The tavern was not large, but its location was excellent — situated on the eastern side of the stockade, right next to the East Gate.
The East Gate and the North Gate saw the most foot traffic of all the stockade's entrances. As a result, whenever afternoon or evening rolled around, the tavern's business was always decent.
"Young Master, please have a seat." An old man bowed and scraped before Fang Yuan.
Several workers scrubbed the stools and tables vigorously, then flashed Fang Yuan obsequious smiles, their faces full of fawning.
Fang Yuan shook his head and did not sit down. Instead, he strolled casually through the tavern, looking around. He thought to himself: "This is my tavern now."
The tavern had only one story, but there was a wine cellar beneath it.
The floor was paved with large square green bricks. Eight square tables were arranged about the room — two of them pushed against the walls, while the remaining six each had four long benches around them.
Upon entering the tavern, one could see a long dark-brown counter. On the counter sat brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones, along with an abacus. Behind the counter was a wine cabinet lined with wine jars of all sizes. Some were large black ceramic jars. Others were small porcelain bottles with a glossy finish.
Fang Yuan wandered at his leisure. The old man and the workers naturally dared not sit — they followed close behind, matching his every step.
They were all ill at ease. The news of the tavern changing hands had come without warning. Their previous owner, Guye Dongtu, had been cunning as a ghost and ruthlessly strict — they had been crushed under his thumb, barely able to breathe. And yet this young man before them had somehow wrested the tavern from Guye Dongtu's grasp by sheer force. That kind of capability was no small thing. So when these people looked at Fang Yuan, their gazes were laced with unease and fear.
Fang Yuan suddenly stopped. "Not bad. It's just a bit small."
The old man hurried forward and bowed. "The thing is, Young Master, every summer we set up a canopy outside the entrance and put out some extra tables and stools. But right now, with the winter wind blowing so fiercely, nobody would sit out there even if we did. So we've taken it down."
Fang Yuan turned slightly and glanced at the old man. "You're the manager?"
The old man bent even lower, his tone growing more deferential. "I wouldn't dare presume, Young Master. This tavern is yours. Whoever you wish to be the manager — that person will be the manager."
Fang Yuan nodded and then cast his gaze over the other workers. They all looked sharp and capable enough.
Back on Earth, he would have had to worry about the manager and workers conspiring together to deceive him, their new master. But in this world, Gu Masters stood far above ordinary people — killing a mortal was a matter of mere whim. Even if his uncle and aunt tried to instigate them, these mortals would never dare to oppose Fang Yuan.
"Enough. Go bring me the account books, and pour me a pot of tea." Fang Yuan sat down.
"Yes, Young Master." The manager and workers scurried about in a flurry.
There were a full sixteen ledgers. Each one was bound in bamboo paper that carried a faint greenish tint. In hand, the paper was far crisper and stiffer than rice paper — well suited to the humid climate of the Southern Border.
Fang Yuan casually picked up a few of the ledgers, skimmed through them, and asked a series of questions.
The manager hurried to answer, and before long, his forehead was drenched in sweat.
In his previous life, Fang Yuan had founded the Blood Wing Demonic Sect with hundreds of thousands of followers. He was naturally experienced and sharp-eyed. What might leave others utterly confused and dazzled — a mere set of account books — was transparent to him. Every discrepancy was as clear as daylight.
The tavern was his second-largest source of income after the Nine-Leaf Vitality Grass, and Fang Yuan naturally intended to keep a firm grip on it.
The problems in the ledgers were minor — a few errors and omissions here and there. These mortals still did not dare to overstep.
But when Fang Yuan turned to the last page, he found that the entire month's earnings had been withdrawn by Guye Dongtu.
"Young Master, the previous owner came to collect it himself. We didn't dare refuse," the manager replied while wiping his sweat. His aged body was already trembling faintly, his face deathly pale.
Fang Yuan said nothing. He gently set the ledger on the table and swept a glance at the manager.
The manager instantly felt a tremendous pressure bearing down on him — like a mountain crashing upon his shoulders. Terror seized him, and with a thud he dropped to his knees on the floor.
Seeing the manager kneel, the other workers — quick and perceptive as they were — each dropped to their knees one after another.
Fang Yuan sat there calmly, turning his gaze to sweep over them.
The workers instantly felt as though they were standing in a frozen wasteland, unable to withstand Fang Yuan's presence. Every one of them fell silent as cicadas in winter.
Work at the tavern, for mortals like them, was not only stable but safe — the ideal situation. None of them wanted to lose their jobs.
Seeing that his display of authority had achieved its purpose, and knowing that too much would be counterproductive, Fang Yuan spoke in an unhurried tone: "What happened in the past — let it go. I won't hold it against you. I've looked at the books, and your wages are too low. From now on, the workers' pay goes up by twenty percent, and the manager's by forty percent. Work hard, and there will be rewards for you."
With that, Fang Yuan rose and headed for the door.
The group knelt on the floor, stunned for a long moment before the realization sank in. Tears gushed from each of their eyes, streaming down their faces.
"Thank you for your great kindness, Young Master!"
"Young Master is merciful and generous — we will work with everything we have!"
"Young Master, you are our second parents. Please take care."
Behind him came the sounds of the group weeping with gratitude, along with the relentless thudding of foreheads striking green bricks.
Balancing kindness and authority — in any world, this was the ultimate method by which those in power controlled their subordinates. Among these, authority was the foundation. Under the weight of authority, even the smallest gesture of benevolence would be magnified ten million times.