Aventer Kvihan leaned forward, swallowed, closed his eyes and then opened them, cheering himself up again in his heart, encouraging himself to wave the knife in his hand and cut the pork on the chopping board out of the right weight, as he had done countless times before.
But this time, he was unable to confirm the suitable position of the knife, always feel that the meat cut out of a knife is heavy or light.
Light, afraid of the opposite childe angry, heavy, also afraid -- if the other party think is a kind of insult? What should he do?
Aventer Kvihan, a butcher of pork, was tall, strong and hairy, fat but not greasy, like the animals he butchered(but more wild), in keeping with the bazaar(See note 1), which was paved with loess and kept clean by all efforts. They are equally crude and unpretentious, but as minimally decent and uncluttered as possible. He looked and thought so different from the childes that they were hardly of the same species -- nay, certainly not of the same species.
If the vegetable vendor gave Aventer more than he needed to buy, he would thank him on the spot -- sincerely -- and take it home for his sister to add to the bone soup for the night.
But what about childes choices in the same situation?
What is the choice of the superior childes, dressed in satins, fed on delicacies, full of knowledge and ethics?
Will they take this kindness as an insult? Don't know.
They thought in ways that Aventer could not imagine or know. Just as he could not imagine that today there would be a "Childe" condescend to come and buy the pork he sold.
The childe was standing in front of the stall, staring at Aventer with great interest, as seriously as Aventer staring at meat. The childe was a young man in brown robes, over seven and a half ruler(See note 2) tall, not dwarfed even by Aventer. He was about twenty years of age, handsome and handsome, with a warm and kind smile on his face from the moment he appeared.
This guy is one of those people who you like the moment you meet him, who you truly believe is competent and reliable.
The nobleman, who seemed to come from a legend, had just strolled down the unspacious dirt road in the middle of the bazaar. Behind him were the silent retinues, and in front of him were the silent customers and merchants astonished by the arrival of the nobleman. He seemed to be the dividing line between the two worlds. As he went, the world moved like a river.
All the civilians who were silent because of his arrival were trapped in their own brains of those more unreasonable than the legend of fantasy, guess what Childe would do next and the reason for coming. Great and dark reasons brew in their minds. But Childe just walked to Aventer's meat stall and asked to buy five ax(See note 3) of meat. Driven by the shock of childe's words, Aventer, who took out the pork and prepared to cut it, even had no time to look at the man's expression, but could only glance at the childe's cloth when he bowed his head.
The clothes worn by the childe were no different in color from those of the common people. But the soft, light and delicate, like water, like wind, but also give a strange metal feeling of clothing Aventer had never seen. None of the noblemen's servants who came to sell meat at his stall -- the closest men he had ever seen to nobility -- wore the cloth.
No, damnation, this was a true childe, no matter whether he was a dominant-house(See note 4) or a continued-clan(See note 5), or even a son of a high official or a true noble, who should not be compared with a servant. Aventer feared the blasphemy that flashed through his mind.
And this one must be one of the highest, even among them.
It's obvious. Behind him, in addition to a dozen retinues and a few horses led, were four equally well-dressed teenagers. There was not one of these aristocratic boys who did not express the least dislike for the slightly corrupt air of the place, for its cluttered surroundings, for ordinary merchants and customers in burlap clothes with rough faces and hands, for all of this. But even so, they all followed behind the leader of the childes, treading the occasionally polluted land with the sole of their shoes, which was many times more expensive than the whole outfit of most merchants here, were silent about this alien surroundings, and about the timid glances that occasionally stole from ordinary people. They dared not look directly at the childes, but still couldn't let go of their curiosity.
So why are they here? It was a little easier to answer the question: they were probably the son who followed the leader, the only one of the aristocratic boys who was calm and purposeful, and who was waiting for the meat.
Admittedly, this is nonsense to some extent. But all this nonsense is telling enough. Such as the position of follower and leader, such as the particularity of the childe, and his ever more mysterious mystery and ever more obvious noble impossibility. So the idea of comparing him with a servant in Aventer’s head was therefore all the more offensive.
In short, butcher's brow began to sweat from the dangerous and repulsive thought he had just had. Oh, sweat, its oily like oil, but appearance like drops of dew on the grass tips of the morning. It represents filth and is unpleasant in both smell and taste.
