Before the gates of the border town loomed, I passed a solitary inn, its weathered sign creaking like a dying bird.

Chen Ping’an, ever fond of a good draught, hefted his wine gourd, deciding it was time for a refill. He was not one to discriminate – be it the mellow ambrosia of Huangliang Blessings, the fragrant nectar of Osmanthus Isle, or the simple brew from a corner tavern, he’d quaff it all. Thus resolved, he approached the inn.

A scrawny, local hound lay basking in the sun outside the door. As Chen Ping’an and his companions drew near, it rose, teeth bared, a furious snarl tearing from its throat.

“Such hospitality,” Chen Ping’an muttered dryly.

A limping youth, no older than a boy, hobbled out, brandishing a rusty knife. He pointed the blade at the dog, his voice surprisingly fierce. “One more bark, you flea-ridden cur, and I’ll carve a new smile on your mangy hide!”

The dog, cowed, whimpered and slunk back to the dirt.

The cripple, seeing the three travelers, quickly hid the knife behind his back. A practiced smile spread across his face. “Fear not, gentle sirs, we are no den of thieves! Honest folk run this establishment, honest folk!”

Worried his potential customers might flee, the boy took the initiative, turning toward the inn’s entrance. “Landlady! We have guests! Dust off the best table, quick now! And there’s a handsome young master amongst them, a scholar, no less!”

Having delivered this promising news, he whirled back, bowing low, his hand outstretched. “Pray, enter! Our landlady cooks in the ancestral style, and my master, the finest roasted lamb this side of a thousand leagues! Nowhere else shall you find its equal!”

Chen Ping’an and his two companions stepped into the inn.

The common room was small, suggesting business was slow. A few patrons sat on the upper floor, but the ground floor was empty save for a woman perched on a bench, cracking melon seeds. She cast a skeptical eye at the “scholar” the cripple had announced. The boy, she clearly thought, was a mudskipper, ignorant of refinement, unable to discern the difference between a true scholar and a charlatan.

The woman wore a robe of yellow ball-flower pattern on a red ground, the sleeves wide and flowing. The fabric was of fine quality and fashionable cut, but bore the stains of age and a certain greasy sheen. Her face was full and rosy, her figure curvaceous. She possessed a certain raw beauty that belied her age. Though past thirty, she could still rival the bloom of a fifteen-year-old girl.

Her eyes widened, and she let out a delicate, almost predatory purr. She tossed the remaining melon seeds to the floor, grinding them under her embroidered slippers as she rose. Her hips swayed with deliberate intent as she approached Chen Ping’an, reaching out to pat him lightly on the shoulder. “Well, well,” she breathed, her voice husky. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say I’d stumbled upon a treasure. And one with such vigor! Not one of those useless embroidered pillows, I wager.”

Appalled by her forwardness, Chen Ping’an discreetly moved back, evading her touch with practiced grace. He chuckled, “Good landlady, I seek only to purchase a few measures of your famed wine. I neither hunger nor tarry. I’ve heard tell of your ancestral green plum wine. What is its price?”

The woman reluctantly withdrew her hand, a hint of disappointment flickering in her eyes. “So eager to reach that blasted Fox Town, young sir? ‘Tis no exaggeration, believe me, that place is haunted. Souls are lost there, and more than souls. This year has been particularly cruel. Merchants and travelers vanish, their riches untouched, claimed by madness. Stay here, young master, and tell me how many pots of green plum wine you desire. A trifle price, two pots of the five-year vintage for a single tael of silver. Add to that a roasted lamb, and you shall eat and drink your fill. Then, perhaps…”

She paused, her eyebrows arched suggestively, a spark of wantonness dancing in her eyes. “Perhaps I shall personally draw your bath, young master, and wash your weary feet.”

Pei Qian, who had remained largely silent, perked up at the mention of “Roasted Whole Lamb,” her stomach rumbling audibly. She wiped her mouth and gently tugged at Chen Ping’an’s sleeve.

Chen Ping’an considered for a moment, then turned to Wei Xian. “Can you hold your liquor?”

Wei Xian nodded firmly. “Massive.”

Chen Ping’an smiled back at the landlady. “A full night’s lodging is not required, but we shall break bread at your inn. And with that meal, I will take five measures of your green plum wine with me.”

The woman waved a hand at the limping boy. “Find Old Hunchback and tell him to pick a sheep for these fine guests. Make sure it’s fat, but not too fat. Use your head for once! And stop dreaming of some celestial master descending from the heavens to bestow upon you peerless martial arts. Such miracles do not befall fools. Now be off!”

The boy mumbled a complaint and hurried away.

The three of them sat down at a table. As luck would have it there was an empty bench. The woman went to the counter, gathered several plates of dried fruits and pickled vegetables, placed them on the table, and sat opposite Chen Ping’an. “Judging by your accent, young master, you’re not from these parts. A learned scholar, perhaps, returning from studies abroad? From the Northern Jin Dynasty, maybe?”

Chen Ping’an smiled. “From farther south, I assure you.”

