Chapter 27: The Bamboo Grove Sect

After investigating the Sima residence and finding it empty, the vacant rooms left Logan utterly perplexed. He realized that any further inquiry would only demand more time and effort. The moonlight spilled gently as a guard returned from the latrine, resuming his post. Logan slapped his thigh, noticing he had only considered the first part of his plan. He had hoped to meet the refined Magistrate Sima and ask him to send the guards away with a word.

Despite all his calculations, he hadn’t accounted for what might happen if the room was empty. What if Magistrate Sima turned out to be a villain and denounced Logan as a thief? As he pondered, it struck him that his current predicament was not the worst imaginable.

He waited and waited. The night grew colder, chilling him to the bone. A fierce northern wind battered him, and Logan shivered, curling up tightly. Inside the house, there was not a trace of firelight. He felt as if imprisoned in an icy cavern, cut off from rescue.

He struggled against the cold and his own willpower, unsure how long he endured. Eventually, the guard at the door dozed off, and Logan seized his chance to slip quietly out of the Sima residence.

He staggered down the street, dazed and exhausted, until he found his way back to Han Xiao’s place. Luckily, the young man was considerate enough to leave the door slightly ajar, or else Logan would have spent the night on the streets of Tang.

The moment he entered, Logan’s vision blurred and he collapsed to the floor, losing consciousness.

When he opened his eyes the next day, he was safely tucked in bed, wrapped in three blankets. Only after confirming he was unharmed did he dare breathe a sigh of relief.

For someone like Logan, a small figure in this world, it was truly hard to make his way alone in the Tang Dynasty. He happened to be assigned the identity of a farmer, surrounded by honest, hard-working folk who could offer little help. Faced with strange events and powerful officials, everyone cared only about their fields—how could they possibly concern themselves with his troubles?

No! Since this was all a game, why not be bold? In real life, Logan was nothing but a lowly errand boy. Here, in the world of Tang, he must seize his chance to rise up, to sing the song of the liberated peasant, never again to toil as a subordinate!

With newfound ambition burning in his chest, Logan vowed to complete his mission with flair—even if it was only a task. But then the question arose: where would he find the money?

He realized he was short on both funds and manpower. He had no means to take up a proper business, nor did he know any fantastic ways to make quick money. What should he do?

The more he thought about it, the less feasible his plans seemed. Anxiety gripped him once again.

Meanwhile, the stage for the Festival of Blossoms was nearly complete, with only a couple days of work remaining. Outside, they posted the announcement for the grand competition:

“Blossoms of the Tang Dynasty, Festival of Talent, Cuju Championship, Winner Takes a Hundred Gold!”

Just a few simple words were enough to draw a crowd. People gathered around the nearly finished platform, eager to see the excitement. Some looked forward to the Cuju tournament and its hundred gold prize—Logan among them.

Cuju? Isn’t that ancient football? Logan mused. He enjoyed playing shuttlecock, which was somewhat similar to Cuju.

Thus, Logan cheerfully went to find Han Xiao to ask about the Cuju requirements and the competition rules.

Han Xiao explained, “Each team has three players. The goal is to kick the ball into the net. There’s even a solo juggling contest. But it’s mostly just a pastime for idlers. Why are you so interested, Logan?”

“Han, do you want to get rich?” Logan asked.

“Of course! But you’re not seriously thinking of entering, are you?”

Logan nodded firmly. Han Xiao thought he was joking, but Logan’s unwavering expression made him realize this was no jest. Han Xiao tried to recruit Bamboo Zhang, but Zhang was swamped with kitchen duties and couldn’t spare the time. So Han Xiao called on his own brother.

Han Chong was delighted. Having entered the city, he was fascinated by anything new. He often passed the time practicing Cuju with other junior clerks. Hearing that the Cuju tournament offered a hundred gold, his eyes sparkled.

With three players—Logan, Han Xiao, and Han Chong—the next step was practice. Han Chong’s skills were reliable, but Han Xiao was no better than Logan; both were novices. With little time to train, Han Xiao’s busy schedule made practice difficult, so Logan resolved to secretly make up for Han Xiao’s lack of skill over the next two days.

First, they needed a ball. Logan searched everywhere and finally found one at a pawnshop. After buying it, he practiced alone near Han Xiao’s residence.

At first, his footwork was clumsy; the ball wouldn’t cooperate, and the biting cold made him reluctant to move. For Logan, the chance to win money quickly and with minimal effort seemed the most promising option, so he pushed himself to persist.

With money, he could wield power in this era—he had to master Cuju.

Again and again, he chased the ball as it flew away, retrieving it each time. Han Xiao’s sole joy was woodcarving, and he would sneak back to his room to work on his craft, only to be dragged out by Logan for a stern lecture. In the end, he resigned himself to practicing Cuju alongside Logan.

“Logan, do you really think our amateur skills can get us into the tournament in just two days? Won’t we embarrass ourselves?” Han Xiao scratched his head, doubting Logan’s resolve.

“Cuju isn’t so hard. Kick the ball a few times and you’ll get the hang of it, right?” Logan said, trying to show off by juggling the ball. But the ball rebelled, smacking him in the face. Suddenly, a notification flashed before his eyes, displaying a single word:

“Fool.”

Furious, Logan muttered, “Who’s the fool? I’m about to get rich and show everyone I’m more than just lucky!”

Han Xiao remained unconvinced. To him, the odds of winning a hundred gold were minuscule; he’d rather focus on his business and maybe earn a few tips. But Logan had saved him once, so he felt obliged to accompany him, however foolish the venture seemed.

And so, the two spent every day together. Han Xiao neglected his business, taking leave to practice Cuju at home. His unusual behavior puzzled Old Lin, who shook his head at their “shut-in Cuju” sessions, lamenting that such frivolity was the ruin of promising youth.

On the eve of the tournament, Logan, Han Chong, and Han Xiao practiced into the night, stopping only when the ball became invisible in the darkness.

Their teamwork was far from perfect, but the rules of Cuju were not overly complicated. Compared to modern football, there was no contest, but last-minute practice could at least yield some improvement. Logan dared not promise victory, but he was determined to try.

The next morning, the three gathered in the cold. Han Xiao poured three cups of wine from his room, and each drank to steady their nerves.

Their cups clinked together. Han Chong and Han Xiao drained theirs in one gulp. Logan followed suit, only to feel an itch in his throat—this was no ordinary wine.

Han Chong and Han Xiao quickly noticed something was wrong and asked if Logan felt ill. Only Logan knew the truth: Han Xiao had mistakenly brought out wine from the Nameless Temple.

The effects of its supernatural properties were about to begin.