Ashes of the Ages

The street was bustling with people, a constant flow coming and going, never ceasing. At the end of an alley stood a small shop specializing in carving. The shop was modest—not thriving, but not struggling either. The vendor, a middle-aged man, worked with a carving knife, his hands ceaselessly shaping a small block of wood. His surname was Li, and in this little town, he was known by all.

“Foolish boy, fetch me a jug of knife-brew,” he called. The boy’s real name was Li Ruoyu. The only son of the middle-aged man, Li Ruoyu was, for his ten years, rather slender, his appearance not matching his unusual name. His features were unremarkable, but there was a certain delicate charm to them. Li Ruoyu loved to read, especially books of myths and supernatural tales. Upon hearing his father’s request, he put down his copy of “Chronicles of the Great Demon,” took the coins his father handed him, grabbed the wine jug, and set off toward the tavern at the center of the street.

“Uncle Wang, the usual—a pound of knife-brew,” he said to a man in his early forties, clad in a black robe. His eyes were bright, bearing the calm steadiness unique to middle age.

“Here, catch, Ruoyu,” Uncle Wang replied.

“Alright, Uncle Wang, I’m off to see your little chubby lad,” Li Ruoyu said, heading toward Uncle Wang’s son. The chubby boy’s name was Wang Bo, born the same year as Li Ruoyu, only a month apart. He seemed honest and simple, but if one looked closely at his eyes, they would catch an occasional spark of cleverness, proof he was not as thick as he appeared.

“Fatty