The woman leaned forward, reaching for a handful of dried plums she’d purchased from Hu’er Town. Her ample bosom pressed against the table, her eyes fixed on Chen Ping’an. She was surprised to find the young man meeting her gaze with a calm, unyielding smile, his eyes clear and untainted. Could it be possible, she wondered, that there existed a cat that did not crave fish? “Shall we begin with the wine, then? I’ll happily join you for a cup or two. And once the roasted lamb arrives, a little tipsiness will only enhance the pleasure. Imagine tearing into those golden, buttery lamb legs… the taste is divine!”

Chen Ping’an inclined his head. “By all means.”

The woman fetched a jar of wine and four large, white bowls. With a practiced flick of her wrist, she broke the clay seal, pouring the amber liquid into each bowl. The green plum wine was clear and inviting, free of sediment or cloudiness. A single glance was enough to entice even the most reluctant palate. The woman, pleased with her presentation, launched into a spiel about her ancestral brew. She spoke of half-year, three-year, and five-year vintages, claiming even the youngest was enough to intoxicate a stone. A hero from the capital, she boasted, had once ridden a tall horse to her inn, and after sampling the wine, declared it the finest he’d ever tasted, even better than anything found in Daquan.

Pei Qian, ever practical, interjected, “Someone from the capital only drinking wine for half a year?”

The woman choked, quickly recovering. “The hero merely wished to sample it first. But then, like your young master, he purchased several measures of the five-year vintage.”

Pei Qian smiled wryly. “So that’s how it is. The people of Daquan Jingcheng are so frugal! Just buy some wine and have to taste it first. It’s better than me… Dad, if you want to buy it, buy the most expensive ones, Five years of brew…”

Chen Ping’an flicked a chestnut at her head, causing her to clutch it in mock pain.

He smoothly moved the bowl of green plum wine in front of Pei Qian to Wei Xian on the other side. “Two bowls each for the esteemed founding emperor of Nanyuan. Two bowls. Surely that cannot be a problem.”

Pei Qian rubbed her head, pouting. “Can’t I even have a sip? I’m parched. My throat is like a desert after such a long walk!”

Her lips were chapped and almost bleeding. Were it not for the demon-suppressing talisman clinging to her forehead, granting her unnatural endurance, she surely would have collapsed long ago.

Money moves the demons. This charm made her rush. After all, it was because of money.

Chen Ping’an chuckled. “One does not quench thirst with wine. I shall ask the landlady for a bowl of water for you, presently.”

Pei Qian glared at the woman. She crossed her arms, turning her head away in defiance.

The woman, unperturbed, poured a bowl of tea and placed it gently before Pei Qian. “Drink, child. No charge.”

Pei Qian snatched the bowl, gulping down the contents in a single breath.

It was not a sign of gratitude, but a statement of defiance. She despised the old woman, not the bowl of tea.

Chen Ping’an and Wei Xian exchanged a look.

Chen Ping’an sighed inwardly. The landlady, he suspected, was no fool. She held a grudge like a miser guarded gold. He was certain that even as she’d turned her back, she’d surreptitiously spat into the tea before offering it to the child.

Despite the unsettling implications, the green plum wine was indeed remarkable. Lacking only the rich spiritual essence of the Osmanthus Isle brew, it surpassed all other mundane wines he had sampled. He vowed to fill his sword gourds with it. If that proved insufficient, perhaps Wei Xian could carry a few extra jars. After all, a self-proclaimed wine connoisseur surely wouldn’t object.

As Chen Ping’an savored the sweet, warming liquor, he turned to the landlady. “Tell me, have you ever heard of the Yao family’s army?”

The woman replied casually, “Of course. I make my living on the border; who hasn’t heard of the Yao family’s iron cavalry? I’m not bragging, young master, but a young general named Yao once stayed in my inn, along with a retinue of his men. They ate a whole roasted lamb and then left, a large silver ingot forgotten on the table as a gesture. These soldiers and warriors were scary. Even when they were just eating and drinking, I didn’t dare get close to them. Always felt like they had murderous intent on them.”

The woman patted her chest gently, feeling sorry for her already tight clothes, and she was a little overwhelmed.

Chen Ping’an asked, “The Yao family’s border army, do they have a good reputation?”

The woman smiled. “Good? How would ordinary folk like myself know? We’ve never had dealings with such elevated people. But the reputation is good. After all, I’ve run this inn for over a decade, and I’ve never heard rumors of the Yao family preying on the weak. Mostly, it’s just tales of the Yao family making great contributions, receiving rewards from the court, being promoted to high office, or dying in the southern Northern Jin State. Was his wife? Sure enough, he became a widow again. It was basically just such a rumor. After listening to it, I was really tired of it.”

Chen Ping’an nodded, forming a rough impression of the Yao family, who had migrated from Lizhu Cave Heaven to Tongyezhou.

Wei Xian had already drained his first bowl of wine. It was the second bowl now. His face was flushed, but his eyes were bright. “The border troops neither disturbed the people nor raised hope. It was obvious that they wanted to express their opinions to the emperor. The idea of ​​separatist rule in the feudal states is a wise move. Otherwise, if there are emperors outside the bed, how could they dare to rest assured?”

