The Programmer Cultivator-Chapter 58 - 56: Fierce Wife, Timid Husband

The people fighting below seemed to freeze as if someone had pressed a pause button, all of them locked in a standoff.

After a long while, once they had more or less confirmed that Zhang Deming was asleep, they each let out a long sigh of relief.

The old beggar mulled it over for a moment, then turned and went straight back inside, entering his own room.

"Boss, what do we do?" one of the five men who had been surrounding the old beggar asked.

"What else can we do?" the leader of the five replied helplessly. "This is a man who scared the Liuzhou Divine Beggar so badly he didn’t even dare to fight, just cut off his own arm. Can we afford to provoke someone like that?"

"But the Bear Pounce Hand and Divine Movement Skill are right there for the taking. If we miss this golden opportunity to force it out of him, it’ll be incredibly difficult for us to get our hands on a peerless technique again with our level of cultivation."

"Sigh... let’s just watch him for now," the leader replied. "A peerless technique is great, but not worth dying for."

"Yeah, we’ll do what you say, Boss," the others agreed.

The men conferred in low voices for a moment, then decided against leaving the inn and went straight back to their rooms.

Once everything had settled, the hall of the dilapidated inn, now a complete mess, fell silent.

After a long while, two furtive figures emerged from the door behind the counter, jostling each other as they came out.

The proprietress was in front, while the Shopkeeper, stammering nervously, hid behind her. He cowered, his hands on her waist.

The pair peeked out to survey the scene. After confirming it was safe, the proprietress spun around and kicked the Shopkeeper, sending the unsuspecting man sprawling face-first onto the floor.

"How could I have been so blind to end up with a useless coward like you? Are you the woman here, or am I?"

As the proprietress berated him, the Shopkeeper scrambled to his feet, forcing a smile and reaching out to placate her.

This only made her angrier. With her hands on her hips, she snapped, "Just looking at your pathetic face makes my blood boil! Now get to cleaning, or are you expecting me to do it?"

"Aiya, keep your voice down! Calm down, I’m going, I’m going right now." The Shopkeeper quickly scrambled out from behind the counter and began to tidy up the hall.

The proprietress stood with her hands on her hips, watching angrily for a moment. She saw the small, thin Shopkeeper struggling to move the broken chairs by himself.

She sighed. "What did I ever do to deserve this?"

With that, she stopped watching and went over, shooting the Shopkeeper a glare.

The Shopkeeper immediately stopped what he was doing and gave her a meek, placating smile.

The proprietress was filled with a rage she had nowhere to vent, so she started taking it out on the broken tables and chairs herself.

"CRASH..."

"Shh! Softer! Don’t wake up the biggest monster of them all," the Shopkeeper said, his tone uncharacteristically firm as he reached out and grabbed her arm.

They both froze for a moment. Hearing no sound from upstairs, they let out a collective sigh of relief.

"Get your hands off me," the proprietress snapped, coming to her senses and realizing the Shopkeeper was still holding her.

"Hehe, letting go, letting go," the Shopkeeper said, reverting to his usual henpecked self.

Even with a belly full of fire, she could never quite unleash it on a husband like him.

The couple—one fierce and formidable, the other timid as a mouse—somehow got along just fine.

It was a classic case of "every pot has its lid."

The two of them worked carefully for most of the night until the inn finally looked somewhat presentable again.

"First thing tomorrow, after we see that monster off, we’re going to ask the Government for a transfer. I can’t take another day in this godforsaken relay station. You can tell them whoever wants to run this place can have it," the proprietress said angrily.

"Alright, alright. I’ll file the request first thing in the morning. For now, just calm down and help me finish cleaning. It’s almost dawn, and we can’t afford to offend that venerable ancestor of ours. He’s clearly a man who likes things clean. As long as we see him off without any trouble, it won’t have been a waste for us to get up and clean all night," the Shopkeeper said, trying to soothe her.

"You and your clever little schemes," the proprietress muttered. "If you ask me, we should have just left it a mess. Then when he woke up in a foul mood and saw this pigsty, maybe he would’ve taken care of those thugs from last night for us."

"My dear wife, if he wakes up in a foul mood, do you really think you can aim an ’ancestor’ like him like a weapon? One wrong move and he might ’take care’ of us instead! Then it’ll be too late for tears. It’s much safer to just treat this ’ancestor’ like a living Buddha—worship him carefully and send him on his way."

"Alright, alright, I’ll listen to you, happy now? Just look at you, with your shifty, mouse-like expression." The proprietress looked disgusted, but her eyes held no real revulsion.

"Hehe, I’ll change, I promise. I’ll make you proud one day," the Shopkeeper said with a fawning smile.

Muttering to each other, they went into their room. A moment later, they emerged in fresh clothes and began the new day’s work.

...

Early the next morning, Zhang Deming got up and began practicing his fist forms in the inn’s courtyard. The child he had briefly met the day before was nowhere to be seen.

In the inn’s hall and on the floor above, all the Martial Artists watched Zhang Deming’s movements without exception, concentrating intently as they tried to comprehend the techniques.

The five men from the previous night were gathered together.

"Boss, what kind of profound fist form is this? To me... it looks like a bunch of useless, flowery moves," one of them asked, confused.

"Yeah, it looks flashy to me, too. Doesn’t seem to have much power behind it," another added, puzzled.

"I think it looks even phonier than the fake kung fu you see from street acrobats," a third man said.

"Perhaps... it’s simply too profound for us," the leader suggested. "A return to true simplicity?"

"Yeah, I think the Boss is right. Otherwise, why would the old beggar have been too scared to even fight, choosing to cut off his own arm instead?" the last man said.

"That’s right—the old beggar!" The leader’s expression suddenly changed.

The men searched the entire inn but found no sign of the old beggar. In an instant, the five of them burst into his room.

The room was empty, the window wide open. There wasn’t a soul in sight.

"After him!"

The five men leaped out the window and vanished from the inn.

...

Zhang Deming confined his Spiritual Power within his Dantian. By the time he finished the set of fist forms, his forehead was already beaded with sweat, which only deepened the confusion of the hidden observers.

But the sheer terror he had inspired the night before meant that not a single one of them dared to step forward and test him.

"Finished with your practice, Young Master? Come wash your face and have some breakfast." The proprietress approached with a smile, holding a washbasin, just as Zhang Deming finished his routine.

Zhang Deming smiled. "Thank you."

"Of course, of course," the proprietress replied with a strained smile.

Zhang Deming paid it no mind. After being waited on, washing up, and finishing his meal, he glanced at the sky and stood up to leave.

"Young Master, wait," the Shopkeeper called out.

Zhang Deming turned, puzzled. "Is there something else, Shopkeeper?"

The proprietress shot her husband a vicious glare. ’Why on earth would he stop this terrifying guest?’

Truth be told, the Shopkeeper would have much rather let him go—the farther the better. But he was terrified the man might remember the money for lodging, turn around, and come back to Kill them.