Chapter Eighty: While You Walk the Rivers and Lakes to Prove the Way of Love, I Steal a Quiet Life on the Frontier

To Zhong Ming, Yu Bai was nothing short of a shameless rogue.

He had still been the one to find her a place to stay—it was in his own home, bedding made up with the new quilts gifted by Yang Yanlang. Those embroidered silken covers adorned with tigers and leopards, which Zhong Ming himself had never dared use, ended up being enjoyed by this lady knight instead.

For a man, it is difficult to refuse the requests of a beautiful woman, even if they are somewhat unreasonable.

Unreasonableness, after all, is not outright boorishness. In the eyes of many men, when a pretty woman is willful, it is coquettishness; if she lacks the looks, it is nothing but senseless trouble.

Zhong Ming was an ordinary man. Even after two lifetimes, he could not altogether shed the worldly inclination in his bones—like all men, he harbored a fondness for beauty.

He gave his room to Yu Bai and had to squeeze in with Liang Yu. Yet Liang Yu ground his teeth, snored, and let off wind in his sleep, and the room was haunted by an unshakeable stench of feet. Zhong Ming would wake before dawn, even before the rooster crowed.

Stretching lazily, Zhong Ming stepped outside.

The old rooster, “Iron General,” was still crouched in its coop, punctual as ever and unwilling to get up a moment before its time.

After washing his face, Zhong Ming heard noises from next door—Yu Bai was already up, and she rose early indeed.

Moments later, the sharp whistle of a blade slicing the air came from the neighboring courtyard. Zhong Ming tiptoed to peek over the low wall: it was Yu Bai practicing her swordplay.

Her swordsmanship was peculiar—exceedingly ornate moves, the silver blade nearly slipping from her hand time and again. It was clear she wielded the sword with practiced ease, yet she made frequent mistakes, as if she were a novice.

Such a contradiction baffled Zhong Ming.

He himself had only been studying the blade for a few months, but never had his weapon slipped from his grasp like that.

Watching the set through, Zhong Ming found her swordplay more and more bizarre.

When Yu Bai finally gathered her breath and sheathed her sword, she glanced at his half-visible head over the wall and snorted coldly, “Spying on my techniques?”

With an awkward chuckle, Zhong Ming clambered over the wall. “I use a knife, not a sword. I wouldn’t benefit from stealing your moves.”

Yu Bai ignored him, set her sword aside, fetched water, and began to wash her face.

Zhong Ming practiced his calligraphy for a while, then turned to preparing breakfast.

Soup rice was bubbling in the big pot on the stove. Out of boredom, Zhong Ming stared at it, sliced some cured beef into the pot, then covered it and stepped outside.

He happened to see Yu Bai examining his calligraphy. When she looked back at him, her gaze was much softer. “Your writing isn’t bad.”

“It’s decent. Mostly because my mother taught me well.”

He hurried to collect his treasured calligraphy scroll, not daring to let anyone else touch it.

Yu Bai muttered under her breath, “So stingy.”

The two of them sat at the stone table, waiting for the meat porridge to finish.

Zhong Ming’s curiosity about Yu Bai’s origins got the better of him. He struck up a conversation, “Miss Yu Bai, where are you from?”

“New Tang.”

She drew her silver sword and started wiping it down.

Zhong Ming chuckled awkwardly, “If you leave the village and walk towards the city, you’re in New Tang. North to the farthest coast, it’s all New Tang territory. Miss Yu Bai, that’s a rather broad place of origin.”

Yu Bai pouted, dissatisfied, and added, “The Youlong Mountains in the northwest of New Tang.”

At the mention of Youlong Mountains, Zhong Ming squinted. That place was famed for Sword Cliff, one of the Celestial Palaces, alongside Jade Capital and Penglai.

Sword Cliff, however, was known for its low profile—never had rumor spread of any immortal from there venturing out.

“Are you a fairy from Sword Cliff?” Zhong Ming pressed.

This time, Yu Bai didn’t answer. She merely shot him a glance and wiped her sword with increased vigor.

She didn’t want to answer, but that was answer enough; she must indeed hail from Sword Cliff.

This only piqued Zhong Ming’s curiosity further. An immortal, yet she didn’t ride clouds or fly in radiant splendor like those of Jade Capital—instead, she wandered the land on a white horse. Could it be that no one from Sword Cliff knew how to fly?

“Since you’re a sword immortal, Miss Yu Bai, I doubt you’ve come all this way just for chivalry’s sake, have you?”

Zhong Ming’s questions always cut to the heart. Yu Bai’s patience wore thin—she flicked her sword, and the blade sang sharply.

With a sweep of her sword, Yu Bai declared, “I’m here at the border to kill. Ask again and I’ll kill you first!”

Seeing the trembling blade, Zhong Ming fell silent.

He didn’t know whether she spoke the truth, but he was certain she’d never killed before—a killer’s technique was nothing like the showy moves she’d just practiced.

