Chương 5: A Taste of Home

Despite accepting the 'kindness of strangers', Jordan had yet to fully trust the NPC pair. As such, he made a conscious effort to stay awake, if for nothing else than to keep an eye on his useless yet undoubtedly precious Vessel. He failed spectacularly. His immense fatigue was compounded by his body thinking it was the dead of night. That, together with the wagon's rhythmic sway, ensured he slept like a rock all throughout the ride. He only woke as the wagon slowed to a stop.

The sun had nearly set by then, leaving barely enough light for Jordan to make out his surroundings. The place looked to him like a farmstead of sorts. A lone, low-lying hut sat next to a fenced-off corral, seemingly the only man-made structures in the middle of the plain. The hut had flaps rather than a door for an entrance, which were slightly parted to spill the light and steam from within. Jordan's mouth watered as he caught the scent of long-simmering stew.

How many real-time hours had passed since Mom's sandwich? Not to mention the thirst, which by now had become unbearable. As soon as the wagon stopped, Mattock the junior got to work right away, unloading the haystacks without so much as a glance at the man nestled between them. Jordan tried to help, then found he could barely get up. His muscles were too far gone; they now belonged, not to himself, but to the god of lactic acid.

"You come with me, traveler," Mallet the senior called out with a knowing chuckle.

"Let's get you fed and watered. Don't take my word for it, but my Sarina's mutton broth is something of a local specialty." Jordan could really go for a local specialty right about now. His stomach growled audibly, even as he stole another glance at the Heavenly Cauldron beside him. He then blushed furiously; of his two reactions, one had been rather childish and the other just plain rude. But Mallet merely smiled, waiting for Jordan to make up his mind. This time, the latter did so without consulting a dice roll.

Jordan nodded and gingerly dismounted from the wagon, cursing his sore muscles all the while. Warm, steamy air hit him full in the face as he followed Mattock into the hut. The place was a one-roomer with a central furnace, beds and furniture pushed up against the circular walls. Jordan searched his Earthling knowledge for a match and came up empty. Either the set-up was unique to this setting, or Jordan could stand to be more curious about the various cultures of his home planet.

Presently, two women were huddled over the furnace. They too wore cross-collared tunics like the men, though over flowy embroidered skirts, with their hair bundled up in dyed headwraps. The older of the two looked up with a smile as bright as the sun-kissed flush of her cheeks. <Character Sheet> Name: SARINA of COPPER HILL Race: Human Age: 51 Class: Brothmaster, Lv. 3 Vessel: Cup of Warmth"What's this, a guest? And such a strapping young feller to boot! You shoulda told me, Old Mal; I woulda prepared extra."

Jordan blinked, trying to remember the last time anyone had described him as 'strapping'. He found Sarina's smile a little too sunny for direct eye contact. His gaze wandered until it fell upon the younger woman, who kept her head down as she stirred a steaming pot of stew. <Character Sheet> Name: SICKLE of COPPER HILL Race: Human Age: 19 Class: Embroiderer, Lv. 1 Vessel: Cup of Courage Mattock's younger sister, no doubt.

And guessing by her spellcasting class, likely responsible for the embroidery on her and her mother's skirts. Looking around, the hut itself was decorated with patterned drapes, of a level of artisanship even Jordan could appreciate. Yet the girl herself must have taken after her brother. For she seemed as gloomy as her handicraft was colorful. She didn't speak a word as her mother continued to mother the strapping young guest in their midst.

"Sit down, traveler, sit down. Do they have yak milk where you come from? Here, have some; freshly squeezed, so you know it's good. Oh, look at the state of your… your… garment. Not to worry, our Sickle will patch up those holes in no time." So it went, non-stop. When it came to well-intentioned fussiness, this Sarina of Copper Hill could give Jordan's own mother a run for her money. He let himself be fussed over without protest. His hankering for sustenance and comfort had long won out over his misanthropy.

And what sustenance, what comfort! The yak milk, though gamier and more viscous than the pasteurized cow stuff Jordan was used to, had a buttery sweetness to it that nourished as well as slaked. The mutton stew, served with clumps of deep-fried dough, was richer and savorier than anything in living memory. Jordan would gladly pay a day's wage for this succulent meal, yet here he was, partaking for free in the company of kind strangers. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve.

Read this novel on the original website. Soon, Mattock joined them at the table, himself looking a little ragged after a hard evening's work. The whole family plus their hungry guest feasted in earnest, demolishing the pot of stew within minutes. Once the main dish was done and dusted, Mallet the patriarch pulled out a hefty ceramic jar. It looked to Jordan a rather suitable Vessel candidate, but upon its unsealing, it filled the room with the unmistakable scent of hard liquor.

"Old Mal!" Sarina scolded, though not with any real heat.

"You told me you'd lay off that stuff!"

