Future Masters in Modern Times

Chapter 32: The Tavern

Zhao Wuji and Sikov spent a full half hour winding their way through the alleys within a few blocks before finally reaching Andrew Street. Andrew Street wasn’t very long; from one end to the other, there were only a dozen or so shops, most of which were general stores or restaurants. Andrew Street was an old street; shops had been operating there since the 1950s and 1960s. Today, the young man who first opened a restaurant at the street’s entrance has long since grown old, and the street has expanded from a single shop back then to the dozen or so shops it has now. The shop owners know each other well, and there’s hardly any competition among them. Many years passed quietly in this way. Garcia’s tavern is located in the middle of Andrew Street. He took over the tavern from his father, who had run it together with his grandfather. Garcia’s tavern isn’t very large, and its patrons are mostly regulars from the neighborhood. The advantage of having regulars is that it’s easier to cater to their tastes, which makes running the business a bit simpler. The tavern mainly served hard liquor; people living in cold climates liked to have a drink now and then when they had nothing else to do. When Zhao Yiji found Garcia’s bar, Garcia was sitting at a table, drinking heartily with a regular customer. The sun was high in the sky, and the sunlight in the cold region was exceptionally bright. Standing outside the bar, Zhao Wuji saw a short man wearing a dirty gray sweater, beaming as he raised a bottle of liquor and downed it in big gulps. According to Sikov, this was Garcia. Garcia was thirty years old this year—not very old, but he looked prematurely aged, with a face full of wrinkles, drooping eye corners, and eyes that were slightly narrowed, as if he were asleep. Yet when it came to downing liquor, he didn’t hold back at all. When Sikov entered the bar and called out, Garcia seemed to snap awake. His narrowed eyes suddenly widened—though they remained small even when open—and for that split second, his gaze was filled with delight. “Sikov.” Garcia threw his arms wide, his face beaming with a radiant smile that, combined with his wrinkles, looked like a tiny, swaying chrysanthemum. “Garcia.” Sikov fished out his glasses, took a big stride forward, and gave Garcia a bear hug. “Come in, come in,” Garcia beckoned Sikov into the bar, casting a curious glance at Zhao Wuji at the same time. Garcia found a cloth, wiped down a table, and invited Sikov and Zhao Wuji to sit down. He then brought over two bottles of hard liquor and a glass of orange juice. That glass of orange juice was clearly meant for Zhao Wuji. The two old friends, who hadn’t seen each other in a long time, were both moved as they reminisced about the past. Now, one had taken over the family business and become a tavern owner, while the other had become a professional bodyguard. Watching the two catch up, Zhao Wuji picked up a straw, stirred the orange juice a few times, took a few sips, furrowed his brow slightly, and then set the glass down. The two talked for a long time, as if they’d completely forgotten about Zhao Wuji. It was clear that neither of them was very well-versed in social etiquette—even when old friends reunite, surely they wouldn’t just leave a living, breathing person sitting there all alone like that! Zhao Wuji didn’t make a big deal out of it, but it was Garcia who brought up Zhao Wuji first. “So this must be the friend you were talking about!” Garcia glanced at the orange juice in Zhao Wuji’s glass, which had barely been touched. “What’s the matter? Don’t like it? I’ll get you a glass of milk instead.” Garcia smiled. “No, thanks. If possible, I’d just like the same as you guys.” Zhao Wuji pointed at their drinks, but he saw a flash of skepticism and mockery in Garcia’s eyes. “Are you sure? It packs quite a punch.” The skepticism in Garcia’s tone was unmistakable. Since Zhao Wuji was a friend brought by Sikov, Garcia naturally didn’t want him to make a fool of himself, so he offered a word of warning. “Garcia, just serve him some—bring a few more bottles,” Sikov said with a laugh. Garcia shrugged, muttering under his breath. Zhao Wuji had keen hearing and could faintly make out him saying something about “showing off.” Zhao Wuji couldn’t help but chuckle—he really was a man who didn’t hold back at all! “Don’t mind him, Zhao,” Sikov explained. “Garcia’s always been like this—that’s just his personality. He’s always so reckless.” Zhao Wuji smiled but said nothing. A moment later, Garcia arrived. He brought some liquor. However, the liquor was actually in a pot-bellied bottle—one that held as much as five or six ordinary bottles. Garcia looked sulky and shot Zhao Wuji a deliberate glance—what a stubborn man. “Have a drink.” He slammed the bulbous bottle down on the table. Clearly, given Garcia’s temperament, he’d long since decided that Zhao Wuji was just showing off, so he treated Zhao Wuji as a hypocrite and held a very poor opinion of him. “Do you have any glasses? Nothing too big,” Zhao Wuji asked Garcia. “Just as I thought,” a flash of disdain crossed Garcia’s eyes. “He’s given himself away. I knew he was just bluffing.” His opinion of Zhao Wuji grew even worse. Little did he know that Zhao Wuji had asked for a small glass precisely because he feared Garcia might not have any large ones at all. A glass was brought over—a plain, small wine glass. Zhao Wuji opened the bottle, poured himself a glass, and downed it in one gulp. “Not bad,” Zhao Wuji nodded. Garcia grew even more annoyed. “What’s he playing at? We’ll see if he can still smile later.” The second glass—downed in one gulp. The third glass—downed in one gulp. The fourth, the fifth… It wasn’t until Zhao Wuji had finished all the liquor that he set the glass down. “Sikov, this wine is good—much better than what we had on the plane.” After finishing all the wine, Zhao Wuji, his expression unchanged, smiled at Sikov. “Uh.” Garcia cleared his throat, still unable to believe it. He picked up the bulging wine