brown rice, pointed at a sack, and said, “Give me one bag.”
The owner's wife replied, scooping rice into a cloth bag while chattering: “Little brother, you buy rice once a month—is this enough to eat?”
Yang Kai said, “Basically, it’s enough.”
“You’re lying!” the owner's wife gave Yang Kai a sideways glance, “Your arms and legs are skinny—if you weren’t hungry, you wouldn’t look like this.”
Yang Kai laughed embarrassedly: “I also go hunting in the mountains, so I won’t starve.”
At the counter, the owner, seemingly engrossed in his calculations without looking up, said, “Wife, there’s some old rice over there—just sitting there—give it to the young man.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” The owner's wife answered with a smile.
“That won’t do—you’re running a small business.” Yang Kai quickly waved his hands.
The owner's wife put on a stern face: “What’s the problem? Anyway, that old rice is bug‑infested and unsellable. But the boss says those rice bugs are even more nutritious than white rice. Wait here—I’ll get it for you.”
Saying that, she headed toward the back room.
Yang Kai’s heart was a jumble of feelings; he didn’t know what to say. Over this period, every time he came to buy rice, the kind owner and his wife would give him a little extra, always finding excuses like “the rice has bugs,” when in fact it was top‑grade white rice. This made Yang Kai, who had once believed the world held no sincerity, feel a faint sourness.
“Thank you, Uncle He.” Yang Kai’s voice trembled slightly.
The owner smiled and lifted his head: “Lonely as we are, who hasn’t hit a rough patch? If you’re ever hungry, just come here—our shop may not have much, but we’ve got enough rice to eat.”
“Yeah.” Yang Kai lowered his head; there really are good people in the world.
As he was pondering, two more people entered the rice shop. The shop’s sole assistant greeted them warmly, but before he could even speak, the man in the middle kicked him to the ground.
“Oh dear,” the assistant fell flat on his back, did a full somersault—he hit the ground hard and couldn’t get up for a while.
“What’s going on?” Owner He rushed out from behind the counter, and Yang Kai helped the assistant up, staring at the two men. Both wore murderous expressions; one had a pallid, sickly face, clutching his stomach and looking weak, while the other, who had kicked the assistant, supported him—a bear‑waisted, tiger‑backed brute.
“Who’s the owner?” the supporter shouted.
“I am, I am.” Owner He quickly replied; he was just an ordinary merchant, but the two men before him, with fierce faces, swords at their waists, looked like trouble—not someone to be taken lightly.
“Well done, you black‑hearted boss—selling poisonous rice to my brother! Look at him now: a strong, healthy man ate your rice and ended up like this. My brother could punch a tiger and not blink, yet now he’s on the verge of losing consciousness. You, a profiteer who cares only for money, treat human life as nothing!”
A torrent of scolding and shouting turned Owner He’s face ashen: “Ah, how could this happen? How could this be?”
The man bellowed again: “How would I know? My brother bought some rice from you this morning, cooked a pot of congee, ate it, and ended up like this. Thank goodness I didn’t eat any—otherwise I’d be joining him in the netherworld.”
Owner He’s forehead poured sweat; he kept wiping his sleeve and said, “Sir, there’s probably just a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding? Misunderstand your mother! If it weren’t for eating your rice, my brother wouldn’t be like this!” the big man roared, refusing to back down.
Yang Kai watched coldly, taking everything in. He knew Owner He’s character all too well—occasionally helping him, giving him things for free; such a kind person wouldn’t do this. Even if Owner He were truly a black‑hearted merchant, he would never poison his own rice.
If this got out, how could he keep doing business? Who would dare buy rice from him?
The excuses these two men came up with are crude and flimsy, unable to withstand any scrutiny.
So these two fellows are clearly here to extort money. Still, their method is vicious—it’s practically meant to cut off someone’s livelihood.