Its headstream is butcher's sweat gland, falling point no more than is the ground, apron, chopping board or one of the pork on chopping board. Except for the last spot, it did not matter where it fell, and if it did fall on the meat, it did not matter in ordinary days. Usually the customers who came to Aventer’s butcher shop were ordinary merchants and ordinary residents like himself. They are happy to have a mouthful of pork, they don’t know what is critical, they are not sentimental, like the withered weeds that occasionally emerge from the loess ground of the bazaar where people pedal over it many times a day. They are lowly and tenacious. How do they have the leisure to pay attention to the twists and turns of a piece of meat on its long journey from a pig to a human stomach? Even if the meat's journey ends in their stomachs, it would not matter much too.
Since the meat is not diseased or rotten, all this is not worth bothering about. If it is stained with any dust or sweat, just wash it with water. It is not worth caring about and there is no need to argue about it.
Even those who are willing to pick a matter of blackmail ruffians, generally do not choose to use such a "hypocritical" topic. How much more dare to a high nearly nine ruler high strong man provocation of the ruffians, Aventer Kvihan has not met in this Superundar city.
Aventer has never been bad at a certain point, always honest, dutiful, hard-working, trustworthy and sincere, do not do beyond the rules, do not bully others. But that doesn’t mean the young man, who has a physical advantage over most, is a suitable target for bullying. In fact, if anyone dared to stir up trouble in his neighborhood, he, Aventer Kvihan, would rise up and seize the provocateur by the wrist with his hand like a piece of broken rock, to extinguish the bad things that are about to happen.
It gave him the prestige that seemed undeserved to a butcher not yet thirty. Even if the prestige is confined to a few neighborhoods in Superundar city, where merchants, residents and annoying ruffians are the only ones to accept it, it is real and meaningful. But it is also real and meaningful. For Aventer, at least, that prestige gives him a confidence that is precarious but not ethereal.
This confidence enabled him to take most things with equanimity and calmness on weekdays. Before, he had thought this confidence, though unworthy to speak of, to be true, valuable, and undeniable. And now, this confidence, and the confidence of this confidence, all down the sweat flowing out--the poor confidence was melted by the presence of the childe. And the guy didn't even do anything.
No, maybe it's because he didn't do anything extra. Childe's face was white and smooth as the so-called jade. His facial features and standing posture could be said to be regular, and his clothes were not particularly colorful. His face though handsome, it doesn't make people feel harsh. It was a kind of beauty that was gentle and not aggressive. If he passed him in a crowd, Aventer might not even notice him because of his appearance. But if you look at him closely, it's hard to take your eyes off him. Even the difference between his face and that of the more or less crude civilian of Superundar city, haunted by the sun and the dust, who toiled all day long. He could also blend in perfectly without any entourage, with the hustle and bustle of the crowd.
> Blend with the Light, Walk with the Dust.
Aventer could not help thinking of this sentence.
As a teenager, he was as keen as any ambitious Galaxium young man to listen to the public lectures of emcericians(See note 6), including retired officials. This line, which seemed to come from a bibliography other than the Five Scriptures(See note 7), left a deep impression on the young Aventer.
At that time, Aventer was just a butcher's boy who could only help his father. He had a short perspective, a rigid and chaotic understanding of the world, and a reverence for the guidance of authority but could not get rid of the shackles of experience. He could not imagine the object of those words -- the noble people who were willing to curb their brilliance, to walk among ordinary people, not to mind smoke and dust clung to the hem of the garment.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Now, the person who fits the description in the book appears in front of him, is the dream so absurd?
What are the sentences in the book? They are the shapes of words, the rules that bind everything in the world but do not manifest themselves in the world, the nobler of all the products of thought. In Aventer's narrow perception, the words in the book conveyed by emcericians can even be interpreted as the translation of the will of Vast Sky(See note 7).
Now he had someone who fit the description in the books, and who fulfilled the fantasy of aristocrats in the civilians. How could this incomprehensible anomaly not make you nervous?
His forehead sweated, his back sweated, his palms sweated, his hairy chest sweated, his whole body sweated as if his purtenances were sweating. The liquid, salty like bone soup and associated with living tissue, was slowly boiling in the cool early spring temperatures, ready to overflow. Aventer began to hate himself last night why to drink the bowl of bone soup, began to hate their love of pork and it.
If I hadn't eaten the bone soup last night, wouldn't I be sweating so much today? Would I not have made a gaffe like that?
If I had not gone out today, if I had not made this business, if I had never been born into this family, maybe, maybe......
