The idea had crossed him before — back when he was in the middle of climbing the Mountain of Immortals in Penglai. But then he remembered that he hadn’t visited Jiangnan and all of its natural beauty; so down south he had gone and again had the thought resurfaced at this place. An unknown emotion surged up inside him. He bit into the dry and hard pie, trying his hardest to chew and swallow. Then he tilted his head side to side in contemplation; he was done travelling through Jiangnan, but there were still the three famous and five sacred mountains1 to see, stopping here would be a great pity.

Because of that, all thoughts about dying here were dropped.

All of a sudden, as if choked on his own saliva, the fisherman stopped swearing. He bent down, head inclined to a vague direction, unblinking.

Zhou Zishu was intrigued, so he stuck his head out from inside the boat’s deck to follow the old man’s gaze.

He saw him scrutinizing two people walking by the river bank — they were the good-looking man in gray and the pretty young lady in purple he met back at the tavern. The fisherman might be old but he was exceptionally perceptive, and when taking a closer look at him, one could see protruding temples2 under unruly hair; thick, strong hands and corded muscles. It was very clear there was more to him than met the eye.

The pair whom old man was watching was definitely not ordinary either, seeing that they made him this on guard.

The pretty girl was vivacious, but she would walk a few meters3 behind the man without fail, never once overstepping her boundary.

A glance was enough for Zhou Zishu to know that this girl was either a maid or a concubine; she might have a bit of a wicked streak with a beauty he greatly appreciated, but at the end she already belonged to someone else, so he stopped thinking too much about it and withdrew his gaze, turning his attention back to tackling the dry hard pie.

It was jianghu after all; ambiguity was one of its staples. If the royal court was a battleground for fame and power, jianghu was a battleground between white and black. Though some were unable to understand this, and took the title of a wandering hero too seriously even until they died.

But how would all this concern an incessantly ravenous homeless man like him anyway?

Zhou Zishu felt somewhat bored after the fisherman had stopped cursing, so he goaded, “Hey old man, this pie lacks a bit of flavor. I don’t mind whether it’s bad or fine salt, so you should’ve at least put some in.”

The other got furious again, “How are you still talking shit with that much food stuffed in your mouth? You greedy little shit, gonna starve you for three days, see how you will complain then…”