The night hung heavy and somber over the Overseer's Office. Song Changjing returned alone, while the young Song Jixin had already departed for the squalid Mud Bottle Alley. He did not press the matter—after years commanding troops on the battlefield, amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood, Song Changjing could still snore loudly in his sleep. Thus, his neglected nephew, though living a life far from the noble expectations of their lineage, did not evoke in him a sense of guilt. Surviving and returning safely to the capital of Great Li was already a blessing.
At the gate, the elderly steward waited patiently, lantern in hand. Song Changjing strode purposefully across the threshold of the side door that was slightly ajar and declared, "No need to show me the way." The steward nodded silently, slowing his pace before quietly withdrawing.
This modest government office on Fulush Street was neither lavish nor spacious, far eclipsed by the estates of the Lu and Li clans. The previous overseer, a genuinely austere kiln supervisor, lived frugally, and the town's affluent families considered this unremarkable. But Song Changjing was different—he was the current Great Li Emperor's own half-brother, a distinguished general who had expanded borders and earned unrivaled military glory, as well as a renowned martial master ranked among the top in Dong Baoping Continent. His arrival was like a mighty dragon breaching a small lake; even the local bullies could only show him the deference due.
Passing a small courtyard, Song Changjing noticed a solitary figure poring over a book by lamplight, sitting with impeccable posture and unwavering diligence. Truly a man of noble character. His robe billowing with each swift step, Song Changjing's lips curled into a mocking smile.
Once, a young scholar from Guanhu Academy, famed for his divine calligraphy and heralded across the court and country, had been summoned by the Southern Wei monarch to draft imperial edicts in the side chambers. It was midwinter, and the ink froze on the brush. The emperor commanded a dozen palace maids to warm his brush by breathing upon it. This tale soon spread across Dong Baoping Continent, becoming a celebrated anecdote. Yet no one pondered how such a secret, within the forbidding imperial palace, could have leaked—without the emperor's word, the eunuchs' silence, or the concubines' whispers, how could common folk have known?
Walking along the dim path, Song Changjing suddenly burst into hearty laughter.
Meanwhile, Song Jixin, clad in simple, unadorned garments, returned to Mud Bottle Alley. The gate was unlocked. Upon entering, he found the maid Zhi Gui dozing in a chair in the main hall, her head tilted and eyes half-shut. Each time her head tipped beyond a certain angle, she promptly sat upright, only to lean again moments later—clearly exhausted.
Bending down, Song Jixin gently shook her shoulder, his voice soft: "Zhi Gui, wake up. Go to your room and get some proper rest; don't catch cold."
Rubbing her eyes, still groggy, she murmured, "Young master, why are you back so late?"
"I went to the corridor bridge; it's quite a distance, so I'm a bit late," Song Jixin replied.
Zhi Gui's gaze fell upon his unfamiliar formal attire, surprise flickering in her eyes. "Oh? Why are you dressed like this?"
Avoiding the topic, Song Jixin changed the subject, "After I lent you the local county annals, how is your reading? Would you like me to teach you?"
She shook her head, "No, thank you."
Returning to his room, cloaked in darkness, Song Jixin shed his outer robe and boots, and lay on his bed, whispering softly, "Wang Zhu, Wang Zhu, so that's how it is."
Zhi Gui, back in her room, extinguished the lamp and curled beneath the covers, producing faint noises as if sneaking bites of something. She even let out a contented burp.
At the swordsmith's workshop, although Liu Xianyang had not yet formally become Master Ruan's apprentice, it was evident to all that the master valued this tall youth highly, personally guiding him in forging sword blades. The swordsmith's hall was no longer freely accessible to anyone.
During the noon break, a young kiln worker approached Liu Xianyang with a mischievous grin, informing him that a woman far more beautiful than any lady on Fulush Street sought him out. Liu Xianyang followed with a playful grin, though his mood turned heavy.
