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The Daoist and the cat returned along the same route.
As they passed an empty alley, the cat looked up and asked quietly, “How much did that person give us?”
“Thirty wen.”
“Is that a lot?”
“Not a lot.”
“Is it a little?”
“Not a little.”
“What can we buy with that?”
“You can buy two bowls of lamb soup noodles.”
“That’s not much!”
“But if it’s the small crucian carp that you usually eat, you can eat many days worth if you eat one each day.”
“That’s a lot!”
“…” The Daoist smiled and said nothing.
He knew that doing the work first and collecting payment later naturally did not favor bargaining, and he understood that the common folk each had their own thoughts—some perhaps more honest, while others might be more calculating.
But the money collected this time was only a small part of what was gained. Encountering all kinds of people and their various mindsets was, in its own way, a form of reward too. Understanding the world and human nature was part of cultivation.
Halfway through the alley, they smelled a fragrance. It was the scent of scallion pancakes.
He didn’t know why, but it was rare to come across something truly good these days. Perhaps that was why the aroma from a simple scallion pancake stall by the roadside seemed to waft through the entire street. Drawn by the enticing smell, the Daoist followed...
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