I'm Just an Innkeeper, Why Are You All Kneeling?

Lin Fan woke before sunrise because someone was knocking on his door.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, half-asleep, and thought: a customer, already?

Then reality caught up with him. His teahouse had been open for exactly one day, and the only people who knew it existed were five bandits and one merchant who was probably still running.

The knock came again, louder.

”Owner! We have arrived!”

That was the leader’s voice.

Lin Fan dragged himself out of bed and looked out the window. It was pitch black. Even the roosters hadn’t clocked in yet.

He opened the door and found all five of them standing outside in a perfect line, faces scrubbed, hair tied back, hands folded behind their backs like they were about to be inspected by an emperor.

”...Why are you here.”

The leader bowed. ”We have come to receive the Heavenly schedule.”

”It’s five in the morning.”

”We did not wish to be late.”

”The shop opens at eight.”

Five faces fell in perfect unison, as if someone had cut a puppet string.

”Then we have already failed,” the leader said, with the weight of a man announcing his own execution.

”You’re not late. You’re three hours early.”

”Is that not worse?”

Lin Fan opened his mouth, then shut it, because he genuinely did not have an answer to that question.

He was starting to realize something important: handing these men a schedule might be a mistake. Their whole careers had been built on obeying orders with swords attached to them. If he scribbled the wrong instruction on a piece of paper, someone was going to treat it like a divine mandate and possibly die for it.

”Just — come in,” he sighed. ”Before you wake up a neighborhood that doesn’t exist.”

They filed in silently. Lin Fan grabbed paper and charcoal and started writing, yawning through most of it.

Lin’s Teahouse — Work Schedule8:00 — Open the door.8–10 — Clean tables, cups, floor.10–12 — Fetch water, collect firewood.12–1 — Lunch.1–close — Serve customers, wash cups.

He turned the paper around. Five men leaned in like it was a treasure map.

The leader tapped the first line. ”Open the door. Is this a formation command?”

”It means open the door.”

He looked mildly let down by that.

Another bandit pointed at line two. ”Clean tables, cups, floor. In what order?”

”Doesn’t matter.”

He frowned like Lin Fan had just told him the sky wasn’t real. ”Then the correct order must be hidden.”

Lin Fan grabbed the charcoal back before this went any further. ”Fine. Tables, then cups, then floor.”

”A three-stage purification sequence,” the bandit said solemnly, nodding to himself.

”It’s mopping.”

He said nothing, but his eyes said I understand the deeper truth now, Owner, even if you do not. Lin Fan decided this particular hill wasn’t worth dying on and moved on.

He split up the jobs — leader on tables and cups, two on water and firewood, two on sweeping and greeting customers at the door.

The leader raised a hand immediately. ”Why do two of us stand at the entrance?”

”To greet customers.”

”And if enemies arrive instead?”

”They’re customers until they start trouble.”

Silence. Five very serious faces considered this new and apparently radical concept.

”Also,” Lin Fan added, pointing at the schedule for emphasis, ”no robbing people just because they look rich, or arrogant, or easy.”

This text was taken from NovelPhoenix. Help the author by reading the original version there.

One bandit lowered his eyes guiltily. ”What if they look very easy?”

”Especially then.”

”...Understood,” the leader said, in a tone that suggested he understood absolutely nothing.

Lin Fan gave the door team their final instruction. ”When someone walks in, smile, and say ’Welcome to Lin’s Teahouse.’”

They straightened up. They tried to smile.

The temperature in the room noticeably dropped.

Five scarred men bared their teeth simultaneously. One had a chipped front tooth. Another had a scar slicing straight through his upper lip. The leader’s version looked less like a greeting and more like the last thing you’d see before someone read out a death sentence.

”Stop,” Lin Fan said, both hands up. ”Just — stop.”

The smiles vanished, thankfully.

”You’re welcoming customers. Not informing them their time has come.”

”What is the difference?” one asked, genuinely baffled.

Lin Fan demonstrated. Shoulders down, small easy smile, gentle voice. ”Welcome to Lin’s Teahouse. Please, come in.”

They watched him like he was performing forbidden magic.

The leader tried it. ”Welcome to Lin’s Teahouse. Please come in.”

It came out sounding like a warlord offering a rival one final chance to walk into his trap willingly.

Lin Fan pinched the bridge of his nose. ”Less murder. In your voice.”

”This one has already reduced the murder.”

”Reduce it further.”

The leader inhaled deeply, held it like he was about to lift a boulder, and tried a third time.

”Welcome to Lin’s Teahouse.”

This time it sounded almost human. Lin Fan actually nodded.

”Good.”

The leader’s eyes lit up. ”Your praise has been recorded for posterity.”

”It’s not a battle merit.”

”Everything is a merit, if done with enough sincerity,” the leader said, completely straight-faced, and somehow that was worse than if he’d been joking.

