Those who have left Tian Chuang actually still had their every move monitored; information about who they were, when they left or where they died all recorded in details. The organization was like a giant spider web, from which escape was futile until you drew the last breath.

Fortunately for him, after a life of sacrifice he had gathered quite a few loyal ones.

Zhou Zishu, trained by the Emperor to be a master of all trades for the position of Tian Chuang’s leader, was highly skilled in martial arts and disguise; it was impossible to recognize him the moment he joined a crowd.

And so the once most frightening individual in the palace vanished; in his place a free-spirited, miserable-looking wanderer riding a thin horse, gnawing a straw in his mouth while humming folk songs.

He became the first to actually get away from the network just like that.

On his face was a not quite refined mask painted with sickly-colored blotches, so that at first glance he looked like someone on the brink of death. After checking himself out while drinking water from the river bank, he felt this appearance suited his situation all too well, and the more he looked at the disguise the more satisfied he was with it. He conveniently stole a plain set of clothes from a farmer’s house by the road, his robes removed and burned, an old flask tied around his waist, half-full with unfiltered rice wine.

Zhou Zishu — after realizing that his name was never once used during all those years perpetually hidden in the dark corners of the palace — gleefully discarded any plans of using an alias and marched on his journey right away.

He also didn’t mind what his destination would be. Jiangnan seemed like a good place, so he decided to travel there, maybe do some robbery along the way to help the poor and to simply scrape by. He passed by Kaifeng and Penglai, and after a leisurely three months, finally seeing the colorful scenery of Jiangnan for himself.

He snuck in the most famous tavern’s wine cellar right way, trying all the sweet cassia wine and drowning himself in a drunken stupor. He felt elated and floaty, like there was no greater joy in life than this.

Ten days later, after almost getting caught, he came to the conclusion that while the wine was good, its taste had become stale and a bit uninteresting; so he left the place with some silver crumbs1 behind.

After those ten days he looked even worse, his appearance wretched and face evidently ill. The emaciation, the wine-reeking clothes and the untamed bird’s nest hair completed his beggar look.

Which was why when he was sitting by the roadside sunbathing, a young chubby girl skipped her way around him, holding a copper coin in her palm but not knowing where to drop it in. After brief inspection, she asked, “Hey uncle2, where’s your bowl?”