Where would his next meal come from? There wasn't even the faintest clue.

  But did it matter? When the boat reaches the bridge, it will naturally straighten. The heavens never completely shut a man in.

  The only thing that mattered right now was finding a comfortable pce to sleep.

  "Tomorrow is a new day." No matter what happens, there will always be a way forward. Worrying about tomorrow tonight would be completely pointless.

  Guo Dalu yawned, stretched, and swaggered into the finest inn in town.

  There was just one thing he forgot.

  The doors of an inn were always open—it was easy to walk in. But walking out? That was a different story. If your pockets were empty, they certainly wouldn’t let you stroll out as casually as you came in.

  Of course, Guo Dalu wasn't the type to sneak away, nor would he shamelessly refuse to pay. So what could he do?

  For the first time, he felt a bit anxious. He paced around the courtyard twice before suddenly noticing a red notice posted on the wall: "Urgently hiring a chef."

  And so, Guo Dalu became a cook.

  As a bodyguard, he had at least managed to st half a month.

  As a cook, he sted only three days.

  In those three days, he used up over twenty extra pounds of oil and broke more than thirty bowls and forty ptes.

  Surprisingly, the inn tolerated him. After all, the few dishes he did manage to cook were quite good. Sometimes, finding a skilled chef was even harder than finding a good wife.

  But when Guo Dalu accidentally flung a freshly made pte of sweet-and-sour fish into a guest's face, their patience finally ran out.

  All the guest had done was compin that the fish was too bnd and ask for a bit more salt. That was enough to make Guo Dalu explode in fury. He pointed at the man's nose and shouted, "Have you ever eaten sweet-and-sour fish before? Have you ever eaten fish at all? Sweet-and-sour fish isn't supposed to be salty! Do you even know that?"

  If every chef in the world were as aggressive as you, who would dare eat at a restaurant?

  At that point, even if the innkeeper had wanted to keep him, Guo Dalu himself couldn't stay any longer.

  After three days as a cook, the only thing he had gained was a yer of grease and smoke on his clothes. His pockets were just as empty as before.

  But so what?

  "If one pce doesn't keep me, another will."

  What was there to be afraid of?

  Guo Dalu, of course, still didn’t care in the slightest. He could do anything, handle anything—so why should he worry?

  The question was… what exactly should he do?

  Guo Dalu started thinking. He thought for a long time before suddenly realizing that most of the things he was good at all involved spending money—riding horses, drinking wine, admiring flowers, pying drinking games… Could any of these actually earn him a single coin?

  Fortunately, there were still one or two things he could do to make money. For example—singing.

  In the past, whenever he sang, people would cp their hands raw, listen with rapt attention, and even ask him, "Did you learn to sing in the womb?"

  Some even said that with his voice and musical talent, if he ever took up street singing, all the other singers would be out of work.

  Guo Dalu didn't want to steal anyone's livelihood, but unfortunately, his stomach had already started singing—The Empty City Stratagem.

  So, he found a tavern he had never been to before, intending to sing for money.

  The moment he stepped upstairs, the waiters immediately swarmed around him—one pouring tea, another offering a towel, all bowing and smiling as they fttered him:

  "What would you like to eat today, sir? What would you like to drink? Today, we have fresh fish specially delivered from Jiangnan by fast courier—shall we prepare one live, paired with a thirty-year-aged Shaoxing wine?"

  With the air of someone like Guo Dalu, who else would the waiters try to curry favor with if not him?

  Guo Dalu's face had already turned as red as if he had drunk thirty pounds of Shaoxing wine. "I'm here to sing." How could he still say that?

  After more than half a day, he stammered out, "I'm looking for someone..." Before he could finish his sentence, he seemed to be driven down the stairs with a whip, rushing out the door.

  Of course, the innkeepers couldn't be bmed; it was just that no matter how you looked at him, he didn't look like a singer.

  "Sigh, it turns out that sometimes having too good-looking a face can be a disadvantage. Maybe it would be better if I looked uglier," Guo Dalu sighed, but he couldn't help but almost rush to the mirror immediately.

  Since he couldn't even make a living by singing, what should he do?

  "Heaven has given me such nimble hands; I will always find something to do." Guo Dalu was always very satisfied with his hands.

  He looked at his slender and strong fingers, and suddenly some old stories that had long circuted in the martial world came to his mind.

  "Right, I'll perform; I'll perform on the street! With my martial arts, who would not appreciate it?" Guo Dalu was so happy that he even forgot his hunger. He only regretted not thinking of this great idea earlier.

  Though it was already dark, the street was still lively.

  Guo Dalu chose the busiest street corner and prepared to start performing.

  However, at the beginning, it seemed that he had to say a few words first.

  What should he say?

  Guo Dalu wasn't bad at talking; when it wasn't the right time to speak, he often said things that were clever and witty. However, when it was time for him to speak, he couldn't get the words out.

  "It doesn't matter if I don't say anything. Anyway, people are here to see my skills, not to listen to me talk. As long as I show my skills, who wouldn't gather around to watch?" So Guo Dalu rolled up his sleeves, tucked in his shirt, and began to demonstrate his most proud set of martial arts moves right there on the street corner.

  As soon as he threw a punch, it was like a fierce tiger leaping out of the forest. When his foot kicked, it was like a flood dragon diving into the sea. His fists flew, and the wind howled—of course, every move was genuine martial arts.