"What's wrong?"
Questions rang out.
The question was very quiet. Was it just a voice?
Aventer dazed, hard to suppress the rise, see is a little doubt and helpless childe and retinues. Even those neighbors who dare not approach or look directly at the place, but only dare to glance at it, are puzzled.
How long had he been in a daze? The incomprehension threatened to brew into contempt.
Surrounded by those hidden meanings in sight that might become contempt, Aventer felt his waist was bent low by something. He felt his body shrink until his shoulders were bent, his muscles weathered, his fat dissolved, his bones crushed, and he seemed to be a handful of sand in the wind in this vast, indifferent world.
After the death of the father who often beat and abused his own son, but would cram pork into his bowl at dinner every night, Aventer felt "small and helpless" once again.
The only thing worse than being small is feeling insignificant.
"Are you nervous? What are you afraid of?"
In this constant pressure of fear gradually seems to be crushed Aventer suddenly noticed a lighter, more ethereal than the previous sentence, but does not make people feel unreal words.
What is that, question? Comfort? Encourage? Or call?
"So, swing the knife."
Whatever the meaning of the words, Aventer's body had already been driven by the command before he thought about it.
Be driven? No, it would be more appropriate to say his body was liberated.
The words freed Aventer's body from the rigid prison of consciousness construction. The knife obeyed the instinct that flowed through his arm, as he had done so many times before. Smooth as a leaf gently disturbed by the wind.
Chop, then cut, like a waterfall after falling into a river. The whole process takes no more than a few breaths.
It's that simple. Is it difficult to take a knife and cut part of something dead from its whole body? Never, just the ridiculous illusion of magnifying everything in the world created by the knife-wielding man's own concerns get in the way of action.
By the time Aventer's reaction caught up with his own movements, he had already begun wrapping the meat in dried lotus leaves. Traditionally, only meat chopped into stuffing at the stall would get this treatment; the rest would be taken used hand. Those customers don't care if the sweat from their day's work stains their precious meat. Today, it is the childe to bring Aventer's fear is too deep, even if follow the usual instinct action, subconscious caution also make him more secure attitude towards the body was cut down.
Slight cold sweat gladdens again, The butcher has a little bit glad, lost his ignorance directly to the greasy meat to childe, dirty that man's hand.
The only task left was deciding whether to pass the meat to Childe or one of his retinues. Fortunately, butcher didn't have to worry this time. Before his doubts could take shape and those retinues could take action, childe took the bundle of lotus leaves tied with twine from his hands and nodded:
"The portion is sufficient and the shopkeeper is honest."
"Thank you for your work."
Hearing these two sentences, Aventer finally understood: who gave the "inquiry" and "instruction" that were so light that he could not even grasp them in his memory.
Can Aventer clearly remember, the previous opening, agreed on the weight and type of meat, is not childe he? Why didn't I remember his voice then? Why not at the moment of hearing the ethereal sound? How long has this been? Has my brain melted away, or eaten away by something?
No, no, did childe just declare the type of meat his want to buy?
Did he give any orders about which entry should be a leg or a chop?
Aventer fell into a deeper muddle, he lost trust in his memory, from stupidity into sensitivity and paranoia.
"What's your name, shopkeeper?" Before his brain could create more terror, the childe, who had weighed the meat twice, looked up at him and asked in his usual gentle warm words.
"Ave-Aventer! My name is Aventer Kvihan! WORTHY CHILDE." This unthinking speech is the relaxation in drudgery. So much so that butcher can't control himself, even pronouncing a little louder.
"Well, what about your tutelar name(See note 9)? You don't look old, but seem mature enough, about the same as me. should have a tutelar name. It would be weird if you didn't have it. "
Childe's words were calm and consistent, but those who could understand their meaning were stunned.
What is the tutelar name?
It was a culture that existed in the life of the people of the Central Plains, the dominant ethnic group of the Galaxium Empire, inherited from the early period of the Densus Federation a thousand years ago.
When the men of the Central Plains came of age and the women of the Central Plains made a marriage contract, they were given a new name by their teachers or family elders.
A name to honor virtues, a name to carry visions.
And so the young men who were newly young carried the name -- tutelar name -- into civilization. They address each other by their tutelar name, form friendships and build relationships. They used it as a coat, a suit of armor, to protect their real name.
