Volume One: The Lonely Closed Beta Chapter Nine: The Path of the Charlatan, Forced by the Adorable Uncle Meng

In the grand hall, Teng Yan stepped forward as soon as she saw Lin Zhen and his companion enter. Her delicate hands rested to her left, legs together and knees slightly bent, her head lowered in a respectful bow.

“Yan greets Uncle Lin,” she said, her voice melodious and gentle.

“Haha, Miss Yan, please rise—no need for such formality!” Lin Zhen responded with clear delight.

Teng Yan straightened and moved before Lin Feng, offering him a similar bow. “Brother Feng!”

She kept her head bowed, waiting for his reply, but when none came, she glanced up and found Lin Feng watching her intently. The memory of yesterday flashed in her mind, and her cheeks flushed with sudden shyness as she lowered her head again.

Such a gentle, graceful beauty bowing before him—Lin Feng could not help recalling the days when he’d been “enslaved” by the willful princess. Back then, he would have been grateful to escape with one less bruise, let alone be treated with such deference.

As he gazed at her blushing, radiant face and lips red as cinnabar, Lin Feng felt an involuntary dryness in his throat and had to swallow to moisten it.

Lin Zhen caught the whole scene, amusement flickering in his eyes. This boy—could he be lovestruck?

With a hearty laugh, Lin Zhen stepped forward. “Come now, we’re all family here, no need for such ceremony. Feng, aren’t you going to help her up?”

“Oh, right... Sister, please, rise!” Lin Feng said, moving to help Teng Yan to her feet.

“Thank you, brother,” she murmured, her face growing even redder, all thanks to Lin Zhen’s words about “family.”

Lin Feng took his seat at the table, eager to dispel the awkwardness that lingered. Noticing the absence of Zhang Meng and the others, he asked, “Have Uncle Meng and the rest not yet returned?”

“They’re not back yet,” replied a middle-aged man standing beside Lin Zhen—Lin Feng’s fourth uncle, Lin De.

“That brother of mine—no doubt Lin Qing can’t keep him in check, and he’s out drinking and making trouble again!” Lin Zhen said in exasperation.

“Second brother, second brother, you’re talking behind my back again... saying bad things about old Zhang.”

A booming voice came from outside. Lin Feng looked toward the doorway to see a burly man, red-faced and disheveled, being supported by two servants, glaring furiously at Lin Zhen.

Who else could it be but Zhang Meng?

Lin Zhen turned and, upon seeing Zhang Meng’s state, scolded him, “Did I say anything wrong? What did I tell you before you left, and how have you honored my instructions?”

“Sec... second brother, whatever you said, old Zhang remembers. My word always counts...” Zhang Meng shrugged off his two attendants and stumbled toward Lin Zhen, bracing his hands on the man’s shoulders. “But... this time, it wasn’t my fault, haha!”

“Brother, this time I had a reason. Isn’t that right, Brother Han?” Zhang Meng looked over at the large man standing beside Lin Qing.

“That’s true. I hope Second Brother Lin won’t blame Brother Zhang Meng,” the man said, cupping his hands in respect to Lin Zhen.

Lin Zhen removed Zhang Meng’s hands and helped him into a chair, returning the greeting. “And you, brother, what is your name?”

“I am Han Dang. Greetings to you all!” The man saluted the company.

“No need for so much formality, Brother Han. If anything, it’s my foolish brother’s recklessness that’s to blame, and I hope you won’t hold it against us. Come, let’s go inside and talk more.”

Lin Zhen noted the man’s bright eyes, powerful build, and especially the thick mustache that made him stand out. His arms, bulging with muscle as he saluted, spoke of a seasoned fighter. The scent of strong wine on him was unmistakable—anyone who could keep up with Zhang Meng in drinking had to be a man of great spirit.

Now, when reliable men were in short supply, Lin Zhen was eager to make the guest feel at home. With a few quick steps, he took Han Dang by the arm and led him inside.

—

“Ha! Brother Zhang is a man of true character! I, Han, have great respect for him,” Han Dang declared.

“Han Dang... Han Yigong? Could it be him?” Lin Feng, standing aside, mused under his breath.

Hearing this, Han Dang turned to him. “And who is this young man? Do you know me?”

Lin Feng was startled by the man’s keen hearing—his voice had been nearly inaudible. He cupped his hands and replied, “I am Lin Feng. May I ask—”

But Han Dang cut him off, dropping to one knee before he finished. “So you are the son of Lord Lin, my benefactor! Please accept my bow!”

Lin Feng reacted swiftly, grabbing the man’s hands, but Han Dang’s kneeling force was so great that Lin Feng was half pulled down himself, his left knee thudding painfully against the floor.

He thought bitterly, “Why do these ancients kneel at the drop of a hat—and with such force? Are their knees made of iron?”

But Lin Feng had his reasons. If this really was Han Yigong, he was meeting a famous general from the Three Kingdoms for the first time since arriving in the late Han. How could he not be excited? Since fate had brought such a man to him, how could he let the opportunity slip by?

He hesitated over what to call Han Dang. “Brother” seemed too familiar, as Han Dang was already on fraternal terms with his uncles. “Uncle” felt awkward, but—

“Well, awkward or not, it’s worth it to win such a figure over,” he reassured himself.

“Uncle Han, please, this is too much! You’ll overwhelm me—let’s rise and talk.”

It took all of Lin Feng’s strength to pull the man up, a testament to Han Dang’s sincerity and size.