From inside came the sound of porridge boiling, the steam rattling the wooden lid.

In the courtyard, the rooster took to the wall and began to crow. Liang Yu woke cursing and grumbling.

Thus, after breakfast, the three of them went about their day. Yu Bai remained silent, perhaps embarrassed at freeloading another meal, perhaps for other reasons, but she said not a word—after eating, she took her sword and left the courtyard.

Zhong Ming, noticing that Daoist Zhang Daozhen and his disciple hadn’t come to eat, went to check on them.

The master and apprentice had been refining elixirs without rest. The stone essence had inspired Zhang Daozhen with new alchemical insights, so much so that the old Daoist neglected meals—his little cauldron had not cooled for a whole night.

Leaning against the doorframe, Zhong Ming called, “Old Daoist, my dantian is healed—a master from Southern Han cured it yesterday.”

“Oh, congratulations.”

Zhang Daozhen sat cross-legged before his cauldron, not bothering to turn his head.

The young Daoist, Zhang Nianchen, was snoring away on his bed, utterly exhausted—he must have tended the alchemical fire through the night.

They took turns watching the cauldron, determined to perfect this batch of stone essence pills.

Zhong Ming scratched his chin and continued, “Since my dantian is healed, you needn’t work so hard. The pills can wait.”

“No. Once the furnace is lit, the fire cannot stop. There’s only one stone essence—if this batch fails, it may be a hundred years before another comes by.”

Zhang Daozhen was stubborn, and Zhong Ming could see it; likely, treating Zhong Ming’s dantian had only been a pretext, and the old Daoist was more interested in refining the stone essence for himself.

Seeing that Zhang had no time for him, Zhong Ming left without further disturbance.

…

Life seemed to return to its usual calm. Zhong Ming resumed his sword practice, Liang Yu joined him.

Miss Yu Bai showed no sign of leaving. Since her first stroll through the village, after inquiring into Zhong Ming and Liang Yu’s character, she never again mentioned wanting to slay Liang Yu. Instead, she shamelessly freeloaded at Zhong Ming’s house, eating his food and occupying his room.

Compared to Liang Yu, Miss Yu Bai was more of a local tyrant.

She spent her days wandering the border town with her sword. Whenever Zhong Ming asked what she was up to, she would reply with a cold face, “Killing.”

No one had been killed, of course. In these days, Yu Bai went out at dawn, returned at dusk, never missing a meal.

In the past days, Feng Ning would occasionally pester Zhong Ming. Whenever he found him, he’d insist on discussing the tune “Invincible Under Heaven,” even bringing out his jade pipa to strum, but no matter how he played, something always seemed off.

One day, Zhong Ming couldn’t hold back. “A song isn’t just played—it must be sung. A melody with no lyrics isn’t really a song.”

Feng Ning’s expression was strange. He asked, “So you mean you’re willing to let me perform the whole piece, song and all?”

Zhong Ming, impatient, nodded. “If you want to play and sing it, go ahead. Haven’t I already taught you the whole thing?”

After that day, Feng Ning never sought him again. From then on, his courtyard resounded with his singing and playing, day and night, so much so that the neighbors came to Zhong Ming to complain.

That morning, Lu Dashu came running—saying that the outsider had sung half the night, and Lu Xiaoyu had cried along, making a ruckus. He begged Zhong Ming to go and talk sense into him.

Seeing Lu Dashu off, Zhong Ming sighed, “That Master Feng really is a music-madman. I’d better go have a word with him—if he keeps this up, the whole village will be driven mad.”

It was a warm morning. Zhong Ming strolled with hands behind his back to Fei Dacheng’s old courtyard.

As he approached, he was surprised to see Feng Mufei leading a band of mischievous children. The usual troublemakers of the village were all gathered, listening attentively as Feng Mufei delivered orders.

“Today, we’re going to the temple west of town to exorcise a demon! I’ve heard that a thousand-year-old willow spirit appeared there recently. We’ll see whether it’s still around!”

The gang, led by Li Mujiang’s son Li Wangye, shouted in unison, “At your command, Palace Lord!”

Feng Mufei, playing the role, looked around and handed two big handfuls of dried fruits to Li Wangye. “Elder Li, distribute these—today’s rations. If you find the tree spirit in the temple, there’ll be a great reward from your Palace Lord!”

Grinning, Li Wangye divided the treats among the others, who all cheered, “Long live the Lord of Penglai Palace!”

Feng Mufei glowed with pride at their adoration.

Zhong Ming couldn’t help but laugh—so that’s how the little one had become king of the children, bribing them with snacks.

The willow spirit they mentioned must be Liu Chengyin.

There was nothing dangerous at the ruined temple west of town. It was just children playing, so Zhong Ming paid no mind.

He stepped forward, patted Feng Mufei on the head. “Feifei, where’s your father?”

She only then noticed him, and replied sweetly, “Brother Zhong Ming, my father went to Suiyun Mountain early this morning—not sure when he’ll be back.”

