Raising Orphans, Not Assassins
Vol. 2 - Ch. 35 - Da Ming’s First Foray into the Jianghu

Jingzhou Prefecture, Sha County.

The sky hung heavy with clouds, thick and low.

Raindrops the size of beans tumbled from above, splashing into the puddles below and sending ripples across the mud-slicked ground.

Along the main road.

A tall and broad-shouldered figure trudged forward through the mire.

He wore straw sandals, pant legs rolled up, his feet and shoes caked in yellow mud.

A rain cape draped over his shoulders, a bamboo hat shielding his head, and on his back—something massive and square-shaped, tightly bound in cloth strips, concealing its true form.

From its size, it resembled a coffin—though slightly smaller.

Few people traveled the road that day, but every passerby who caught sight of him showed visible surprise, marveling at his strength.

After a while, the man paused in his muddy trek.

He lifted his face. Rain, swept sideways by the wind, pelted him across the cheeks.

It was an honest, guileless face.

Looking ahead to the gray-blue walls of the distant city, Da Ming broke into a wide grin.

He wiped his face with a thick palm, clearing the rain from his eyes.

Since leaving the orphanage, Da Ming had been heading toward Jingzhou, sometimes on foot, other times hiring carts.

After more than twenty days of bumpy travel, he finally reached Sha County, part of Jingzhou Prefecture.

Sha County was less than two days' journey from Jiangling County.

He had asked around along the way and learned that the Prefect of Jingzhou was stationed in Jiangling.

So was Miss Xiuxiu.

He was close now.

Just two more days, and he’d be able to see Xiuxiu.

Da Ming kept this thought close to his heart.

Once more, he set off, carrying the Qilin Axe, striding firmly toward the city.

Arriving at the base of the city wall, Da Ming looked up. The characters “Sha County South Gate” were carved large and bold above. He smiled in his usual simple, foolish way.

Only a few travelers stood before the gate, and just two soldiers sat lazily on wooden stools, guarding the entrance.

Da Ming glanced at them and continued on toward the gate.

“Stop right there!” barked one of the soldiers responsible for inspecting those entering the city.

Da Ming stopped, turning to them with a thick, honest smile.

His lips twitched twice before he said, “Two… two officers!”

On this journey, Da Ming had picked up quite a bit about dealing with people.

Though, at first, he’d learned most of it the hard way.

The two soldiers, both wearing rain hats and long blades at their waists, surrounded him with suspicion in their eyes.

Their gazes kept flicking toward the large object on his back.

Da Ming instantly understood what they were thinking. The Qilin Axe had caught the attention of many guards along the way.

After all, something that size was far too eye-catching.

And this was even with the cloth wrapping—had the lively qilin engraving been exposed, it would’ve drawn even more trouble.

Grinning sheepishly, Da Ming said, “Officers, it’s… it’s a coffin.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, both soldiers grimaced, their expressions souring like they'd just eaten something foul.

They waved at him with distaste. “Fifty copper to enter the city.”

Da Ming nodded obediently, reached into his coat, and pulled out fifty coins, handing them over.

The soldier didn’t even take them, just pointed at the money box nearby.

Da Ming, used to this by now, dropped the coins in the box and walked on into the city without another word.

The moment his feet touched the stone-paved road inside, a smile broke across his face.

First things first—find an inn and get a proper wash.

It had been raining for days. Even with the rain cape, his clothes were soaked through.

Just then—

A rough voice rang out beside him.

“That’s a rare size for a coffin.”

Startled, Da Ming turned his head.

Not far away stood a man, seven feet tall, built like a mountain, with a beard like twisted iron wire bristling across his face.

He had a stern face and eyes as big as copper bells, full of calm confidence and innate authority.

Like Da Ming, the man carried something on his back.

But unlike Da Ming, he bore a solid iron staff, the head of which was as wide as a rice bowl—clearly heavy beyond belief.

And yet, he carried it like it weighed nothing.

Da Ming gave the man a glance, then responded with a simple grin, saying nothing.

“Second—never befriend strangers casually.”

The voice of Chen Ye echoed in Da Ming’s mind—the second of the seven warnings he'd received when leaving home.

