A Waste of Time-Chapter 25: Lost Pilgrim

“Hey there, Ms. Qiu. Made any progress yet?”
Daemon slipped into the stall, giving the lady customer a polite nod when their eyes met. He took the only seat without hesitation—like he owned the place, not just another of little Qiu’s customers.
Even the way he asked sounded like he was checking on an order he’d placed days ago. Naturally, in this small village where everyone knew everyone, the older woman’s curiosity was piqued.
Something about this boy tugged at her memory—too familiar. But something didn’t fit. Maybe it was the fine clothes. Maybe the quiet, watchful guard standing behind him. He looked a lot like the little lumberjack who’d knock on doors selling bundles of firewood for scraps of copper and leftover stew.
“I had the best tailor I know make a few for you to try,” little Qiu said brightly. She unfurled a piece of fabric and handed over a tidy roll of socks while her other customer looked on, unable to hide her interest. “Do you need anything else, Auntie Ming?”
Qiu’s polite tone barely masked her annoyance—she’d caught how the woman had been staring at Daemon since he walked in.
Auntie Ming realized she’d been gawking too long and gave an awkward smile. “I hope I’m not being rude to this young master, but you do look awfully familiar to my old eyes. May I ask—what’s your honorable name?”
Daemon’s grin was quick and easy. “Auntie Ming’s being overly polite. You were kind enough once to trade some leftovers for my firewood. I’m no young master—folks in the village just call me
Da Niu
.”
Recognition dawned in the old woman’s eyes—and then embarrassment. Of course he was that same half-starved boy who used to knock on her door! And here he was now, clean clothes, good shoes, and a man at his back. There
had
to be a story behind that.
“Now that’s embarrassing,” Auntie Ming muttered, cheeks pinking. Their last meeting hadn’t exactly painted her in a generous light. Who trades leftovers for firewood from a starving kid?
“You’re overthinking it.” Daemon shrugged as he slipped off his shoes to pull on the new socks. “I needed food more than I needed a fair price. You didn’t
have
to help, but you did.”
Auntie Ming let out a soft sigh, the tension leaving her shoulders. The boy’s calm, grown-up tone warmed her more than she’d admit.
Daemon tested the socks, nodding once—good enough. Then he glanced back up at her. “I couldn’t help but notice your cooking was top-notch. Even the scraps tasted good.” He paused, then asked bluntly, “You looking for work?”
The question hit Auntie Ming like a splash of cold water. “This… this is too sudden.”
“There’s no rush,” Daemon said, waving a hand. “Think about it. If you work for me, I cover all the ingredients—you choose what to buy, you control the kitchen, and you decide the quality. In return for your time and effort, I pay you well enough you won’t want for anything. Take your time to decide, though. Say yes or no only when you’re
sure
. Either way, next time we meet, you’ll still get my respect—and a smile.”
For a moment, Auntie Ming looked tempted. But caution won out. She bobbed her head politely. “I’ll think on it. Lovely meeting you again, Da Niu.” She nodded to Qiu and bustled away, mind already spinning.
Daemon turned back to Qiu, catching her fidgeting with her sleeves. He raised an eyebrow. “Where’s my tea?”
“Eh—yes! Right away!” Qiu squeaked, startled. She bustled around her tiny stall, fussing with the coal and teapot. In her haste, she bent and twisted at all the wrong angles—tight clothes straining here and there, not quite hiding curves that made the corner of Daemon’s mouth twitch in silent amusement.
He flicked a look at Ru and gave him a sly wink. The Swordsman only rolled his eyes and looked away, pretending to inspect the hanging cloths like they were the most interesting things in the world.
“How’s business?” Daemon asked as Qiu passed him the steaming cup.
She sighed, shoulders drooping. “Slow. If I don’t sell most of this stock before the next merchant caravan, I’ll miss out on enough winter goods to keep going.”
Daemon made a soft sound of sympathy—though he knew next to nothing about fabric stalls. He just hated silence. “Why not do end-of-season offers?” he said offhandedly.
Qiu’s eyes widened. “How would I even start that?”
Daemon nearly choked on his tea. “Seriously?” He shot her a look halfway between pity and amusement. “Pick the dusty stock—old styles, odd colors, fraying edges. Bundle them up. Buy two, get one free. Or buy three, get two free. Doesn’t matter—just clear it out. Hire a few kids to run around yelling about your deals. It’ll drag half the village here.
“Your goal isn’t to make big profit on old stock—it’s to turn it into coins
now
, before it turns worthless. Then you have coin ready for new stock before the next caravan. Do the same thing at the end of winter. Get people trained to come here first.
“Oh—and fix your display. Piles on tables don’t cut it. Put the neat stacks up front. Hang the best stuff on racks so people can touch and choose sizes. Let them feel in charge—people buy more when they feel in charge.”
He sipped again, ignoring the stunned look on both Qiu’s and Ru’s faces.
Qiu scrambled to nod. “I—I see! That makes so much sense. Thank you, young master Daemon—I’ll do exactly that!” She looked ready to bow straight through the floor. It really was the perfect plan—turn junk into coin, clear space, and make every curious neighbor talk about her stall.
Daemon smiled, savoring the tea. “Good. Now that I’ve had my tea and got what I came for…” He rose, dusting off his pants. “How much for the socks? I’ll need twenty more pairs, and I expect the boots improved too—same payment, high quality, no excuses.”
Qiu tried to protest, handing the roll of socks to Ru. “No, no, no—young master Daemon already paid me well enough yesterday—”
“I don’t take charity.” Daemon cut her off, amused.
“This is a
gift
!” she blurted.
“A gift?” Daemon tilted his head with mock innocence. “A gift is meaningful, expensive, or at least high quality. These are just socks.”
Ru barked a laugh—then choked when Daemon added, wickedly, “Tell you what—make it meaningful. Marry Ru, then it’s a real gift.”
Qiu’s startled laughter made the cramped stall ring with warmth as she caught Ru’s horrified look—red-faced and speechless.
At least she wasn’t the only one suffering this boy’s mischief.
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