In the cultural system of the Galaxium Empire, the dignitaries, the high ones, the elders, the teachers, these people are qualified to directly address the civilians, the low ones, the junior or the student by real name. Then, then, to call someone by his or her real name is to treat him or her as something less than oneself.
If on the other hand, a higher person is willing to ask, is willing to address a lower person by his "tutelar name" is willing to respect this gorgeous dress. That means --
He believes that you are entitled to some level of equal treatment.
A childe,treat a butcher.
Are those legends of "Lower Oneself to Associate" actually real?
But Aventer did not think of these.
All he could capture were words:
"About the same as ME."
What is Aventer Kvihan made of?
It was thick and long bones, heavy and ferocious muscle, rough and wrinkled skin, more and unruly hairs. Probably because he had more opportunities to eat pork than other civilians, some images of pigs, the posture of bones and muscles and skin and hair, also appeared on his body.
In short, it was the appearance of a middle-aged butcher in his late forties. It's the look of a man who's spent half his life butchering and smeared in sticky blood and sweat.
But he's really not thirty. He's twenty-eight. He was not more than a few years older than the childe who was like the mixture of light and water before him.
What had caused him to age so early?
Was it the hard work of supporting his stepmother, stepbrother and two sisters after his father died? He had never sought an answer to that question, nor did he see anything wrong in quietly selling pork and his time amid the tumult of the bazaar. He had long since accepted this responsibility, recognized the duty that fate had given him. So there is no value in speculating about it. There is no terrors and tears of futility as he suddenly look back and find ourselves exhausted.
He didn't question it, but even then he had to be shocked and wonder about another question:
How did Childe see that?
Incredible, incredible.
A deranged sense of constraint tormented Aventer's viscera, but he chose to ignore it. Dwelling on that is not what he should be doing right now.
That would be rude.
This is not rude to a aristocratic childe, but to one who likes to think of himself as an equal.
He spent some time debating whether wiping his hands was a sign of disrespect or propriety, and then realized that he didn't have the intellectual brain or knowledge to figure it out. But is there really a rational answer to this?
He removed the coarse cloth from his shoulders that slightly perspired but still dry and clean on the outside, wiped his face and hands as fast and as hard as he could, and laid the sweaty cloth over his shoulders again. If he finished the above action a second later, it is inevitable that some people think he is deliberately neglecting. After all this, he straightened up and looked his childe straight in the eye:
"Continuous Climber, my tutelar name is Continuous Climber, this year twenty-eight years old, as you see."
These words consumed almost all of Aventer's spirit and strength. So much so that he's in a subtle trance for the rest of the day. After Childe nodded and left, taking his followers to the depths of the market or outside, He Jin even had no power to respond to his neighbors' questions with "I don't know".
No one dared to press him. The pig butcher, who is in a dazed state and has no idea why he is visited by the nobleman, is full of inconceivable and becomes more mysterious and terrifying in their eyes. After weighing and discussing, the merchants sent someone to find Aventer's younger brother who was buying pigs, and asked him to take his brother home.
With the help of his brother Progenes Kvihan, barely recovered some of the mind Aventer closed up and went home. Only then did he discover that childe's money was far higher than the price of five ax of meat. Out of inexplicable fear, he let his younger brother in the name of childe's benefaction will booth did not sell the meat to the neighbors and customers. Even though he wished more than anyone else to return the extra money to childe, and he was sure that he would return the money when the childe or his retinues remembered that he had come.
Anyway, he went home and spent the afternoon surrounded by his family's doubts. He thought so hard about what had happened that he had no idea. He and everyone else thought it was the beginning of a great change, good or bad, for sure, in his life. But they don't know that the real start much earlier. Today is really a key node, but childe's buying meat is just a wisp of noise, but not the real key.
That night, the several messengers from the imperial capital ConfluentemAna galloped into the city on horseback, carrying the seals and instructions of the real "superior" in the imperial palace to the home of Kvihan. Aventer Kvihan had just learned something about what had happened to him and what was about to happen. It took him years to fully understand what had happened.
And at this time he was only thinking about a problem: when the childe left whether to reply to his name?
Aventer had no memory of it, and the neighbors seemed to remember childe leaving after he got the answer. But somehow, there was a message in butcher head with no image to match it.
It was a voice. It was placid, ethereal, elusive, dreamy, and its syllables formed a passage like speech:
"My name is Successor Roubavior, and my tutelar name is Original Inheritor."
"Remember it."
And then nothing.