Chapter 2
Chapter 2
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: The Wishes of 50 Million - 2
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The world of Celestial Moon follows a wuxia vibe.
Yeah.
A vibe.
Not actual wuxia.
That was why the moment he laid eyes on the scene before him, he could be certain he'd entered Celestial Moon's distinctive world.
The buildings definitely reeked of the Orient.
Just look out the other window at the siheyuan-style inn below, or peer through another to see the houses.
The decorative tiles adorning the tiled roofs were worlds apart from anything Western-based.
And yet, the people were different.
For starters, their hair colors were far from purely Eastern. Sure, there were black-haired folks.
But with reds, oranges, yellows, greens, blues, indigos, purples—you name it. It wasn't some rainbow socialist utopia, but their hair made it clear this wasn't just straight-up Eastern aesthetics.
Their outfits too, and those curvaceous bodies that contrasted with youthful Eastern faces.
It was like East and West mashed together, origins so muddled you couldn't tell where they'd been sold off.
Of course, none of that was a problem.
Hot is justice, after all.
"Hm..."
From his seat by the second-floor window, he turned his gaze to a woman striding down the street among the passersby. She carried a slender longsword at her side, her wide hips swaying seductively with each step.
Just look at the outfit she was wearing.
That super short skirt!
And the garter belt!
The skin-tight top!
That was definitely the "Evidence of Wrath" set from Celestial Moon. You had to clear a notoriously tough secret realm to get it...
Then the woman glanced back. Had she noticed him watching from the second-floor window?
Her dark eyes seemed to turn his way, so he winked at her.
A crescent smile curved her plump, red lips. With a soft eye smile, she blew him a kiss using her black-gloved hand, then vanished into the crowd, hips swaying alluringly once more.
Hmm...
She was dressed in a way that would make any purist spit blood.
But garter belts could totally show up in wuxia!
Hot is all that matters!
Anyway,
This was almost certainly the world of Celestial Moon.
He stood from his seat, left the room, and climbed the stairs upward.
It was a four-story building. Half the first floor was a trading company, the rest of the first and the whole second were inn and restaurant space, while the third and fourth floors held guest rooms.
As he ascended, he passed someone who was clearly staff—probably a page boy. The young-looking guy startled at the sight of him and bowed deeply.
"Innkeeper. Were you coughing, sir?"
Innkeeper, huh.
He glanced at the mirror in the hallway. Reflected there was a burly, muscular giant of a man with a thick beard and a somewhat weathered face.
"Yeah."
He nodded casually, and the boy bowed again before heading downstairs. He continued upward, past him, then higher still.
At the top floor, he stepped onto the roof and went outside.
Up high like this,
the village panorama unfolded before him.
And then.
His eyes shifted to the mountain with its stunning view.
Thousand-Day Plum Blossoms.
Those bizarre plums bloomed year-round, making the mountain look like a crimson star.
And there, long established on that red star,
stood the Crimson Star Sect—the women-only sect led by Sword Saint Nayerin—in proud glory.
"It's before the prologue."
The intact Crimson Star Sect and thriving village were proof enough.
He returned to his original room, sat down, and stared into the mirror.
One of the countless extras in this village.
The village that cared for the lone survivor Sayoon after the Crimson Star Sect burned in the prologue under Iron Blood Clan attack.
Massacred midway through chapter one, spurring her into the jianghu.
A man fated to die quickly in the original scenario.
He smiled at the man in the mirror.
An unfamiliar face.
But he knew the name.
The sole trading company and inn owner in Island Flower Village, mentioned only by name in Sayoon's prologue and chapter one.
An extra called 'Yuwol' who never even showed his face in the game.
If he'd taken on that role,
there was only one thing to do.
"Island Flower Village? Oh, don't get me started. Ain't no better place to live in the world."
"Bandits come raiding? Or evil beasts?"
"Sacred Mountain's protection keeps the beasts at bay, and with the Sword Saint dwelling here, no thief or thug dares approach."
"Merchants sometimes complain about the chaos outside, but us? We just live peacefully, no big issues."
The weight of 'Sword Saint' was no light matter. One of the top ten powerhouses in the land.
Her massive greatsword, like a pillar swung about, felt as light as silk in her hands despite its overwhelming size and weight.
No one stood unbroken before that greatsword, and none failed to praise her swordplay, beautiful as a dance.
That was Sword Saint Nayerin.
"Though she dies in the prologue."
Yes, that mighty Sword Saint Nayerin dies in the prologue.
Poisoned and blind, she fights dozens of Iron Blood Clan elites using only her senses.
In the process, gravely wounded, she falls to one of the five division leaders, the Iron Blood Water Emperor.
Even then, she inflicts a mortal wound forcing his retreat, saving her youngest—and sole surviving—disciple, Sayoon, in the process.
The Crimson Star Sect falls because Nayerin dies.
Even if the buildings crumble and Crimson Star Mountain burns.
As long as she and a few disciples survive, the sect can rebuild.
And Sayoon, having only learned the first half of Crimson Star Divine Art, won't despair over her mediocre skills or suffer without her master and sect.
