Chapter 99 Liang Zhu (Part 4)

In the next few days, Luo Jun was indeed busy.

Not the kind of “busy” where one had to lie in a hotel room reading novels.

Over the following days, Qin Huai witnessed Bifang vs. knife-wielding thugs, axe-wielding thugs, Bifang vs. trained gunmen, Bifang vs. grenades, Bifang vs. Molotov cocktails, Bifang vs…

All of this could be summarized as: gang films, martial arts films, gunfight films, war films, and disaster films.

Qin Huai had come to realize that when Luo Jun said he wasn’t afraid of guns and artillery, he wasn’t boasting—he truly wasn’t afraid.

It was probably also true that he looked down on plant spirits like Chen Huihong.

He and Chen Huihong didn’t seem to come from the same world at all—their combat abilities were not even on the same dimension.

Qin Huai felt Luo Jun should try matching opponents in the Marvel universe and see if he could go toe-to-toe with the Hulk.

After easily resolving the minor trouble caused by the underworld conflict, Luo Jun holed up in the hotel reading novels all day. After catching up on the newspapers he had missed over the past few days, Sunday arrived.

To be fair, his schedule was surprisingly well arranged.

Deal with problems in the previous days, leave one day to catch up on novels after everything was settled, and set aside Sunday for a date—what a fulfilling week.

On Sunday, Luo Jun woke up naturally as usual, had the hotel staff run errands to buy breakfast, and lounged on the sofa reading the newspaper.

“Mr. Luo, you have a movie at 3 PM today. Would you like the hotel to arrange a rickshaw for you?” a staff member asked after serving the meal.

“No need, I’ll walk there myself.”

“Alright, then may I—”

“At noon, order lunch from the café where I bought the chestnut cake last time,” Luo Jun said while sipping his porridge. “My lunch, plus an extra packaged chestnut cake, must be delivered on time. Don’t be like last time, when it took so long that no one showed up even after the show ended.”

“Understood, Mr. Luo. This time we won’t delay your meal.”

“One more thing,” Luo Jun said, looking up. “Do young ladies like pearl necklaces? Do they only look at the necklace around a movie star’s neck when they see posters?”

The staff member: “…”

They felt that being asked such questions every time was really difficult to answer.

All they could say was, “I believe no lady dislikes beautiful jewelry.”

Luo Jun nodded, indicating he understood, and the staff left. Only then did Luo Jun grab buns with his hand, eat while walking to the bed, and lift the suitcase of gold and jewelry he had taken during the earlier incident.

This suitcase had remained unopened since he brought it back to the hotel.

Inside were three pearl necklaces, all of excellent quality. The pearls were large, round, and lustrous. In this era, when cultivation techniques were still immature, each necklace could fetch an exorbitant price.

One of the necklaces had blood stains on it.

Luo Jun frowned slightly, took that stained necklace out and tossed it aside. After selecting between the remaining two, he chose the one on the right—its pearls looked fuller—and tucked it into his pocket.

Then he grabbed a handful of silver dollars from the box, put them into another pocket, closed the case, and continued eating breakfast.

Witnessing the entire process, Qin Huai noted that Luo Jun’s coat pockets were quite spacious.

Another leisurely morning spent reading novels. After these past few days, Qin Huai had, like Luo Jun, come to enjoy serialized novels in newspapers.

Writers who could serialize novels in newspapers for royalties were clearly skilled—especially at cliffhangers. Each installment ended at a point that left readers itching with anticipation, eager for the next issue.

No wonder Luo Jun always wrote letters to the newspaper after finishing, complaining about such unethical cliffhangers—it truly was tormenting.

Not only did it torment people, it also tormented birds.

Luo Jun even read during lunch.

When it was almost 2 PM and time to leave, Luo Jun reluctantly folded a few newspapers, tucked them into his pocket, and left the room with the packaged chestnut cake.