The woman was stunned for a moment, “This uncle, what did you say?”

Wei Xian took a sip of the bowl of wine and slapped the table, “Where the horse’s hooves come, they are all land, this wine is delicious!”

The emperor of Nanyuan, who claimed to be drinking a lot, said a bold statement and became drunk as a pool of mud. He lay on the table and died of drunkenness, snoring like thunder.

Now I can stay in the inn even if I don’t stay in it.

Moments later, the limping boy and a hunchbacked old man carried a platter of roasted lamb to their table. Chen Ping’an rarely indulged in such a feast, and Pei Qian was ravenous. She ate so eagerly that she nearly choked, forcing chunks of mutton down her throat. Chen Ping’an, in contrast, chewed slowly, ate sparingly, and drank moderately.

The landlady returned to her perch behind the counter. Chen Ping’an had invited her to join them for dinner, but she had politely declined. Sharing a cup or two of wine was one thing, indulging in gluttony in front of her guests would not befit her. Pei Qian ate so hard that he started walking around the table, otherwise he would feel uncomfortable.

Chen Ping’an secured three adjacent rooms upstairs. He placed Pei Qian in the middle, then helped Wei Xian to his room and dumped him onto the bed. Fortunately, the former emperor, though boasting a formidable capacity for spirits, was a peaceful drunkard, prone only to snoring. Pei Qian went to his house, closed the door, and started burping. Chen Ping’an picked up the bamboo box and put it in his house. He went out and prepared to go downstairs to inquire about the customs and customs of the Daquan Dynasty with the proprietress.

Chen Ping’an found a guest who came to the inn, a scumbag, wearing a blue shirt and a long robe, sitting at a table, smiling and looking at the cold-faced woman on the other side of the counter. There is no wine or food, and there is not even a plate of food. At the stairs below, the shop guy was sitting at the stairs with a disgusting look at the man.

On the other side of the cloth curtain hanging at the entrance of the lobby kitchen, the hunchbacked old man sat on a bench, crossing his legs and smoking a dry tobacco.

Chen Ping’an was in a hurry to go downstairs and lay on the railing.

The sword cultivator who had previously stopped two assassins who chased and killed the Yao family’s border army, and the sword cultivator clearly had a backhand. Chen Ping’an noticed the vague aura in the distance. He should be a big monster with great wisdom, at least It is also the same as the sword cultivator’s realm, but it suddenly appears and disappears in the end, and is forcibly suppressed by a strong and righteous spirit. Therefore, the middle-aged sword cultivator retreated in a hurry, and the martial entourage in the armor of nectar had to escape together.

Chen Ping’an saw the man in disheveled clothes, and his first impression was that he was this person. He might be the hidden person who killed the monster in an instant, either a genius monk from the Tongyezhou Sect’s sect, or… like Zhou Juran In that way, he was born in a Confucian academy!

But Chen Ping’an soon couldn’t get it right, because the man was annoyed by the boss’s wife, rolled his eyes by the little cripple, ignored by the hunchbacked old man, and was short of money, and knew the truth by the inn. He had no chance to slap the swollen face and pretend to be fat. Sorrow comes from it, looking at the woman, and said infatuatedly, “Jiu Niang, I don’t dislike you as a widow and a child, really…”

Chen Ping’an slapped his forehead. Not to mention the identity and cultivation of this man, he only said that he was worse than his love affairs. He deserved not to be welcomed. How could he talk to a woman like this? What kind of love words are clearly stabbing the woman in the heart.

Sure enough, the woman who was originally just indifferent, raised her head, stared at the bastard, gritted her teeth and said, “Believe it or not, I’ll go to the sheep pen to get a dustpan of feces and pour it on your head?!”

Chen Ping’an glanced at the woman again.

The man in blue clothes was lying on the table, dancing his hands and feet, especially his hands were like rags, which was heartbroken, “Jiu Niang, why are you so heartless? How can you make me live? Am I poor? But Wen hates life It’s not enough to be a scholar, otherwise you won’t be able to write eternal articles that are so wonderful…”

The little cripple spit hard, “Your uncle, you are the only one who has never studied in the past, and it sounds disgusting.”

The hunchbacked old man seemed to be choked, and obviously he was still scared of that man’s eternal articles.

The man in blue suddenly became enlightened and immediately sat upright and looked at the woman with a smile, “Jiu Niang, are you afraid of delaying my bright future? So you don’t want to be with me? It doesn’t matter, I don’t care about the secular vision… … ”

The woman couldn’t stand it and said coldly, “Little lame man, he is hunched back, and he can use a knife. Who can cut him to death? I’ll give him ten taels of silver!”

The old hunchback didn’t move, and the little cripple was already running wildly and went to the kitchen to get a knife.

The man in blue stood up, straightened his clothes, then turned around quickly and ran away.

Chen Ping’an stopped going downstairs and returned to his house. After closing the door, he took out the second scroll and placed it on the table. Zhu Lian, a martial artist.