Richest Man: Divine-Grade Reconstruct System Chapter 1309 - 1167: Preparing the School

The Centurion heard this and thought, what name and number?

I don’t have that thing either, he looked at the little servant.

You don’t recognize me? I’m the Centurion, you know.

The little servant raised his head at that, took a look, and thought, who wouldn’t recognize you, sure, but right now it doesn’t work no matter who comes. This is the latest rule for drawing lots. Anyone who can read and write can come up to draw.

Hmph. You mean a Centurion like me wouldn’t know his letters?

No, I wouldn’t dare say you can’t read. It’s just that all the numbers were handed out to those who queued up this morning. You just need to give your name and number, that’s all, the little servant said with a smile plastered on his face.

The Centurion thought, isn’t that nonsense. If I had a number, would I still be stuck here? But he had no way to show it. He could only stare at the little servant and say nothing.

I’m saying, you should at least say something—your name and your number. The little servant, forcing himself to be patient, asked again. Nothing he could do: this Centurion might not be a big official, but to the common folk he was still leadership.

Don’t you know my name? The Centurion deliberately dragged things out, straining to glance sideways at the numbers of the people ahead, so he could make one up for himself.

Listen to you—how could I not know your great name? Just tell me the number, the little servant said, writing down the Centurion’s name on the paper.

Just then, Steward Lu in front of the Centurion let out two loud laughs, which drew the eyes of the whole line and all the onlookers around.

Turns out Steward Lu had already registered before the Centurion and gone to draw; he hadn’t expected to win, and his joy was written all over his face, short of actually painting "I won" across his forehead.

Taking advantage of that moment when everyone was looking at Steward Lu, the Centurion saw the little servant move his hand aside and immediately spotted several strings of numbers.

The Centurion hurried to memorize those strings of numbers, then turned back. He tapped the little servant’s table with his fingers.

The little servant turned his body back. What now? Jealous? He looked at the Centurion’s beaming face and thought, this old fellow was frowning just a moment ago—did getting shown up by someone winning a prize hit a nerve?

What’s it got to do with other people? I just want to hurry up and draw my lot too. As he spoke, he rattled off one of the strings of numbers he’d just seen, and when he got to the last digit, he deliberately paused.

I’m telling you, that’s not enough digits; you’re short one, the little servant said.

The Centurion had been waiting for exactly that. He’d just seen that for the numbers before, the last digit ran in order. Steward Lu’s last digit was 9, and he hadn’t been sure whether the next would be 0 or 10, but hearing the little servant say he was short one digit...

He confidently said 0. The Centurion firmly gave the digit 0, and the little servant took a look, said nothing, and wrote it down.

The Centurion did have that bit of petty cleverness. After 9 it should have been 10, but the shop really had deliberately made a 0. Only, who knows whose number this old rascal just snatched—if that person finds out, will he get a beating?

For the moment though, no one seemed likely to claim it, so the little servant produced a written character for the Centurion; these had all been prepared beforehand.

The little servant took out the slip with the character on it, then said, read it correctly and you can go draw.

The Centurion’s learning was about equivalent to a modern second-grader, so the simple basic characters really weren’t a problem for him.

The Centurion took the slip from the little servant’s hand and looked at it. What was written on the slip was less a character than a little picture.

What’s this supposed to mean? The Centurion was puzzled.

Here’s how it works: you can guess, from this picture, what the character is.

The Centurion was just about to get angry, but there was nothing he could do—these were the shop’s rules. If you want to enter the contest, you have to follow the rules.

Left with no choice, the Centurion studied the slip in his hand more carefully.

Strictly speaking, it was what modern folks call the ancient pictographs.

These were all pictographs: a sun and a moon were drawn, which is actually the character we call "ming"—"bright."

The Centurion squinted and peered at it from every angle for ages and still couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

The people behind him were getting anxious; they’d started muttering under their breath nonstop—really hogging the privy and not taking a dump.

The little servant of course heard the voices from the back, so he glanced at the Centurion.

If you really can’t think of it, just give up. The folks behind are starting to complain.

Who dares complain? I’ve only just started looking—what’s the rush? He might bow and scrape in front of Steward Lu, but before the common folk he was still plenty overbearing.

The crowd, seeing this, were unwilling but still fell silent.

But please hurry a bit, sir; it’ll be midday soon, and we’re all waiting on lunch, the little servant said.

I heard you, I heard you, the Centurion said impatiently.

Then he flipped the slip over and over, staring at it this way and that a few more times, but still couldn’t say what character it was.

Ah, who’d have thought it’d be this hard, the Centurion thought. I guess I’ve no chance at that Jade Dew.

Thinking that, he shook his head and said, This picture is downright ugly—an insult to my eyes. As he spoke, he moved to toss the slip away.

Hey, hey, don’t throw it. How about this: I help you with the answer, and if you draw a winning lot, you split the wine with me half and half? The speaker was a beggar outside the line.

Hmph, you’re a beggar—how do I know you’ll even know the answer? the Centurion said.

Don’t look down on a beggar like me. I really do know this character. The only thing is, I’m a beggar—from me answering right to you winning, I still won’t have any silver to buy wine.