Perhaps due to its proximity to the prestigious Shangyin Academy, the city’s teahouses and taverns bore elegant names. It was said that on the walls of any ancient inn, one could find fragments of poetry left behind by literary scholars from various dynasties. The Jianxue Tavern, located in a quiet corner of the city, was particularly deserted during snowfall, when few dared to venture outdoors. Compounded by the recent calamity—whether natural disaster or man-made—the business had naturally declined. The innkeeper was in low spirits, pondering when he would save enough silver to purchase the modest house he had long desired. In these peaceful times, without the chaos of war that once plagued the Spring and Autumn Period, investing in property was always a safe bet.
His wife constantly lamented that their daughter’s dowry would be insufficient to uphold their family’s dignity, falling far short of the Song household next door. As the head of the household, though he toiled like an ox throughout the year, he dared not voice complaints. Yet each day, after returning home and sipping tea brewed by his daughter’s own hands, his grievances melted away. He hesitated, contemplating whether to finally sell the treasured calligraphy and painting he had acquired years ago from a displaced descendant of the Southern Tang Dynasty. Though it could fetch a high price now, his heart still clung to it dearly.
Sighing deeply, he muttered, “Middle age brings nothing but weariness.” He glanced up at the snowy street bathed in dusk outside the window, then pulled his sleeves tighter. Spotting two figures entering the teahouse, he hurriedly stepped forward to greet them, desperate not to miss this rare opportunity for business. Ignoring his reputation, he smiled warmly, “We’ve got the finest pre-rain tea and excellent wines. What would you like to drink, sirs?”
Upon recognizing the two guests, the innkeeper was slightly taken aback. The young nobleman with the gentle smile and warm demeanor was easy enough to place—clearly a refined scion from a wealthy household. But the woman beside him, with a face like winter frost, was intimidating. Instinctively, the innkeeper shrank back a little. Fortunately, the white-haired young man seemed understanding. After brushing snow from his shoulder, he smiled softly and said, “Good sir, please warm us a jar of wine—make it strong. If you have a brazier, bring it over and place it beneath the table. We’ll add extra silver for your trouble.”
The innkeeper rubbed his hands together, beaming, “No need for payment—this is my duty.”
Xu Fengnian and Luoyang took seats by the window. Earlier, Liu Songtao had inexplicably left the city. It had seemed as though Luoyang would soon turn her attention to finishing him off. But just as he and Yuan Zuo Zong were preparing for a final, desperate battle, she had instead suggested they go for drinks. Xu Fengnian had not allowed Yuan Zuo Zong to follow. If she said drinks, then drinks it would be. Dying for a noble cause might indeed mean death, but drinking with Luoyang might just let him live.
The wine arrived, along with the brazier. They began to drink across the table. Xu Fengnian took a small sip, exhaled lazily against the back of his chair, and softly asked, “You ruined the grand occasion that Toba Pusa had waited thirty years for. What exactly happened?”
Luoyang did not raise her cup. She remained silent.
Xu Fengnian asked again, “You became the leader of Zhulu Mountain? Was it you who sent Lu Linggui’s group to invite me into the mountains to claim a title? Did Cao Changqing agree to serve your sect as a guest master, and did Zhulu Mountain pledge support to restore the Xichu Kingdom? To be honest, I don’t have much hope for the revival of Xichu. When Xu Xiao destroyed Xichu, he chose not to divide the land north and south along the river precisely because he saw the trend of the times. He refrained from declaring himself emperor merely to avoid demoralizing the people. But if he had declared himself emperor, it would have led countless veteran soldiers to die pointlessly for his throne. Xu Xiao never made unprofitable moves.
Now, the current emperor of the Liyang Dynasty is no fool. His diligence and self-discipline are almost unbearable. Even if Cao Changqing ascends to sainthood, it won’t change the overall situation. Perhaps the Liyang court secretly hopes for Xichu’s revival—a single fire to burn a granary, far easier than exterminating scattered weeds one by one. If I’m not mistaken, Xichu’s initial revival will go smoothly, but in the end, the imperial court will surely sweep them all away like fish in a net. Yuan Benxi is capable of such schemes, and the emperor will approve them. Zhang Julu, now without rivals in court politics, can orchestrate it all with perfect precision.”
Luoyang remained silent, eyes closed. She tapped a finger lightly on the table, producing a faint knocking sound without any discernible rhythm.
