Rumors swirled that by the Dragon Whisker Bridge, built to suppress the capital’s water veins, stood a renowned little eatery called the Ninety-Nine Tavern, frequented by dignitaries and nobles without end.
The proprietress was a widow whose charm had not faded with the years, yet no scandal had ever touched her name. No matter how fiercely aristocratic scions and wealthy heirs clashed over tables, no matter how brutal their brawls became, the Ninety-Nine Tavern—seemingly without any powerful backer—always reopened the next day. If you arrived late, even if you were the son of a minister or the grandson of a great general, the doors would shut firmly in your face at closing time. The more the tavern upheld its rules, the more it endeared itself to the capital’s gourmands. Even high-ranking officials like vice-ministers might find themselves on the receiving end of a cheeky waiter’s glare, yet everyone reveled in the experience.
The two Song scholars, the unyielding Elder Huan Wen, Yao Baifeng of the Imperial Academy, and nearly every former minister of the Six Boards—too many to count on both hands and feet—had all, without exception, feasted heartily here.
This year, an even greater figure had joined their ranks: Qi Yanglong. It was said that before the Grand Secretariat official had even formally sworn allegiance to the Liyang court, his first act upon entering the capital was not to pay homage to the emperor but to rush straight to the Ninety-Nine Tavern and drink himself into a stupor. Even more astonishingly, this undisputed leader of the literati had nearly been thrown out by the proprietress.
Today, business at the Ninety-Nine Tavern was as bustling as ever. Before the front doors had even opened, the street by the river was already choked with luxurious carriages and towering steeds, as patrons patiently queued up.
A short, limping old man arrived at the tavern’s back entrance. Unlike the clamor at the front, this narrow, twisting alley was eerily quiet, its walls slick with moss where sunlight barely reached. The old man didn’t knock immediately but instead fixed his gaze on a young man yawning on the steps, who stared back with wide-eyed curiosity.
In truth, they “knew” each other. The old man, who usually reserved his attention for princes and nobles, remembered this rogue because the brash youth had appeared outside the Xiamawei Posthouse the day before, engaging in a so-called “epic duel” with the young Prince of Beiliang. Upon returning to the Zhaogou headquarters, the old man had swiftly uncovered the youth’s background—a genuine travel pass issued by Jinzhou in Liaodong, and even details like where he’d stayed and what he’d eaten in the capital. The old man had even recorded how this Wu Laifu haggled over room rates with the innkeeper. Initially, the old man had dismissed him as either a harmless fool or a clueless troublemaker caught in the capital’s whirlpool. But seeing Wu Laifu here now stirred murderous intent in the Zhaogou leader, who believed in no coincidences.
Wu Laifu, resting his iron saber on his knees, suddenly blurted, “Old man, I know you! You never lifted a finger yesterday, but I can tell—you’re a master, just like me!”
Wu Laifu smirked, plotting how to kill this man without drawing attention.
The Ninety-Nine Tavern was forbidden ground for Zhaogou. No Liyang spy, regardless of rank, was permitted near it—a rigid rule established under Yuan Benxi’s tenure.
Though Master Yuan was dead, the limping old man had no wish to disturb the woman who hid in plain sight over trivial matters. But the new Zhaogou leader had spoken, forcing him to break the rule.
Known only as “Old Yao” even to the Prince of Beiliang and the Fushui Bureau, the old man eyed the youth cradling his blade and asked with a smile, “Young Hero Wu, what brings you here to bask in the sun?”
Wu Laifu’s martial skills were mediocre, but he was far from stupid—otherwise, he wouldn’t have upstaged Li Haoran. His name now carried weight in the capital. Having witnessed the previous day’s battle, including the aging swordsman’s demise and the young prince’s death, he knew better than to challenge the seemingly unremarkable old man. Sweating profusely but maintaining his infuriating grin, Wu Laifu said, “Elder, the sun shines everywhere, right? I’m here to find work. My funds ran dry on the way from Liaodong, and I’m no lawless ruffian—just an upstanding citizen!”
The old man chuckled. “Work? In a city this big, why here?”
Wu Laifu’s smile stiffened. After a pause, he lowered his voice. “Elder, let’s be frank. Everyone knows the Ninety-Nine Tavern has deep waters. A woman running this place alone? Either she’s a hidden master, her staff are top-tier martial artists, or maybe the chef’s a retired legend. I’m here to learn, not just earn!”
The old man studied the delusional youth, torn between slapping him dead or applauding his audacity.
With mock sincerity, the old man said, “If memory serves, Young Hero Wu only lost to the Prince of Beiliang by a hair. Why seek further improvement?”
Wu Laifu grinned sheepishly. “More skills never hurt. The Prince has fists, blades, and that ‘Divine Summoning’ trick—I’ve got catching up to do.”
The old man laughed. “You’ve one talent surpassing even the Prince.”
Wu Laifu whispered, “A thick skin?”
The old man gave a thumbs-up. “Young Hero Wu, you’re a martial prodigy! Your future’s limitless!”
Wu Laifu scratched his head, accepting the “praise” with glee.
For some reason, the old man’s killing intent faded. Ignoring the Liaodong “hero,” he climbed the steps and knocked lightly.
