Yao Yao had a house in Liuguang City.

It was the only property left to her by her father.

When Chen Fan asked about Yao Yao's father’s whereabouts, her face was full of stubbornness and indifference.

"He went up the mountain to cultivate immortality."

"Immortality?" Chen Fan was puzzled.

"Yes, Father wanted to live forever. When a group of immortals came to the city recruiting disciples, he left with them.

He didn’t even say goodbye to me.

It was only later that Aunt Wang from next door told me about it."

While saying this, there wasn’t the slightest trace of emotion on Yao Yao’s face, as if she were recounting something that had nothing to do with her.

Over the years of being abducted, besides learning to be sensible, she had also learned to bury her feelings deep within.

Chen Fan listened, nodding silently.

Immortality, immortality—if even worldly ties must be severed,

Chen Fan thought, then perhaps immortality wasn’t worth pursuing.

Drinking a little wine every day, living without worries—wasn’t that more enjoyable than seeking immortality?

And if the finances allowed, perhaps he could enjoy a few performances in a brothel.

Life wasn’t much more than that.

...

Having been away for a long time, the already dilapidated house was now covered in a thick layer of dust.

Stepping on it felt like entering a crime scene.

The two of them worked together for half a day to barely clean it to a livable state.

When they were nearly done, Yao Yao suddenly remembered.

She needed to say hello to the auntie next door, whom she hadn’t seen in a long time.

After informing Chen Fan, her small figure quickly rushed out the door.

Chen Fan looked around the house and found a small stool.

He carried it outside, leaned on his crutch, and reached for the suona at his waist.

Habitually, he pulled out his gourd and tilted it towards his mouth, but it was empty.

He had nearly forgotten that the gourd had been empty for a long time.

Back in Fenglai Town, though his gourd was often dry,

Miss Wen would always fill it with warm wine at critical moments, making it less of a concern.

But now...

Chen Fan sniffed the lingering scent of wine, replaced the stopper, and suddenly realized he needed to make money.

A penny could stump a hero, and Chen Fan had never felt such a strong urge to earn money.

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Fortunately, he had a skill to make a living.

At least with that skill, he wouldn’t starve.

Thinking of this, Chen Fan placed the suona to his lips and took a deep breath.

Immediately, a piercing sound of the suona rang out.

This time, however, Chen Fan didn’t play a majestic and complex tune like "Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix."

Instead, he played a light and cheerful children’s song.

After a while, Yao Yao returned.

Her expression was somewhat desolate, her head lowered in silence.

When Chen Fan asked why, he learned that the auntie next door had passed away more than a year ago.

When she was alive, she was the kindest person to Yao Yao.

Leftovers and uneaten food were always sent to Yao Yao.

To Yao Yao, she was like a mother.

Chen Fan’s tune shifted to The Great Funeral, melodious yet mournful.

...

The next morning, Chen Fan woke up early.

To his surprise, Yao Yao was up even earlier.

On the table were two bowls of porridge.

Every morning, the government would distribute porridge at the yamen, but the quantity was limited and given on a first-come, first-served basis.

Yao Yao had squeezed her way through the crowd to get it.

By the time she returned, the porridge had gone cold. She reheated it before serving it.

Drinking the watery, warm porridge, Chen Fan felt a twinge in his heart.

After finishing the porridge, he grabbed his small stool, picked up his suona, and hobbled out with his crutch.

...

Underneath the bridge.

Chen Fan sat on his stool, taking a deep breath and playing the suona.

Across from him was a fortune-telling "Half-Immortal."

As Chen Fan played, a voice asked:

"How much?"

"Five coins for joyous occasions, ten for funerals, an extra five if no meal is provided."

The words were at the tip of his tongue but didn’t come out.

Chen Fan had misunderstood; the customer was asking about the Half-Immortal’s fortune-telling price.

Without lifting his eyes, the Half-Immortal lazily replied in a lifeless tone:

"Five taels for fortune-telling, ten for resolving doubts, twenty for warding off disasters. No bargaining!"

Amazing! Chen Fan couldn’t help but exclaim inwardly.

At a conversion rate of ten coins per tael of silver, just warding off disasters would cost 200 coins.

That was enough for Chen Fan to handle ten funerals or enjoy a good meal at a restaurant.

Did city folks’ money come this easily?

To Chen Fan’s surprise, the person across from him hesitated not at all, pulling out twenty taels of silver.

"Master, please help me avoid harm and dispel calamities."

The so-called Half-Immortal accepted the silver, pulled out a crumpled charm, and handed it to the customer:

"Take this home, brew it in water, and all will be cured."

"Thank you, Master."

The customer, holding the charm, left joyfully.

By the end of the day, the Half-Immortal had earned at least a hundred taels of silver.

Meanwhile, Chen Fan hadn’t earned a single penny.

Yet the sight of the Half-Immortal raking in money made Chen Fan feel like earning money wasn’t all that difficult.

Though he made nothing today, tomorrow would surely be better.

With his skills and talent, how could he possibly starve?

One day, two days.

By the third day, Chen Fan had to admit—he really might starve to death with his craft.

It was the Half-Immortal who couldn’t hold back first.

During a lull in business, he approached Chen Fan.

"Hey, crippled brother, you won’t make any money here. You might even block my fortune. Want me to give you some advice?

Don’t worry, it’s free. I can tell you’re struggling—three days in, and you’ve already gotten thinner."

Though Chen Fan was barely holding it together, he nodded and waited for the Half-Immortal’s suggestion.

The Half-Immortal pinched his fingers together, speaking slowly:

"If you want to play the suona, go find a theater troupe in the city. There, they take all sorts of gigs—red, white, whatever. They pay decently too. If the price is right, they’ll even sing a funeral into a celebration."

That was when Chen Fan first learned that Liuguang City had theater troupes.

After a moment, he finally stood, folding up his stool.

"Thank you."

...

"Name?"

An old man with coarse reading glasses and graying hair sat at a table.

His brows furrowed, and his tone was interrogative.

This was the backbone of the troupe, the actor who played the lead villain. He had no real name, only a stage name: Hongyun.

"Chen Fan," Chen Fan answered truthfully.

"What can you do?"

"I can play the suona."

Hah~

Hongyun sneered at the response.

"Who can’t play the suona? I could sprinkle some grain on a suona, and even a chicken could play it."

"Goodbye."

Chen Fan stood, ready to leave.

He could tell this troupe was just a troupe—focused on making money. Whether they performed or played well didn’t matter.

Before he could take more than a couple of steps, Hongyun called out again:

"Wait. Coincidentally, there’s a funeral at Fukun Palace tomorrow. It’s a gig for immortals. Play well, and you can stay—fifty coins a month, plus tips."

Hearing this, Chen Fan picked up on the implication.

Playing for immortals yet only earning fifty coins a month? What a bargain.

Clearly, they intended to treat him as a workhorse.

Without hesitation, Chen Fan agreed.

Tomorrow, he would show Hongyun exactly what "you get what you pay for" really meant!