Chapter 2: Squatting Along the Way

Bright lights illuminated the bustling city, yet there was always something at odds with its noise and clamor. In the heart of a commercial avenue steeped in modernity, a three-story, antiquated tavern stood out all the more, quietly nestled among the towering skyscrapers like a solitary holdout whose price had not been negotiated, contentedly reclining in a rocking chair, eyes lazily closed, enjoying the tranquil breeze.

But—

Not everyone could see this “holdout” tavern wedged between the high-rises. Compared to the concrete and steel edifices beside it, the tavern exuded a warmer, more lived-in aura. In fact, it was literal smoke and fire—the tavern was ablaze, smoke curling from its depths.

“Has the master chef burned the kitchen again?”

“What the hell is going on?”

“Such a disappointing mess!”

“F***!”

Inside the tavern, upstairs and down, guests filled every seat. Prosperity reigned—alongside curses and complaints. Around the Eight Immortals tables, laughter and conversation flowed as diners awaited the arrival of their food and drink. There were fat ones, thin ones, old, young, men, women, and those who were neither. Polite gentlemen in suits sat beside swaggering generals in military attire. There were people in Han robes, Tang costumes, and even elderly relics from the Qing dynasty with court beads dangling from their necks. Some wore feathered hats like indigenous folk, others donned corsets so tight their eyes seemed ready to pop—foreign women, perhaps. Of course, there were also nerds and layabouts.

The tavern felt like a grand cosplay convention.

The burning kitchen was the topic of the moment. At the Eight Immortals tables, whispers and curses abounded.

Just then, the tavern’s door creaked open, and suddenly the whole place fell silent. Every gaze turned toward the newcomer.

A handsome young man entered, his face adorned with a smile as gentle as a spring breeze, followed by a fat, frizzy-haired hamster. Man and hamster dragged a burlap sack behind them.

As if on cue, the diners burst out laughing, as though enjoying a pre-meal performance. Yet there was no appreciation in their laughter—only disdain and mockery.

Li Changluo and Heiwa seemed accustomed to this. They walked straight to an empty Eight Immortals table and sat heavily on wooden stools.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but pets are not allowed here,” said a waiter, wearing a frayed rag and server’s uniform, approaching with a sway. His smile was so wide his eyes virtually disappeared. His voice was delicate—a charming boy.

Li Changluo looked at the oddly dressed waiter and replied cheerfully, “Oh, this is a hamster. It’s my food, not my pet.”

Heiwa glared at Li Changluo, growling, “Unbearably tragic.” He reflected—the phrase didn't quite fit; perhaps “inhuman,” or “unspeakably cruel,” or at least “lower than pigs and dogs” would be more apt.

“He’s talking about you,” the waiter clarified, pointing at Li Changluo, then bashfully turned to Heiwa, “Sir, please take care of it, would you?”

The tavern erupted in laughter again.

Li Changluo kept smiling outwardly, but inwardly he was baring his teeth at the waiter.

I ought to slap you, break your filthy mouth, kick your balls, poke your eyes out. Wait, you don’t have eyes. Ha ha ha, where did your damned eyes go?

“Just kidding, just kidding,” the waiter said, sensing Li Changluo’s murderous aura, bowing and nodding. “Dear sirs…”

He pressed thumb to forefinger, squinting and grinning at Li Changluo and Heiwa, forming a heart shape.

Love you—like hell.

Li Changluo kept cursing the waiter’s ancestors in his mind, but returned a smiling heart gesture.

Heiwa glanced at his stubby paws and gave up.

“You two are really amusing,” the waiter finally opened his eyes—but they were so small, it was better when closed.

“And your payment for food and drink?” The waiter placed hands on hips, raised his rear, and articulated, “Eat! For! Free! And! You’ll! Be! Thrown! Out!”

His tone became cutely unsettling, enough to raise goosebumps. This bizarre scene conjured an image in Li Changluo’s mind: a beautiful girl in sailor uniform, standing under the moonlight, back turned. Suddenly she spins around, revealing a bean-eyed man.

He’s here to represent the bean-eyed clan and beat you up. You’d better behave.

But Li Changluo knew well what being thrown out meant.

He handed the burlap sack to the waiter. It carried the scent of the sea.

The waiter took the bag with a look of distaste, shook it with a delicate pinch, and out tumbled chunks of corpse ginseng.

“Corpse ginseng monsters!?” The patrons burst out laughing again, but their laughter was as ridiculous as someone gnawing lobster and swallowing abalone, only for the next table’s guest to confidently order a plate of French foie gras, specifying extra garlic and no foie gras.

The waiter discarded the sack, drew from his chest an embroidered mandarin duck handkerchief, carefully wiped his delicate fingers, then sniffed them. The sea scent lingered, but oddly, he found it quite pleasant.

Li Changluo unconsciously reached for his crotch.

“All right,” the waiter pointed to the corner of the room disdainfully, “But you’ll have to squat over there.”

Li Changluo glanced over and saw a scattered group crouching like beggars.

“But there’s a table right here.”

“Sir, you’re late. Next time, you’ll have to squat outside the door.”

Li Changluo was furious. He thought, I’m sitting at this table, not even Jesus can stop me. Not only am I sitting, I’ll sit on the table itself—who cares about you?

Yet he rubbed his hands and smiled, “Being late is a bad habit, deserves punishment, must be corrected—but what do you mean by this?”