No answer came.
The old man knocked again, unhurried.
Wu Laifu, after cycles of curiosity, speculation, and boredom, finally stood, sheathed his blade, and slammed the peeling door. “Proprietress! It’s Wu Laifu, the guy who wanted to work here yesterday! If you won’t open for me, fine, but there’s a revered elder here on urgent business! Don’t keep him waiting!”
The old man’s lips twitched, but he endured it.
Wu Laifu’s banging shook the alley.
When the door finally swung open, Wu Laifu nearly smacked the opener but stumbled inside face-first instead.
The glimpse he caught left him dumbstruck.
This wasn’t the proprietress—a woman past her prime but still alluring—but a girl Wu Laifu’s age, the most breathtaking beauty he’d ever seen, possibly in this life and the next.
Sitting on the ground, Wu Laifu gaped at her back, suddenly too awed to speak.
The old man, a high-ranking Ministry of Justice official, hesitated before the girl who topped the Rouge List—a masterpiece Yuan Benxi had once envisioned but failed to secure.
In that fateful game of three, even the infallible Yuan Benxi had been outmaneuvered.
Yuan later admitted he and Huang Sanjia had both lost to the same person—a lifelong regret.
The girl, Chen Yu, said coolly, “Elder Yao, are you here to escort me to the Liaodong prince’s manor?”
The old man sighed. “No. I’ve come for Madam Hong.”
She frowned. “Aunt Hong won’t see you.”
The old man shook his head. “Chen Yu, this isn’t your call.”
Hearing her name, Wu Laifu felt thunderstruck.
Chen Yu—top of the Rouge List!
Even the enigmatic Nangong woman was merely deemed “not inferior to Chen Yu.” The third-ranked was the sword-wielding fairy who had once been the Western Chu princess, now its empress—Jiang Ni!
Chen Yu remained silent.
The old man, long immune to beauty, still marveled at her radiance. No wonder Yuan Benxi had called her “a calamity in chaos, an empress in peace.”
Wu Laifu was suddenly kicked, face-planting again.
A woman—the proprietress—stood by him, glaring at the old man. “The Ninety-Nine Tavern has no bones for dogs!”
Unfazed, the old man flicked a finger. Wu Laifu’s head snapped back, and he collapsed, lifeless.
Softly, the old man said, “Madam Hong, the empress requests your presence at the Qin Tianjian.”
The proprietress scoffed. “What, should I block the palace gates? Or guard the throne hall? Too late for regrets now!”
The old man’s eyelids fluttered. “Her Majesty’s decree is… for you to go to the Qin Tianjian.” He emphasized, “The Qin Tianjian.”
The proprietress erupted. “Get out!” She pointed furiously. “Yao! Tell that shameless woman Zhao Zhi—we’re not that close!”
The old man pressed on. “Her Majesty offers two terms. First, if you go, Chen Yu need not marry the Liaodong prince.”
The woman laughed bitterly. “Zhao Zhi! The whole world knows you favor Zhao Zhuan over Zhao Wu! First, you rob your eldest of the throne, now even his consolation prize?”
Chen Yu stood detached, as if none of this concerned her.
The Prince of Beiliang’s heir, the late Emperor Zhao Dun, the eldest prince Zhao Wu, the fourth prince Zhao Zhuan…
Once, her fallen noble family had sent her to the capital to vie for empress.
Her master, Huang Sanjia, had wanted her to marry a wandering youth.
Then, the mumbling Yuan Benxi had directed her to the fourth prince before his marriage to Yan Dongwu.
Later, the dowager empress had betrothed her to the crown prince, Zhao Wu, now the Liaodong prince with no hope of the throne.
No one had ever asked her what she wanted.
Her grandfather, famed for his integrity, had only said on his deathbed, “The family’s revival needs you.”
Her revered master had simply smiled. “A book must be written this way.”
Yuan Benxi had dipped his finger in wine and scrawled on the table: “You, empress. I, survival.”
Finally, summoned to the palace, she’d seen the empress nod once before being dismissed.
She had never resisted.
Chen Yu didn’t yearn for the jianghu—she knew its men were all prisoners of circumstance.
Nor did she crave the palace—its women were caged birds.
But while she knew what she didn’t want, she’d never discovered what she did.
So she drifted, rootless, without sorrow or self-pity.
When Aunt Hong—who’d taught her paper-cutting—snarled “Get out!” again, Chen Yu felt no melancholy. Did it matter whether she went to Liaodong or became a princess?
The old man watched the long-widowed woman, unbothered even if she punched him.
Calmly, he said, “Madam Hong, the empress’s second message: Xie Guanying is already at the Qin Tianjian. The Shu prince, Chen Zhibao, may join him.”
The woman paled, eyes closing in pain. “Zhao Zhi… you’ve always been this way. First for your husband, now for your son…”
The old man checked the sky. “Delay, and it’ll be too late.”
She opened her eyes. “Is the carriage ready?”
He nodded.
Walking past Chen Yu, the woman suddenly grasped her hand. “Come with me. If we die there… it’s for the best.”
Chen Yu thought, then smiled.
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