Lin Fan looked at the schedule and had the distinct feeling this was going to be a very, very long day.

The water-and-firewood pair came back in under half an hour — one hauling two full buckets, the other with an entire small mountain of wood strapped to his back, wobbling slightly under the weight like a very determined turtle.

”Why,” Lin Fan asked slowly, staring at the pile, ”is there so much.”

”You said collect firewood.”

”I meant enough for today.”

”You did not specify a day.”

Lin Fan checked the schedule. It did, in fact, just say collect firewood. No day. No limit. Technically airtight.

”Where,” he asked, already dreading the answer, ”did all this come from?”

”We found a forest.”

”You didn’t chop down the whole forest, did you?”

The bandit’s eyes shifted sideways.

”Only,” he admitted, ”the part closest to the road.”

Lin Fan grabbed the charcoal and added a new line to the schedule with the grim energy of a man patching a hole in a sinking boat.

Collect firewood legally.

The bandit leaned over the fresh ink, squinting. ”What does legally mean?”

”It means ask first.”

He nodded, filing this away with the same intensity most people reserve for forbidden martial techniques.

At eight, Lin Fan opened the door.

Nobody came.

The bandits cleaned the same table three separate times out of sheer boredom. The leader inspected each cup so closely Lin Fan had to physically stop him from running spiritual sense over one, checking, apparently, for hairline cracks invisible to the naked eye.

Then, finally — footsteps.

An old woodcutter shuffled up the road with a small boy trailing behind him. He slowed considerably at the sight of five armed men standing at a teahouse door.

The two greeters snapped to attention.

The old man stopped walking entirely. The boy ducked behind his leg.

The leader, remembering his training, smiled his newly-practiced smile.

”Welcome to Lin’s Teahouse,” he said warmly. ”Please come in. We will not rob you.”

The old man turned to leave immediately.

Lin Fan lunged and caught his sleeve before he could bolt. ”He’s still — he’s new to customer service, please ignore that last part.”

The old man stared past him at the swords, the axes, and the small mountain of very illegally sourced firewood.

”...Is the tea any good?”

”Extremely,” Lin Fan said, without hesitation.

”And they truly won’t rob me?”

Lin Fan glanced sideways at the schedule taped to the counter.

”Not during business hours.”

The old man went a full shade paler.

”They will not rob you,” Lin Fan said again, louder, mostly for the bandits’ benefit too.

After a long pause and one deep breath, the old man finally stepped inside.

What followed could only be described as five grown, scarred men fighting over the honor of pulling out a chair for a woodcutter. One yanked the chair out so fast the old man nearly sat on the floor instead. Another poured water with the concentration of a man defusing a bomb. The leader stood beside the kettle like he was guarding a sacred relic that happened to also make tea.

The old man ordered a regular cup for himself, and a small one for the boy.

Lin Fan brewed Tranquility Tea, hands steadier than they’d been yesterday.

The old man drank slowly, and something in his tired face loosened, just slightly, like a knot finally coming undone. The boy finished his in three gulps and looked up.

”Tastes like rain,” he announced.

Lin Fan smiled. ”I’ll take that as a five-star review.”

The old man set two Spirit Stones on the table. ”Good tea. We’ll come again.”

[Legitimate customer service recorded.][Revenue recognized: 2 Low-grade Spirit Stones.][Hospitality Points increased: 115 → 117.]

Two points. Not much. But it was clean — no crying, no confessions, no pile of stolen treasure in the dirt. Just an old man, a kid, and a decent cup of tea.

Something warm settled in Lin Fan’s chest that had nothing to do with the kettle.

Maybe, he thought, this can actually be a normal business.

Behind him, the leader bowed deeply to the old woodcutter.

”Thank you,” he said, ”for completing our first customer trial.”

The old man choked on his last sip of tea.

Lin Fan pressed both hands against his temples and said nothing at all, because at this point words felt pointless.

The boy tugged his grandfather’s sleeve. ”Grandpa, can we come back tomorrow?”

The old man looked at the bandits. Then at Lin Fan. Then, longest of all, at his empty cup.

”...Perhaps,” he said, in the voice of a man already regretting the word as it left his mouth.

The moment they were gone, the panel blinked again.

[Repeat customer possibility detected.]

Lin Fan allowed himself a small, tired smile. His first real, ordinary, non-crying, non-armed customer.

Beside him, the leader watched the empty road with an expression of profound solemnity, as if he’d just witnessed the founding of an empire.

”Owner,” he said, ”we have just received the teahouse’s first true recognition.”

”It was one kid saying the tea tastes like rain.”

”Every legend starts small.”

Lin Fan looked over at the small illegal mountain of firewood sitting outside his kitchen.

He had a very strong feeling this particular legend was also going to be extremely expensive.