Moments later, Xu Fengnian suddenly felt suffocated. Blood rose to his throat, and he quickly severed his spiritual connection with the dark figure in red robes. Regaining his senses, he smiled bitterly. “Feels just like the Human Cat Han Shengxuan’s Finger Mystery. You truly excel at everything, don’t you?”
Luoyang dipped her finger into the wine and, using small seal script, wrote the word *Luoyang* on the table. Xu Fengnian chuckled, “I know. After the Qin Dynasty unified the world, the capital was renamed Luoyang.”
Luoyang’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “You really know that?”
Xu Fengnian was momentarily at a loss for words, stumped by the absurd question. Yet this woman—this demoness—had fought against Toba Pusa, the second-ranked martial artist in the new rankings, and against Deng Tai’a, the new Sword Saint ranked third. She had dragged down Hong Jingyan, the former fourth-ranked, and today had clashed directly with Liu Songtao. In the future, she would likely face the old turtle in Wudi City as well. Would she end up challenging all ten of the current top martial artists? What kind of fierce madness was this? Xu Fengnian sighed inwardly. Why had he met her in the Northern Wilderness of all places? Where had that innocent girl Huang Baozhuang gone?
He voiced a question that had been troubling him lately, “Zhulu Mountain appeared during the late Qin Dynasty, from the old saying *Qin lost its deer, and the world chased after it*. Could this Zhulu Mountain, later known as the Demon Sect, be like the Northern Wilderness Princess’s Tomb, remnants of the Qin Dynasty?”
Luoyang burst into laughter. “Remnants? That’s a piercing remark indeed!”
Xu Fengnian forced a half-hearted smile. Luoyang ignored him and revealed the truth, “Liu Songtao was not pinned down and killed in the Dragon Pool by the combined power of generations of Longhu Mountain masters, as the prophecy foretold. Instead, he shaved his head and became a monk at Lantuo Mountain, hiding there for nearly a century. He should have long since put down his past and attained enlightenment, securing a place in the Western Pure Land. Yet for some reason, he fell into madness. Traveling eastward, he became half-Buddha, half-demon, like an untamed horse—utterly inexplicable. Lantuo Mountain, known for its strict monastic discipline, allowed him to roam freely. Even Li Dangxin, the leader of the Buddhist sect in Central Plains, made no effort to stop him. This too defies logic. The path Liu Songtao seeks, or perhaps the path Lantuo Mountain desires, might lead to the same destination.”
Xu Fengnian cautiously asked, “Are you telling me this because you want me to join Zhulu Mountain?”
Luoyang neither confirmed nor denied, speaking in riddles.
Xu Fengnian replied candidly, “As long as you don’t try to kill me, I’m fine.”
Luoyang lifted her wine cup and took a sip, her eyes glinting with amusement. “You managed to kill Han Diaosi, one of the Three Great Demon Lords of the Spring and Autumn Periods. Why would you hesitate to kill me? Once is enough. With your cold-hearted nature, if you didn’t kill me back then on the Yellow River, you probably won’t lose sleep over it now.”
Xu Fengnian poured himself more wine and smiled. “Killing Han the Cat was pure luck. Without the sword borrowed by the ancient sword sage Sui Xiegu, I would have been the one slaughtered by Han Diaosi. As for killing someone like you, a top-tier immortal in the world? I must be mad to even consider it. As long as you don’t seek revenge, I wouldn’t mind being a nominal noble in Zhulu Mountain. But let’s be clear—I will not get involved in Xichu’s restoration. I deeply respect Cao Changqing, but one matter is one matter. I haven’t even fully secured my own domain in Beiliang. I have neither the ambition nor the ability to chase the world.”
Luoyang showed signs of impatience. She spun the porcelain cup between her fingers and coldly remarked, “Liu Songtao was right about one thing.”
The wine was still warm, but the atmosphere had turned colder than the snow outside.
Seeing she had no intention of speaking further, Xu Fengnian quietly drank a few more cups before paying the innkeeper and leaving the Jianxue Tavern.
Luoyang made no move to stop him. She dipped her finger into the wine again and wrote two characters on the table.
Qin.
Xu.
Luoyang said calmly, “So it was always the three of us. He knew nothing. She knew everything. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”
Then, in a move no one could have predicted, she rested her chin on the table, closed her eyes, and seemed like an ordinary woman, exhausted beyond measure, waiting endlessly for the return of the one she loved.
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