CHAPTER 13: BONDS BEYOND THE TAVERN

In the grand scheme of life, what is a bond? Is it a shared smile, a small gesture, or an unspoken understanding between two people? Perhaps it is all of these, bound by the threads of time and circumstance. My tavern, despite its humble beginnings, had started weaving such bonds, one thread at a time.

It had been days since the tavern opened, and while it wasn’t exactly bustling with customers, the villagers had started trickling in. The children had been my unexpected ambassadors, their chatter about my “delicious food” spreading through the village like wildfire. It wasn’t long before their parents—stall owners, vendors, and humble workers—began visiting, out of curiosity or simply to keep their kids company.

Old Man Chen, the fish vendor, was the first. “I hear the kids talk about your soup. Said it’s like nothing they’ve tasted,” he said one day, sitting at a corner table as I served him my herb soup. He slurped it loudly, nodded, and said, “Not bad. You might just make a name for yourself, young man.”

Then there was Auntie Lin, the dumpling vendor, who came to “judge my cooking.” Her words, not mine. She left with a satisfied nod and a promise to send more villagers my way.

The small connections were slowly growing, and I found myself enjoying the company of these simple, hardworking people.

One such connection was with Mr. Yan, the village teacher. He had visited the tavern a few times with his young son, Cheng, a bright-eyed boy who loved my spicy mountain stew. It was during one of these visits that Mr. Yan and I struck up a conversation about knowledge.

“The children these days,” he had sighed, “they lack discipline. It’s hard to get them to focus on their lessons.”

“Maybe they’re bored,” I had replied casually, not thinking much of it. “Kids learn best when they’re curious. Teach them through play, let them ask questions. Make them want to learn instead of forcing it on them.”

At the time, I hadn’t realized the weight of my words. To me, it was just an offhand remark, a philosophy I had picked up in my previous life. But for Mr. Yan, it was a revelation.

The next day, he had implemented the idea in his classroom. He later told me how the children, who had previously been restless and inattentive, suddenly became engaged and curious. They asked questions, explored ideas, and learned with enthusiasm.

“You’ve changed the way I teach,” he had said, his voice filled with gratitude. “You’ve helped me see the potential in these young minds.”

I had shrugged it off with a smile, but his words stayed with me.

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Today, I decided to visit Mr. Yan. Word had reached me that he was unwell, and while I wasn’t one to meddle in others’ affairs, I felt compelled to check on him. He had become a friend, and friends looked out for one another.

The village was bustling as I arrived at noon. The air was filled with the scent of freshly baked bread, sizzling skewers, and the chatter of vendors hawking their wares. Old Man Chen waved at me from his fish stall, a broad grin on his face.

“Li, come to buy some fish? Fresh catch today!”

“Maybe next time, Old Man Chen,” I replied with a laugh.

I made my way to Mr. Yan’s modest home, a simple wooden structure that stood near the edge of the village. As I approached, I overheard voices from inside.

“Mother, can we go to Mr. Li’s tavern today?” It was Cheng’s voice, eager and hopeful.

“Not today,” his mother replied gently. “Your father isn’t well, and we need to take care of him.”

“But why do you and Your Father like going there so much?”

“Because the food is delicious, and the place is… special,” he said with a chuckle. “And Mr. Li is a good man.”

Her words caught me off guard. A good man? That was a title I wasn’t sure I deserved.

I knocked on the door, and Cheng’s voice rang out excitedly, “It’s Mr. Li!”

Mrs. Yan opened the door, her face lighting up with surprise. “Mr. Li! What a pleasant surprise. Please, come in.”

“Thank you,” I said, stepping inside.

The house was simple and warm, with a small kitchen to one side and a modest bed where Mr. Yan lay, wrapped in blankets. He looked pale but smiled weakly when he saw me.

“Mr. Li,” he greeted me, his voice hoarse. “What brings you here?”

“I heard you were unwell,” I said, taking a seat by his bedside. “Thought I’d check on you. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? I’m honored,” he said, attempting to sit up.

“Stay put,” I told him firmly. “Rest is what you need.”

Cheng sat nearby, his eyes wide with admiration. “Mr. Li, did you bring any food?”

I chuckled. “Not today, Cheng. Maybe next time.”

As we talked, I couldn’t help but notice how frail Mr. Yan looked. Something stirred within me—a quiet sense of responsibility.

“Mr. Yan,” I said, “I’m no expert, but I know a thing or two about medicine. Would you mind if I took a look?”

His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded. “If it’s you, Mr. Li, I’m sure I’ll be cured in no time.”

I smiled at his faith in me, though I didn’t quite understand it. Carefully, I examined him, checking his pulse and observing his condition. My skills, honed from years of study and practice in another life, came naturally.

“It’s not too serious,” I said after a moment. “Just a case of exhaustion and mild fever. You’ll be fine with some rest and the right medicine.”

I glanced at Mrs. Yan. “Do you have any herbs here?”

She nodded and quickly fetched a small basket of dried herbs. Using these, I prepared a simple medicine, grinding and mixing the ingredients with practiced ease.

As I worked, I felt their eyes on me—wide with amazement.

“You’re… incredible,” Mrs. Yan murmured.

I laughed softly. “It’s just basic medicine. Nothing extraordinary.”

To them, though, it seemed like magic.

After giving Mr. Yan the medicine and leaving a prescription, I stood to leave.

“You’ll be back on your feet in no time,” I assured him. “And when you’re feeling better, come by the tavern. First bowl of stew is on the house.”

He smiled warmly. “Thank you, Mr. Li. You’ve done more for me than I can express.”

As I stepped out into the afternoon sun, I couldn’t help but reflect on the day. Life had a funny way of surprising you, weaving connections in the most unexpected ways.

Perhaps that was the true essence of a tavern—not just a place to eat, but a place where lives intertwined, one thread at a time.

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