He had memorized them all by heart.

So, Da Ming simply smiled and moved on, heading toward the direction of the inns with the Qilin Axe still on his back.

The bearded man, Xiong Shan, watched Da Ming’s retreating back and let out a hearty laugh.

“Cautious one, aren’t you?”

After a few more chuckles, Xiong Shan turned his gaze away.

To his eye, there was no way that was a coffin on the man’s back.

Most likely, it was some kind of weapon wielded by battlefield generals.

Judging by its size—definitely not ordinary.

Xiong Shan stopped paying him any further attention. After days on the road, he too needed a proper rest.

Once he finished his business here, he had to hurry back.

There were only a few months left before the Clan Competition at Midyear.

And this year—he had to make it home no matter what.

Xiong Shan sighed to himself.

——

Yuelai Inn.

Da Ming, carrying the Qilin Axe, arrived at the inn’s entrance.

He took off his bamboo hat, shook off the water, and placed it beside the door. He then removed his rain cape and stood it next to the hat.

With that done, he stepped into the inn with the Qilin Axe in his arms.

Only a few guests sat inside the main hall, each with a few side dishes in front of them, drinking wine and picking at their food.

Da Ming offered a clumsy smile and sat at a table near the door—where he could keep an eye on his hat and cape—and set the Qilin Axe down beside him.

The inn’s attendant hurried over and asked respectfully, “Sir, will you be resting here or just stopping for a meal?”

“Resting,” Da Ming grinned.

The attendant nodded. “And what would you like to eat?”

“Ten steamed buns. Two pounds of braised meat. Two pots of tea.”

Da Ming swallowed hard, his voice low and booming.

He hadn’t eaten properly in days—his belly felt like it had collapsed onto his spine.

Now that he was in the city, he was going to eat his fill.

Then he’d bathe and sleep soundly through the night.

Two more days and he’d be in Jiangling.

The attendant was momentarily stunned by the order, blinking in surprise.

Still, he quickly bowed and said, “Right away, sir. Please wait a moment!”

Da Ming gave a sheepish smile and didn’t say much.

The innkeeper’s assistant turned and went off to relay the order to the kitchen.

Da Ming sat by the inn’s entrance, looking out into the curtain of rain.

The sky was heavy and dim, thick clouds pressing low.

Fat raindrops fell endlessly from above, as if the heavens had no end to give.

Suddenly, something caught Da Ming’s eye, and his expression froze.

Across the street, under the eaves of a shop, huddled a few ragged children—bones showing through their skin, clothes hanging like tattered sacks.

Their eyes were fixed hungrily on the Yue Lai Inn, Adam’s apples bobbing as they swallowed down saliva.

Seeing those children, Da Ming seemed to see a reflection of his former self.

A smile, simple and honest, tugged at his face.

If it hadn’t been for his father, he might have starved to death on the street long ago.

Soon, the assistant returned carrying steamed buns and braised meat.

Da Ming looked at him and said with a thick, rustic voice, “Bring ten more buns.”

The assistant blinked, looking slightly puzzled and giving him an odd glance.

Da Ming pulled his coin pouch from his waist and counted out the money, handing it over.

The assistant verified the amount, then beamed. “Sir, enjoy your meal!”

Da Ming picked up a bun and looked outside. He waved at the children standing in the rain.

The little beggars swallowed hard and scrambled across the street, dashing into the inn through wind and rain.

The assistant seemed like he wanted to say something. His lips moved, but in the end, he held his tongue.

Da Ming handed each child a bun.

The kids tore into them like wild animals, devouring the buns in just a few bites.

They looked up at Da Ming again, eyes wide and pleading.

Da Ming reached for another bun, about to give out more.

Just then, a gruff voice sounded from the doorway.

“If you give all your buns to them, what will you eat?”

Da Ming turned his head and saw the burly man he’d passed earlier walking into the inn.

The man smiled, then pointed at Da Ming’s waist. “Better check if your coin pouch’s still there.”

At those words, Da Ming’s face changed. He instinctively reached for his waist.

The children who had been gathered around him didn’t hesitate—they turned and bolted for the door.

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