He carefully moved aside the knife resting on his shoulder.

“Ha, I thought you’d flip the table,” the waiter smiled, satisfied, as he returned a sword longer than himself to its sheath with a delicate pinch.

If a fight broke out, how long would it take to draw that sword? Li Changluo was very pleased with his own fruit knife.

Seeing Li Changluo and Heiwa obediently squat by the door’s corner, the waiter squinted and smiled, sashaying away with graceful hips.

The patrons were disappointed, sighed, and slipped back into their roles—the refined ones resumed their refinement, the upright their dignity, the pretentious their airs. The tavern buzzed with prosperity once more.

No sooner had Li Changluo crouched down than someone sidled up to him.

This man had a long beard and fair face, exuding an imposing presence. He wore ornate ancient robes, but Li Changluo couldn’t place the era—his attention was on the crown atop the man’s head.

The crown was adorned front and back with nine strings of multicolored jade beads.

He knew this regalia well—emperors, lords, and princes in dramas wore them.

Li Changluo understood this man was not ordinary, but why was he squatting here?

Could it be… he’d met a hidden master in the city?

And he’d strike up a conversation, the other would marry off his beautiful daughter, and Li Changluo would ascend to the pinnacle of life as a son-in-law, wielding borrowed power?

Thinking this, Li Changluo was overjoyed, eager to ingratiate himself.

But as the man drew near, a stench of excrement wafted over, forcing Li Changluo to politely bury his nose in his sleeve.

“How beautiful, so beautiful—sickly as Xi Shi, but even more so.”

“Boy, look at him walk—so graceful, boneless, beautiful indeed.”

Li Changluo immediately realized this man was interested in the seductive waiter, his face aglow with love, eyes following the waiter’s every move.

“You like him?” Li Changluo asked.

“No, I only love his walk—the way he sways, back and forth, marvelous!”

Heiwa said admiringly, “Friend, your tastes are truly unique.”

“That’s called distinctive, idiot,” Li Changluo corrected him.

What a headache.

Teaching a foreign monster idioms was a headache.

The bearded man was about to say more when a woman’s sweet, clear voice rang out from the tavern.

“Bring the wine!”

Li Changluo saw a beautiful woman in a blue gown, her figure graceful, leaning against the upstairs railing, her smile enchanting.

She held a large ladle, incongruous with her elegance.

From behind her, a swarm of tiny beings with dragonfly wings flew out. Some carried dishes, others wine jugs.

With the woman’s tacit approval, the dragonfly folk delivered food and wine to the Eight Immortals tables.

As the feast began, the refined, gentlemanly crowd turned into ravenous wolves, scrambling for the food, even stretching their necks to suck up spilled wine—an ugly sight.

But the most astonishing thing was that the guests themselves began to change.

A tiger in a suit, a wild boar clad in armor, a chicken in a long dress…

Not only “animal” monsters, but also a cola in a trench coat, a “person” wrapped in electric wires…

All sorts of grotesqueries—the tavern’s patrons had all transformed into monsters, greedily devouring their meal.

If there was ever a perfect illustration of “a motley crew,” this tavern was it.

Yet among them, only Li Changluo remained unchanged.

Though he squatted by the door, even these “beggars” were served food and wine.

Li Changluo awkwardly took a bottle of wine from a dragonfly creature and drank deeply.

Afterward, he looked himself over, touched his face, and sighed in disappointment.

“So you’re the infamous human-monster everyone talks about?” the bearded, crowned man beside him laughed heartily.

Li Changluo was nearly suffocated by the stench.

Turning, he saw the man had become a pile of excrement, still wearing the crown and robes—a humanoid dung heap, steaming.

He’d just thought about flattering him—should he still lick boots?

Li Changluo abandoned his dreams of marrying into wealth and cursed, “You dung monster, I’ll send you home with a toilet plunger, believe it or not!”

He pinched his nose and moved away.

Everyone has their sore spots—Li Changluo was no exception.

But the dung monster leaned in amicably, asking, “Are you new?”

He was new.

When Li Changluo awoke, he’d found himself in this world—a parallel one, eerily similar yet strange.

There were cars, buildings, fried chicken, and seasoned drivers.

He wandered the bustling streets, trying to ask someone, Where am I?

I want to find a police officer.

I want to go home.

But his voice grew hoarse and no one responded. Then he realized no one could see him.

His body gradually faded, almost disappearing, until he met Heiwa.

Heiwa brought him to this bizarre tavern.

Here he learned that everyone who ever died unnaturally, from ancient times to now, would come here and become monsters.

The absurd part: whatever caused your death in life, you would become in death.

For example, why was Heiwa so black—and a hamster? Because he was a lovable foreigner, who, before countless online witnesses, performed the act of a hamster chewing fiery corn.

He failed to eat the fiery corn and ended up setting himself ablaze…

How reckless was that?

As for Li Changluo, the last thing he remembered before death was eating a lemon…

Everyone who arrived in this world—no, everyone who became a monster here—had to rely on the tavern’s food and drink to maintain their form and avoid fading away.

To earn sustenance, one had to take on the tavern’s monthly tasks: hunt other monsters or complete absurd missions in exchange for food and drink.

Large-scale monster banquets like this happened once a month.

Those who got food survived.

Those who didn’t perished.

This was Li Changluo’s first time at the tavern’s feast.

He had been in this world less than a month and knew little about the mysterious tavern.