bottle and examined it from every angle, only to finally admit that Zhao Wuji had indeed drained the entire bottle—all by himself. Garcia, looking like a little old man, uttered a few words of admiration, and his gaze toward Zhao Wuji now held a touch of respect. “Sikov, your friend…” Garcia suddenly gave him a thumbs-up. Sikov gave an awkward smile, thinking to himself, “If you knew his true nature, you wouldn’t be so relaxed.” After this incident, Garcia’s attitude toward Zhao Wuji improved considerably; he even brought out his prized caviar for everyone to sample. Time flew by, and the afternoon passed in a flash. As the sky gradually darkened, the tavern actually began to fill up—it was the time of day when the regulars gathered. Garcia was swamped with work and had no time left to keep Zhao Wuji and the others company, so Zhao Wuji and Sikov went up to their room to rest first. There were several guest rooms on the second floor of the tavern. Zhao Wuji and Sikov each took a room and went inside to rest. The rooms were wooden, exuding the distinctive scent of timber, with murals in the style of Siberia hanging on the walls. The curtains on the windowsill were left open, revealing the pitch-black sky outside. The night sky in Siberia had an ethereal, boundless quality. The entire expanse of the sky, connecting heaven and earth, seemed to be the whole world. Just as Zhao Wuji was about to draw the curtains, he suddenly froze. A beam of light appeared in the pitch-black sky. The light was as brilliant as paint diffusing in water; in the blink of an eye, it dyed the ink-black sky and spread outward. A sudden aurora appeared in the night sky—and in Zhao Wuji’s heart—so dazzling. He felt somewhat dazed. In his past life, Zhao Wuji had seen nebulae in the cosmos that were countless times more beautiful than this, yet none of them had ever evoked the feeling he was experiencing now. This was Earth, the cradle of humanity. Even though Zhao Wuji had every reason to look down on everything else, when faced with Earth, he still felt incredibly small. This stemmed from a sense of awe toward the source of his bloodline and from the deep-seated sense of belonging inherent in humanity. “Good night, Zhao Wuji,” Zhao Wuji said to himself. Right now, he was just an ordinary Earthling… He slept soundly through the night. The next morning, Zhao Wuji got up early, stepped onto the wooden staircase, and walked downstairs. Downstairs, the place was a mess, and the smell of alcohol was overwhelming. Garcia was picking up trash off the floor. When he saw Zhao Wuji come downstairs, he greeted him with a cheerful smile. “Zhao, breakfast is on the table—fresh-baked toast that’s still warm. It tastes great; my daughter baked it. You should try some!” Garcia’s daughter attended a boarding school; she had rushed home from school only after Zhao Wuji and the others had gone upstairs to bed the night before. Having lost her mother, the young girl was quite capable on her own. Every time she returned from school, she would help Garcia with the various chores at the tavern. “Thanks.” Zhao Wuji pulled out a chair himself and sat down at the table, where steaming-hot bread lay. The bread was crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. As Zhao Wuji tore off a piece, an even richer aroma wafted out, a sweet fragrance filling the air. Next to the bread was a cup of warm milk. Zhao Wuji washed down his meal with the milk and finished this hearty breakfast. A rush of hurried footsteps echoed through the room, and a little girl dashed into the tavern. She had a very simple, unassuming appearance—a face still slightly chubby from infancy, with a healthy flush on her cheeks. A few freckles dotted the tip of her nose, giving her an endearing and approachable look. “Daddy, where are you? They’re here again.” Garcia was just tucking a few wine bottles into a basket when he heard this and was startled. “Vanessa, go upstairs. This is Zhao Wuji—a guest of mine. Take him upstairs to hide.” Garcia hurriedly introduced Zhao Wuji, then untied the cloth wrapped around his waist and walked toward the tavern entrance. “Zhao, I’m Vanessa. Come with me upstairs! Those guys are trouble.” Vanessa tugged at Zhao Wuji’s sleeve and hurried toward the stairs. Zhao Wuji wanted to ask a question but didn’t get the chance, so he followed Vanessa upstairs. Once upstairs, Vanessa took a few deep breaths and peered out from the window to survey the situation. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” Zhao Wuji asked. “Jacks is here. He wants my dad to sell him the shop, but my dad refused. This is already his third visit, and he’s brought quite a few people with him.” A look of worry flashed across Vanessa’s eyes. “Do you want me to help?” Zhao Wuji asked. In his eyes, this was nothing more than a minor issue. “You?” Vanessa shook her head repeatedly, her eyes filled with disbelief. Deep down, she believed that if Zhao Wuji went downstairs, he’d likely end up getting beaten up. “It’s never a good idea to show off,” Vanessa muttered. The tavern was bustling with noise when a young man walked in, accompanied by seven or eight rough-looking thugs. Garcia stood nearby, bowing repeatedly in an attempt to curry favor. “That’s Jacks—he’s a merchant,” Vanessa whispered, pointing at the young man. Jacks walked into the tavern, glanced around, and said, “Hey, Garcia, business isn’t great here today, is it?” That was a given—who would come to a tavern for a drink this early in the morning? “It’s not too bad,” was all Garcia could say. Jacks then plastered a phony smile on his face, slung his arm around Garcia’s shoulder, chuckled twice, and said, “Brother Garcia, we’re old friends. Seeing your tavern doing so poorly, how could I just stand by and do nothing?” Jacks continued spouting his sickening nonsense. Garcia looked displeased but just listened as Jacks kept talking. “So, what do you think? Have you made up your mind? If you agree, just sign this contract.” Jacks slammed the contract down on the table with a thud and stared at Garcia.