The others looked on in confusion, unsure what to make of Han Dang’s sudden obeisance.

“In my youth, I bought a fine steed from the Xianbei, but on the way back, was set upon by horse thieves. Though I slew many and drove off the rest, I was felled by a hidden arrow and would have died but for Lord Lin’s timely rescue. Had he not intervened, I’d have perished in the wilds. Now, meeting his son, I must pay my respects.” Han Dang cupped his hands to Lin Feng once more. “At the time, I was still young and hadn’t yet chosen a courtesy name, so your father would not have known me by it. But how did you recognize me?”

Lin Feng was now certain—this man was indeed Han Dang of the Three Kingdoms. But how could he answer that question? He couldn’t very well say he was from two thousand years in the future and knew not only his courtesy name, but even those of his sons and grandsons!

“You two aren’t done yet? If you don’t sit soon, I’ll drink all the wine myself!” Zhang Meng’s bellow gave Lin Feng a much-needed reprieve.

Lin Feng was deeply grateful. The first impression was critical—if he failed to answer or answered poorly, he might seem insincere or untrustworthy, and any hope of winning Han Dang over could be lost.

At that moment, Uncle Meng seemed the most lovable man alive—not only had he brought Han Dang in on a drinking contest, but had unwittingly rescued Lin Feng from an awkward spot.

“Yes, let’s sit and talk over wine!” Lin Zhen, sensing Lin Feng’s predicament, quickly echoed, drawing Han Dang to the table as if nothing unusual had happened.

Han Dang, being a man of straightforward character, noticed none of these subtle exchanges.

Once everyone was seated and the maids came to pour the wine, Lin Feng gave Lin Zhen a look, begging him to handle Han Dang’s question. Lin Zhen understood, rose, and lifted his cup.

“My friends, today brings not one, but two great joys to the Lin family. Does anyone know what they are?”

Lin Feng watched, wondering how Lin Zhen would steer the conversation. The others looked on, equally curious.

“Second brother, as long as there’s wine, that’s joy enough for me. Does that count?” Zhang Meng interjected.

Lin Zhen gave him a withering look. “Zhang ‘one-track mind,’ can’t you think of anything besides wine?”

—

“I speak the truth, second brother—why always pick on me?” Zhang Meng muttered, slumping over the table, prompting laughter all around.

“Uncle, don’t keep us in suspense—tell us!” Lin Qing urged.

Lin Zhen raised his cup and said, “As Confucius said, ‘Is it not a joy to have friends come from afar?’ Brother Han Dang’s arrival has brought honor to our humble home—is that not a great joy?”

“Indeed! Come, Brother Han, let’s drink to that!” Zhang Meng stood, drained his cup in a single gulp.

Han Dang rose as well, both hands cupping his wine, and after Lin Zhen had toasted each in turn, he said, “Thank you all for your warm hospitality!” He too drained his cup, and the others likewise raised theirs in a round of hearty drinking.

Once again, Zhang Meng’s interruptions threw Lin Zhen off. He was speechless.

Seeing Lin Zhen’s increasingly exasperated face, Lin Feng could only smile wryly. “Zhang ‘one-track mind’ lives up to his name. If I want to win Han Dang over, I’ll have to find a way to keep him quiet, or else I’ll have no one to cry to if things go awry.”

Just then, Lin Feng noticed Teng Yan, seated to his left, watching him. He leaned close and whispered something in her ear.

Teng Yan’s eyes sparkled with mischief, and as the maids refilled the wine, she quietly slipped away.

When the wine was poured, Lin Zhen stood again and raised his cup. “The second joy is that Feng, in a stroke of fortune, was rescued and accepted as a disciple by a great immortal. In just half a month, he has made remarkable progress in his dreams—truly a blessing for the Lin family.”

“Oh! Who would have thought Brother Feng had such an encounter with the immortals? That is indeed a great joy!” Lin Qing exclaimed, raising his cup enthusiastically.

Han Dang too lifted his cup to Lin Feng. “Young Master Lin, to have gained such a connection at your age—surely you are destined for greatness. Congratulations!”

“What kind of divine arts have you learned, Feng? Could you show us a little—maybe summon clouds and ride the mist—so we can see some immortal magic and liven up the feast?”

Everyone paused, setting down their cups to look at Lin Feng with eager anticipation.

Zhang Meng again!

Zhang Meng yet again!

Always Zhang Meng!

Lin Zhen had originally intended to use this opportunity to broach the subject of how Lin Feng knew Han Dang. Earlier, Lin Feng had given him a list of names and details, claiming to have divined them—men of great talent and ability whom Lin Zhen should try to win over. Han Dang’s name appeared on the list for Youzhou, making it a priority to watch for him locally. Seeing Lin Feng’s interest, Lin Zhen was eager to help draw Han Dang in. But now, thanks to his third brother’s drunken blunder, the conversation had veered off course, and the “immortal arts” were being taken literally, leaving Lin Zhen at a loss for how to recover.

Fuming, Lin Zhen snapped, “Brother Meng, you speak nonsense! The art of summoning clouds and riding the mist is not something one masters in a few short days!”

But by now, everyone was looking at Lin Feng, some of the younger ones murmuring that they wanted to see his immortal skills. Clearly, Lin Feng would not be let off without showing something.

Lin Feng sighed inwardly: “Uncle Meng, you’ve pushed me another step down the path of charlatanism. This ‘egg’ you’ve handed me is not one I can juggle comfortably!”