Most Celestial Moon characters had mentors, senior brothers, or juniors to guide them.
With proper training, Sayoon's potential—honed alone against giants with her half-baked arts—could surpass them all.
Alright. Good. Then his task was clear.
Somehow, save Nayerin.
Of course, it wasn't risk-free.
Butterfly effect. He knew changing this would massively impact the later story.
But.
If the main story only unfolds through her suffering,
"Better off without it."
From now on, he'd switch the genre from human drama to pure fluff.
It was what he had to do, bearing the wishes of the 50 Million Sayoon Fans.
Island Flower Village was a modest little place near Sacred Mountain—Crimson Star Mountain—but nothing special. Mostly visiting daoists and shamans on pilgrimage, or jianghu folk heading to the Crimson Star Sect.
Even so, it had an yamen and actual residents.
Entering the market street, the scent of life grew stronger. Who knew what there was to buy or sell in such a small village. Even as the sun dipped low, plenty haggled for clearance bargains.
Lost in thought as he walked, his eyes landed on a stall laden with colorful candies.
"Hmmm..."
Unlike her fellow Crimson Star Sect disciples, Sayoon was an orphan taken in by Nayerin.
With no family backing, she had almost no pocket money.
No sponsors either, so even cheap candies like these were out of reach.
Sure, she might snag bites from others buying them, but she'd still have to watch her manners.
Hmmm...
"What to do..."
Of course, if Nayerin lived and taught her properly, letting her master Crimson Star Divine Art fully, she'd grow plenty strong.
But now that he was here, he wanted to go further.
What he—and they—wanted to see was the girl happy.
Despite her sharp looks and prickly demeanor, Sayoon was a sweet-toothed heavenly girl at heart. He wanted her to feel happiness in her own way.
With his knowledge, he could give her every lesson and experience she lacked.
The issue was approach.
The Crimson Star Sect was strictly no-men-allowed territory.
No guy could cross the gate.
Even letters, food, or supplies stopped at the entrance for disciples to fetch.
So, he'd have to catch her on rare market trips.
Arms crossed, he pondered methods.
"Huff huff... Hey, Uncle, wanna be secret friends? I'll buy you tasty stuff and give you allowance."
"What's a secret friend?"
"We chat like this, sneak treats (candies) without the sect knowing... Fun, right? Thrilling experiences other disciples miss (hidden secret realm clears)..."
No.
Absolutely not.
Anyone seeing that would report him to the yamen on the spot.
Sayoon was probably not even fifteen yet, and he looked early-to-mid thirties at best... It screamed danger.
He scrapped the idea and revised fast.
Direct contact was too risky.
Only one option left.
He strolled the market. As the setting sun painted the sky in vivid crimson dusk, vendors packed up their stalls one by one.
He stopped at one.
A jumble-sale stall.
Sedge hat, tobacco, pipe, trinkets, jerky, and more.
Goods as rootless and mixed as this world, strewn about haphazardly. The man tending it seemed utterly uninterested in actual selling.
In other words, trading wasn't his goal.
Otherwise, he'd notice someone browsing.
"This, this. And this. This."
He picked a sedge hat, tobacco, pipe, and a small wooden bracelet.
The man glanced indifferently and extended a hand.
"One nyang of silver."
He donned the sedge hat, lit a roll of paper tobacco in the pipe. Amid rising pale smoke, he pocketed the wooden trinket and said,
"My inn by midnight."
No reply. But he was sure the man would come.
Because
he was a Postal Gate disciple, part of Celestial Moon's system.
Someone every character meets in the prologue, delivering letters and parcels continent-wide.
Back at the inn, he smoked in his room and waited. Sun set, moon rose, began its climb to the zenith. Then he sat at the desk.
And calmly ground ink.
Direct meetings were problematic.
Trespassing the no-men zone was too.
He gripped the brush and wrote in one go. Once the ink-dried paper was ready, he folded it into an envelope. Placed it in a small box with one nyang of silver, sealed it.
All that remained was waiting.
How long did he sit puffing away?
"From the Postal Gate."
As the climbing moon hit its peak, a black-clad, hooded figure waited at the window.
A bit taller than him, broad-shouldered. Hood hid the face, but the exposed jawline screamed iron will and pride in his skills.
His visible eyes gleamed with fierce resolve.
The perfect image of a Postal Gate disciple who completed any mission, come what may.
He handed over the box.
"Express. And keep the sender anonymous."
The man replied in the same grave tone as his arrival.
"One nyang of silver, sir."
He handed it over without a word. The man nodded.
Sender unknown.
Destination: the sect next door.
A walkable distance, yet using Postal Gate might raise eyebrows. But he seemed to embody the Postal Gate's policy and creed as he knew it.
Ask nothing, wonder nothing.
His job was delivery only. He spun on his heel, leaped from the fourth-floor window, and dashed off.
Postal Gate for all shipping needs.
Through the pale tobacco smoke from his lips, he watched the man go and smiled.
He couldn't contain his joy.
Couldn't hold back the excitement.
Couldn't quell the heat.
So, on behalf of everyone, he declared to this world.
"You're not trash anymore."
Because he would.
They would.
Make it so.