The Magical World of Livy

Luoya City, the capital of Northern Han.

It was one of the most developed cities on the Yugu Continent.

It was a city where the rich made huge lucre every day to support their luxurious living.

However, it was a city with the most beggars on the Yugu Continent.

Beggars with disheveled hair and ragged clothes could be seen in all the streets and lanes.

Rich people in smart clothes went past the beggars now and then. Some of them were in a good mood and dropped a couple of coppers, while others turned their heads in disgust, covering their noses.

There were two beggars distinct from the crowd—a man in his 60s or 70s and an eleven-or-twelve-year-old girl, just like many common groups of beggars.

They seemed to be an old beggar and his granddaughter.

What was abnormal was that the old beggar, whose hair and beard were gray, held a roast chicken in his left hand and a wine pot in his right hand. He ate the roast chicken and drank the wine with relish.

The girl with disheveled hair and mud-coated face held a cold hard steamed bread in both hands and nibbled as if she was reluctant to eat it up, or trying to find the evidence to prove its unique deliciousness.

They sat in the corner of the street, laying a chipped dusty bowl in the front with a few coins in it.

A large banyan tree occupied an area of about three square meters before them. A few dry and yellow leaves that remained hanging on the tree were staying toughly in the north wind, looking like it was going to fall at any time.

The passersby could not help but cast the old guy looks of disdain, and the poor little girl of sympathy.

The old beggar turned a deaf ear to their pointing and comments, munching on the golden shining roast chicken and swallowing wine. The wine, mixed with the grease of roast chicken and trickled down his grizzled beard and greasy dirty rags. It was quite an unpleasant sight.

The little girl was used to it. Blinking her big black eyes, she nibbled on the cold steam bread carefully and took a look at the passersby once in a while.

The old beggar finished his last bite of roast chicken, reluctantly threw away the bones, and raised the wine pot to take a mouthful of wine. He casually rubbed the left hand that was covered in roast chicken grease on his oily mouth and clothes to wipe off the grease on the latter two, or, nobody knew, on the former.

He made a belch in satisfaction and then turned to the girl who had just finished the cold steam bread, discontented.

"What the hell is the roast chicken you got! It's half-raw! Worse than the roast duck yesterday! Are you going to kill me? Go and stand in the corner for four hours! Watch your posture, or I'll break your legs!" Blowing beards and bulging eyes, he scolded her loudly.

"Why stand again? You punish me to stand in such an uncomfortable posture every day... I have picked the best roast chicken for you, why are you still unsatisfied!" The little girl muttered to herself with tears in her eyes, but as soon as she saw the old beggar's staring eyes, she stopped muttering, obediently walked to the corner and began to do martial-art squat as the old beggar asked.

The old beggar stretched, yawned, and dozed against the back wall in the warm winter sun, squinting eyes.

Although the old beggar seemed to have fallen asleep, the little girl still did the posture he asked, squatting motionless, and did not dare to relax.

Because she knew that if she pushed her luck to slack, it would immediately lead to more severe punishment.

The old beggar looked like to be asleep, but he seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. If the little girl made any mistakes about her posture, he would pick up a black stick aside and hit the girl's legs and feet to correct her mistakes without warning.

For a long time, the little girl did not dare to have a trace of carelessness, but could only stubbornly keep on it, enduring the pain.

She no longer cried.

She no longer shed tears.

She no longer begged for pardon.

She no longer took any chances.

The only choice was to do what the old beggar asked her to do.

She was clear that there were no other choices because she had been begging around with this old beggar ever since she could remember.

The old beggar, however mean he was, was her only relative in the world.

Everything was to be done according to the old man's orders. If she made any mistakes, even the slightest one, she would be clubbed.

She would, of course, dodge when she was hurt or angry. However, she always failed. The black stick was as nimble as a snake.

The old beggar never prevented her from dodging, and she gradually discovered some of these patterns as time went by. Each time she could dodge a little longer than the last time, although she would be caught inevitably by the stick at last.

Nevertheless, she remembered the way and the patterns the old beggar used that stick and practiced in private.

Young as she was, she swore to herself that she would successfully dodge all the hits and learn this artful method of using the stick.

The little girl was squatting and pondering when an old Taoist priest in cyan garment slowly came over.

The old Taoist priest dressed in cyan, holding a horsetail whisk in his hand. He was white-haired and his long and gray beard fluttered with the wind. He looked a more or less immortal.

He smiled at the old beggar, who seemed to be asleep, and said,

"You are punishing her again."

It was about 4 hours. The old beggar didn't answer the Taoist priest but called the girl without turning back,