By a well stood a tall, graceful woman, surrounded by energetic young men digging and hauling earth. As the young scholar Song Jixin disdainfully viewed him, Liu Xianyang was indeed a rustic, but beauty bore no relation to literacy or schooling. Perhaps unaware, the youth did not know that beneath the vague concept of beauty lay the elusive charm—especially a composed and inwardly alluring grace that captivated the soul.
The woman before him, unnamed and unclaimed, had delicate eyebrows like the fine hairs of a moth, a broad yet smooth forehead akin to a cicada's shell, flawless and full. She came alone, without the demeanor of a vengeful noble or a tyrant; Liu Xianyang relaxed slightly.
Despite her regal bearing and exquisite face, Liu Xianyang, though formerly prone to whistles on the street, was not moved now. The girl he admired had once been the maid from Mud Bottle Alley—and always would be.
Leading the lady toward the stream, Liu Xianyang's voice was firm: "Madam, if you mean to persuade me to sell you that family heirloom, I advise you not to open that request."
She smiled sweetly, "Don't be so quick to refuse. Allow me to explain the stakes clearly, then you may decide."
The tall youth's face remained unchanged, feigning ease, yet his heart plummeted.
At a distance, a girl sat on the swordsmith's threshold, clutching a bowl of rice piled high like a mountain, eagerly devouring it. Having finished the mound, she beamed upon discovering the hidden braised pork beneath, turning away coyly from the man slowly chewing at the other end of the threshold.
"Father, will you just ignore that outsider woman?" she asked.
His voice was gruff, "Ignore her."
Worried, the girl pressed, "But she's going to be your chief disciple here in the future. Aren't you afraid she'll lead him astray?"
He answered calmly, "Then that boy is simply ill-fated."
"Don't you feel any regret?" she queried.
Like her, seeing the exquisite pastries in the shop, whether penniless or affluent, if dropped, deserved heavenly retribution.
Ignoring the question, the man teased, "Is the braised pork tasty?"
The girl nodded gleefully, "Delicious!"
Suddenly stiffening, she recalled her father's decree: she was only allowed one portion of meat daily. So she had hidden the braised pork beneath a heap of white rice, hoping to openly enjoy a serving at night.
She turned sheepishly, lifting the bowl with justified pride, "Only one piece—I didn't break the rules!"
The man chuckled, "But what about that piece at the bottom you can't reach? Don't you feel a pang of regret?"
Her mouth fell open in shock, as if struck by lightning, spirit sinking.
He rubbed salt into her wound: "If you hadn't pried into Liu Xianyang's affairs, I might have turned a blind eye."
She fell silent, nibbling on the meat—a girl surely destined to be thrifty.
Finishing his meal, the man gazed toward the woman and youth by the stream, saying, "As long as that boy never enters the Mid-Five Realm, I won't meddle in his fate. Even if he does reach it, I might intervene once or twice—but no more than thrice. Fortune and misfortune have no doors; they are summoned by oneself."
The girl pouted, "Why not intervene?"
He snapped, "Scholars take students, warriors take apprentices—not to recruit minions for petty disputes or to provoke quarrels with the strength of numbers. Ultimately, in my eyes, master and disciple are kindred spirits. Besides, Liu Xianyang is not yet my apprentice."
She remained silent.
He sighed, "Foolish girl, do you know how many people there are in this isolated Great Li dynasty? Over twenty million households! So many souls, so many troubles—how can I possibly manage it all? In the next sixty years, I will take over this town from Qi Jingchun. Don't wander aimlessly; focus on forging and practicing swordsmanship here. Otherwise, if you cause trouble, should I intervene or not?"
Before he finished, she blurted, "None of your business."
Her words almost made the man ache with frustration—no less powerful than any hidden move of a sword immortal. He longed to knock some sense into her stubborn head. "How could I not care about you?"
The girl feigned shock, "Huh? How did another piece of braised pork get at the bottom of my bowl? Alas, I'm done for today—maybe you should eat it?"