Qin Huai: “…”

Seriously, bro, you don’t need to bring novels to a movie date, right?

Liu Tao was already waiting at the hotel entrance.

She had clearly dressed up carefully today: a purple qipao, hair slightly curled using the heat of recently burned firewood, silver earrings, embroidered shoes, gilded bracelets, and red lip rouge with neatly drawn brows.

It was obvious she had put on all the accessories the troupe could provide.

She was also holding a lunchbox.

“Mr. Luo.”

Seeing him come out, Liu Tao quickly stepped forward, clutching the lunchbox so tightly that her knuckles turned white. In a slightly restrained voice, she said softly, “Good afternoon.”

“Did you catch a cold? Why does your voice sound so strange?” Luo Jun asked, puzzled.

Liu Tao blushed deeply, wishing she could dig a hole and bury herself, and said quietly, “No… maybe because I didn’t sing today, so my voice hasn’t warmed up.”

“Did you eat the chestnut cake from last time?” Luo Jun asked.

“Yes.”

“Was it good?”

“Yes, very good—better than the egg cakes made by Sister Ah Hong.”

Luo Jun handed her the cake. “This is for you. You can eat it during the movie.”

Liu Tao accepted it, then tried to hand him her lunchbox. After glancing at his clothes, she worried it might stain them and could only say softly, “Mr. Luo… I made some soup. I’ll keep it with me for now. You… you can drink it when you’re free.”

Luo Jun led Liu Tao toward the cinema, casually glancing at her purple qipao and asking, “Do you like that poster?”

“What poster?” Liu Tao didn’t understand.

“Nothing.” Luo Jun replied indifferently. “I heard that in the Liang Zhu performances these past few days, you weren’t the one singing Zhu Yingtai.”

“Ah… yes. My throat hasn’t been well these days, so the troupe leader didn’t let me perform,” Liu Tao nodded as she followed behind him. “He… he had me learn some other things from Sister Ah Hong.”

“Other things?” Luo Jun asked knowingly.

“Just… some minor techniques,” Liu Tao said, her face flushing again. “I… didn’t really learn them well.”

“If you don’t like it and don’t want to learn, you don’t have to. You’re already singing quite well as you are,” Luo Jun said.

Liu Tao couldn’t help but smile.

The cinema was about a 30-minute walk from the hotel. Luo Jun walked slowly, so it took them about 40 minutes. No wonder the hotel staff had asked if he needed a rickshaw—under normal circumstances, he definitely wouldn’t have walked this distance.

He simply didn’t like walking.

The movie’s plot was simple: it told the story of a man who fought bravely on the battlefield and ultimately achieved fame and success. The film had no sound; everything relied on a projectionist who provided narration and even explained the plot. It was quite a demanding job.

Liu Tao watched with great interest.

Qin Huai suspected she had even forgotten that Luo Jun was sitting beside her. At the beginning, she would occasionally glance at him, but once the train appeared in the film, her eyes were entirely on the screen.

When scenes of gunfire and chaos appeared, Liu Tao even began eating the chestnut cake.

Not bad—the cake looked quite appetizing.

An hour later, the movie ended. Liu Tao was still immersed in the story, excitedly walking beside Luo Jun while chatting about how wonderful the film was.

“Mr. Luo, the general in that movie was truly amazing. Even the martial actors in our troupe couldn’t match his skills. That…” she chattered away, then suddenly realized she had been talking too much—Luo Jun hadn’t said a single word.

“Was I talking too much?” Liu Tao reverted to her earlier gentle demeanor.

“Compared to before, yes,” Luo Jun replied honestly. “You’ve said more today than in all your previous conversations combined.”

Liu Tao lowered her head. “Am I very talkative?”

“Not really. At least your voice is pleasant.”

“Then…” Liu Tao gathered her courage and looked up at him. “Will you invite me to watch movies again?”