Zhong Ming smiled. That was perfect—Feng Ning had gone to the mountains, so there’d be no more musical disturbance.

Feng Mufei added, “Brother Zhong Ming, I can’t chat now. I’m off to catch demons at the temple—when I bring one back, I’ll show you!”

Led by Feng Mufei, the children marched grandly towards the west of town.

Lagging at the rear, Li Wangye slipped Zhong Ming two dried fruits. “Brother Zhong Ming, don’t tell the Palace Lord I gave you these. Eat them in secret.”

With that, the boy scampered off to fawn over his “Palace Lord.”

With a dry laugh, Zhong Ming peeled the unknown dried fruit and popped it in his mouth. Crisp and crunchy, he chewed thoughtfully, gazing northward and murmured, “I wonder how Elder Liu fares on his journey through the martial world.”

His gaze pierced the distance. In his mind’s eye, he saw a scholar in green robes—Liu Chengyin—drunkenly slumped over his horse, the old steed tottering along the road toward Luoyang.

…

As the imperial capital of New Tang, Luoyang was the most prosperous city of them all.

A poet once said: “Of three thousand wonders in New Tang, Luoyang alone stands at the peak.” Hyperbole, perhaps, but it spoke to Luoyang’s splendor. Not to mention its thirty-story Pagoda of the Way, its triple-walled palaces, or the forbidden zones—just the Drunken Lane was a marvel in itself.

Drunken Lane was the city’s largest street of taverns, stretching north to south, all establishments dedicated to drink.

Luoyang lacked neither scholars nor nobility, and least of all did it lack drinkers. People said nine out of ten pedestrians in Luoyang were drunkards and, if anything, that was an understatement.

Since Grand Chancellor Tian Yizheng composed his famous verse after assisting Emperor Tang Zhen in his campaigns—“To the frontiers I go, storing wine for you, my lord; I’ll bring back what’s left, for old friends in Luoyang”—the passion for drinking swept the realm. Scholars and warriors alike took pride in drunken revelry.

Thus Drunken Lane came to be, bustling with patrons from before noon each day.

Among its hundred taverns, the Border Drunk was but one, though a distinguished one.

Within, the crowd was sparse, but all conversation revolved around the same topic: the Martial Stars Ranking.

“Have you heard? Hero Guo is heading north to Jade Capital to challenge Fairy Echan, testing her immortal skills with fist and foot.”

“Who hasn’t heard? They say Veteran Guo Dexing is compiling a new ranking, putting the immortals of the Celestial Palaces on the list to compete for supremacy.”

Another chimed in, “That’s why this year’s Martial Stars Ranking is delayed. In decades, the ten-year cycle has never missed its mark—this is the first time.”

A patron added, “Good thing, too. It gives the martial heroes more time to vie for fame. I hear the upstart Flying Corpse King recently defeated Old Sword Immortal Su Tingyou, and rumor has it he’s a top contender for the Heavenly Gang’s top three.”

“He’s coming to Luoyang soon, aiming to challenge General Qin for the title of number one.”

The first man scoffed, “How arrogant! Our Invincible General Qin earned his name with his fists. Even Fairy Echan was amazed by his skills. How could a nameless, wild upstart best him?”

“That’s not certain. Old Sword Immortal Su Tingyou already lost to him.”

The chatter grew lively as all debated the martial world’s latest news.

In a corner sat a scholar in green robes, who uncorked a jug, poured himself a cup, and savored it. “Fine wine! Only at the border can one find such Green Bamboo Brew!”

The Green Bamboo Brew was not especially fine, just a good local wine, unique to the southern borderlands where bamboo was plentiful.

The scholar tossed a handful of silver on the table, picked up the jug and cup, and walked to the center of the tavern, pouring as he went. He downed his cup in one go, blending bravado with the elegance of a man of letters.

He addressed the crowd, “Do you know why the Flying Corpse King challenged Old Sword Immortal Su Tingyou, and now General Qin?”

The answer was a chorus of shaking heads. “Do you know? Tell us!”

“It’s because they are all heartless men. The Flying Corpse King, Liu Chengyin, seeks justice for the wronged women of the world—nothing more!”

His explanation was so unexpected, the listeners scoffed.

“What nonsense! You must be making this up!”

The scholar in green smiled, “Even if I made it up, it’s the truth!”

They shook their heads, dismissing him as mad. “How many days have you even studied? How can something you invent become real?”

He downed another cup and replied coolly, “Because I am Liu Chengyin!”

The tavern erupted in chaos. Liu Chengyin smashed his cup, drank directly from the jug, then strode out unhurriedly.

From outside came his voice, loud and bold, “Tomorrow at noon, atop the outer city wall by the imperial palace, I, Liu Chengyin, challenge Qin Xiong! If he does not appear, I’ll bring a sea of corpses and storm the palace myself!”

His wild challenge rang out, drowning the hubbub and echoing down the length of Drunken Lane.