"Nonsense! How often do we have guests in the house? And such a strapping young feller to boot! I will give a toast, or I'm not an Aperturian." Mallet promptly filled four shallow cups—one each for himself, Sarina, Mattock, and Jordan. Only Sickle abstained. Then the three locals raised their cups above their heads, while the foreigner did his best to imitate them.

"We thank N üwa for the gift of a new friendship," Mallet declared, suddenly quite solemn.

"We pray to Xihe for our guest's good health. And we seek Shennong's bounty, that our cups may ever runneth over. Let it be so, by heaven's grace."

"By heaven's grace," the family murmured their assent. Then, in unison, they all emptied their cups. Into their gullets, that was. Jordan hastened to follow suit. Perhaps too hastily. The liquor, earthy and grainy, burned his throat on the way down. It was all he could do to choke down a cough. Well, that and indulge in some revenge gossip. Hear that, gods? Only three of you got a mention. Hope the rest don't take it too personally. Strength DC 20: failure Zhurong:"Pah!" Dexterity DC 20: failure Nezha:"Hear this?

This is the sound of me caring." Intelligence DC 20: failure Fuxi:"Call on me again if one of these peasants ever sits the Imperial Exams. Until then, I have no interest in gracing their prayers." All the food, drink, and company must have put Jordan in an unusually good mood. Against all odds, he found himself breaking out in a wide, contented smile. Yet the smile just as quickly froze upon his face, as an unexpected ritual unfolded before him.

First, Mallet and Mattock—just the two of them—refilled their cups to raise them again. They then turned to face the back of the hut, directly opposite the entrance. Jordan shifted in his seat to get a better view. It looked to be a cabinet of sorts, upon which sat a small stone carving of an ox. Beside the figurine was an incense burner, currently home to a single joss stick. Jordan's heart stopped as realization hit." Hatchet," Mallet spoke again, now with a noticeable tremor to his voice.

"Have you eaten your fill, son? Do visit us more often, and tell your mother if her new recipe is to your taste. You know she loves it when you praise her cooking." A cough to clear his throat… and perhaps something a little more. Mallet continued,"We're all doing alright, here. Might be hard for you to imagine, but Mattock has really picked up the slack since you've been gone. Sickle, too. She's come a long way with her artwork. Started selling trinkets at the market, if you can believe it.

The point is, you've got nothing to worry about. Rest easy, my boy, and look after yourself." With that, Mallet walked over to the cabinet and placed his cup next to the ox figurine. Mattock downed his in one go, then sat staring at the floor, shoulders visibly shaking. On the other side of the table, Sarina watched on misty-eyed, while gloomy Sickle openly sobbed into her bowl of stew. Jordan's first instinct was to flee. He didn't belong here. Not in this fantasy world.

Certainly not trapped in a room full of strangers grieving their dearly departed. But then… that wasn't quite right, was it? These people weren't strangers. Not after he'd shared such a hearty meal with them. No, he was among friends here. And as a friend, it was his duty, if not to offer comfort, then at least to bear witness to the family's grief. Jordan stayed at the table.

He stayed as Sarina—now red in the face from the liquor as well as the sun—regaled him with tales from Mattock's and Sickle's childhood, much to the pair's chagrin. It got the kids to open up and speak a few words in rebuttal, which was a delight in and of itself. Jordan listened patiently. Asked questions when it felt appropriate to do so, and some because he was genuinely curious.

It was also curious, perhaps, that the family seemed uninterested in prying into his background—the origins of his strange 'garment', his otherworldly 'torch', and the impossibly heavy cauldron he'd supposedly traveled with. Then again, maybe it wasn't anything worth speculating about. Maybe this was just who these people were: open and generous while expecting nothing in return. Jordan was grateful. He was humbled.

Next to the Mallet family's grief and their kindness in the face of it, his problems back on Earth felt almost trivial. At the same time, he felt a pang of yearning. Yearning for his home—and a chance to make amends with the people who mattered most in his life. That night, Jordan took up the fifth and vacant bed. He lay awake for quite some time, long after the rest of the room had fallen asleep. Part of it was the 'jet lag'. Part of it was the snoring (Mallet's especially).

But mostly, he was simply abuzz with thoughts about his future … for what felt like the first time in years. Then, just as he was finally about to doze off, the system hit him with a rather surprising notification. New Feat unlocked. [Zhurong's Blessing (Lv. 1)]: Life is naught but toil and suffering! The only way to overcome the mortal coil is to break through it with sheer physicality! In recognition of your labor of the flesh, you've gained a permanent [1]-point upgrade to Strength.

STR: 13 -> 14 (modifer: +1 -> +2) Encumbrance: 2. 2/195 lbs -> 2. 2/210 lbs Jordan couldn't help but snort in amusement. He then immediately covered his mouth, worried he might've woken the others. Mallet continued to snore up a storm. No one else stirred in the night. Jordan turned in his bed, smiling contentedly. Time to shut off his brain and get some rest. He'd need his muscles to be functional again, sooner rather than later.