“As far as I know, there’s only this one movie recently. I don’t particularly like it, so I won’t watch it a second time,” Luo Jun said.

Liu Tao’s eyes dimmed, her expression falling. “Then… will you still come to listen to Liang Zhu?”

“Perhaps. The troupe is putting on a new mechanized play tomorrow, so I’ll go see that new performance.”

Liu Tao sniffled but said nothing, silently following behind him.

After walking a bit, Luo Jun finally turned back helplessly and looked at her, now two or three meters behind him.

“You really didn’t learn anything your troupe leader tried to teach you.”

“Ah?” Liu Tao looked up in confusion.

“When I go to dance halls, I don’t even need to say anything—people will naturally come up to me. But walking with you for so long, you’ve actually been drifting further and further away from me.”

“I… I… I…” Liu Tao stammered, unable to form a complete sentence.

“Two years ago, I heard your Liang Zhu performance,” Luo Jun continued. “Back then your troupe was still in the south, performing in a small county. I happened to pass by and listened once. That’s when I first really liked this story.”

Embarrassed, Liu Tao said, “My singing wasn’t very good back then.”

Luo Jun nodded. “Indeed, compared to now, it was much worse.”

“Then… did you come all the way to Shanghai specifically to see us?” Liu Tao asked boldly.

“No. A hotel staff member at the Richard Hotel told me a new troupe had arrived whose Liang Zhu was decent, especially the actress playing Zhu Yingtai, so I had them book a ticket for me.”

“Then… are you here to support me?” Liu Tao asked again, gathering courage.

“No.”

Liu Tao’s voice trembled: “Then you are…”

Luo Jun took out a pearl necklace from his pocket and handed it to her. Liu Tao accepted it, still confused.

“I originally planned to give this to you over dinner, but it seems you’re not in the mood for dinner anymore.”

“Am I that bad at being a person?” Luo Jun said. “I’m pursuing you—can’t you tell at all?”

Liu Tao was completely stunned.

With red-rimmed eyes, she blurted out, “Then… will you marry me as a concubine?”

“No,” Luo Jun shook his head.

Liu Tao’s mind short-circuited. In the next moment, tears streamed down her face.

“Birds only have one partner,” Luo Jun said. “Until one of them dies, it’s always just one.”

Liu Tao sniffled. “I’m sorry… your words are too profound. I don’t understand.”

“I will also have only one partner. Until one of us dies, it will only be one person.”

Liu Tao stared blankly at him.

“I won’t have concubines.”

“I will only marry you as my wife.”

Tears welled up again in Liu Tao’s eyes. “But… marrying a performer as your legal wife… people will laugh at you.”

“I don’t care,” Luo Jun said. “I’m the one getting married, not them. What does it have to do with them?”

“When did you make the dried tangerine peel soup?”

“Morning,” Liu Tao replied.

“Give it to me. It’ll taste worse once it’s cold.”

Subconsciously, Liu Tao handed over the lunchbox. Luo Jun opened it to reveal a bowl of tangerine peel, white fungus, and lotus seed soup, thoughtfully accompanied by a spoon.

“Dried tangerine peel tea… with so many ingredients?” Luo Jun frowned.

“Yes,” Liu Tao nodded blankly, then quickly shook her head, flustered. “No, no, this is tangerine peel…”

“Isn’t it?” Luo Jun had already taken a sip. “Tastes alright. Why did the troupe leader keep you from making it yourself?”

Liu Tao beamed with joy. “It tastes alright? I’ve been learning from Sister Ah Hong these days. I added brown sugar, salt, white fungus, lotus seeds, and tangerine peel. Sister Ah Hong also said I’ve improved!”

“If you like it, I’ll make it for you every day!”

Qin Huai’s consciousness then left the memory.

Before leaving, Qin Huai had only one thing to say:

“Heh, dog food.”

No wonder Luo Jun didn’t mention a word—turns out his memories were all full of dog food.

Heh, Bifang.