Rumble...
The sky was overcast, thunder rumbled.
Not long after, a light rain began to fall, drizzling like threads, pattering endlessly on the leaves by the roadside.
It was now the time of Shuangjiang (Frost's Descent), the season where all things have ripened and ended, yang energy sinks into the earth, yin energy begins to condense. The days grow colder, and the temperature difference between day and night is at its peak for the year.
With the rain, the chill seeped up from the ground right into one's bones.
"What damn rotten luck…"
Sha Lifei stood under the eaves, shivered once, then turned around and went inside, giving a thumbs-up as he said, "Daoist, you're amazing. You predicted rain today and got us shelter early. Just a shame there's no proper inn."
They were now in an old house on a hillside.
The house was in a remote area. Legend said it was built by a wealthy merchant years ago who intended to settle his family here—but as soon as construction finished, it was raided by bandits and abandoned since.
Most of the buildings had already collapsed. Weeds grew wild all around. But the two remaining main halls were still intact—more than enough to shelter the group from wind and rain.
Inside, Wang Daoxuan burned some dried mugwort, waving it around all the corners, especially the decayed, dark nooks, to drive away bad energy.
The old carriage driver was feeding the horses, while the four coffin bearers chopped wood and set up a stove. As for Li Yan—he disdained others' cooking for being unclean and unpalatable, so he did it himself.
After several days on the road, everyone had developed good teamwork and ran things smoothly.
Sha Lifei, bored, started complaining, "That innkeeper really had no manners. We're all men of the Jianghu, yet he wouldn't even let us inside."
"If we were in there, we'd already be eating something hot…"
They'd set out from Xianyang, and so far, the journey had been smooth.
A few days on the road brought them to the foot of the Qinling Mountains.
Wang Daoxuan, having studied the skies, foresaw continuous rain. Fearing that the coffin might get soaked, he led everyone to a rest stop.
There was an inn just a few hundred meters away, but they weren't allowed inside—only directed to this place for shelter.
The leader of the coffin bearers was a man named Yue Balei. As a kid, he had tumbled down a hill and survived, but the scars left his head a mess. When he grew up, he shaved his head, and with that scarred face and fierce looks, people called him "Balei" instead of his real name.
Despite his fearsome appearance, he was honest and reliable. His intimidating face helped make him one of Xianyang's most well-known coffin bearers.
When he heard Sha Lifei complaining, Balei scratched his head and chuckled, "Sha Daxia, we're sending the dead back home. Inns are for the living. Wouldn't it bring them bad luck if we barged in?"
"Our trade has its rules—we don't randomly enter places. Otherwise, we might bring misfortune. We're used to sleeping in abandoned temples or wilderness."
Old Meng, the carriage driver from Taihang Carriage Company, was an old hand on the road. He smacked his lips and said, "That's travel life for you. Everyone endures wind and sun. My only regret, really, is a good drink."
Sha Lifei laughed. "You old fox, fishing for wine, aren't you? What good wine can a countryside inn even have?"
"Ah~"
Old Meng winked. "Now that's where you're wrong."
"That Fenglai Inn down the hill—it's a famous brand from Chang'an. Their Liulin Lao Qin Wine is top-notch."
"Mellow and elegant, smooth and crisp, well-balanced with a long, clean finish… Tsk tsk, maybe I'm no martial arts master, but I've traveled far and wide. When it comes to good wine, this old man knows the lot!"
Sha Lifei's mouth watered. "You better not be lying to me."
While cutting vegetables, Li Yan's interest was piqued too. "Uncle Sha, if it's a famous establishment, it might have useful information from the Jianghu."
"We're stuck here anyway. Why not go buy some wine for everyone to warm up—and see if the road ahead is safe?"
"Got it!"
Sha Lifei grinned, threw on his straw cape and conical hat, and dashed into the rain.
He hated hard labor, but running errands and gathering intel? That was his specialty.
Wang Daoxuan, having just cleared out the bad vibes, now lit three incense sticks and placed them beside the coffin's small censer. Smiling, he said, "No worries. The path we're taking is the ancient route between Qin and Chu—it goes right through Zhongnan Mountain."
"Zhongnan has temples and Daoist sanctuaries everywhere. Many hidden masters dwell there. Pilgrims from Chang'an come all year round, so danger is rare."
"But it is Shuangjiang season. Beasts offer sacrifices, and wild animals may come down the mountain for food…"
Mid-sentence, he noticed Li Yan staring blankly out the door. Wang Daoxuan frowned slightly and whispered, "It's appeared again?"
Li Yan nodded silently.
In his sight, out in the rain, that blood-streaked wandering exorcist had appeared again—hair hanging low, drenched in gore, left hand pointing toward the Qinling Mountains.
Though Master Qingyang had said not to worry, Li Yan couldn't shake the unease.
He couldn't help it—that wandering man's appearance was just too tragic.
What on earth had he gone through…
"Phoenixes flying in pairs, heralding joyful tidings; honored guests fill the hall, voices warm with affection…"
Sha Lifei read the poetic couplet hanging over the inn's main doors and muttered, "Such pretentiousness. A Jianghu inn with this flowery nonsense? Bet it's run by some dainty young miss!"
Fenglai Inn was no small establishment.
Tall wooden doors bore the pasted couplets. Strings of gourd lanterns dangled from both sides, connecting to clay walls that encircled the entire courtyard and surrounding wild field.
Before he could step inside, Sha Lifei already heard the whinnies of horses and mules from within.
Once past the courtyard gate, he saw spacious yards on both flanks, each with stables to shield animals from the rain. Two stablehands bustled about, feeding and tending the beasts.
One of them—a round-faced young man—spotted Sha Lifei and hurried over, clasping his hands apologetically with a strained smile, "Ah, sir, the group escorting the dead—really not allowed inside. Please, don't make things difficult for us…"
"Scaredy-cat!"
Sha Lifei shot him a glare. "I'm just here to buy wine. You gonna let me in or not?"
"Of course, of course!"
The stablehand bowed low and gestured inward, "This way, sir."
Running an inn meant seeing all sorts. Arrogant types, tough guys—he'd met plenty worse. Sha Lifei's act didn't rattle him.
Sha Lifei didn't bother arguing. He jogged through muddy puddles, lifted the curtain, and stepped into the inn.
In Jianghu, inns were ranked just like martial sects.
The top-tier ones stood in bustling cities, boasting numerous courtyards and attracting nobles and merchants.
Second-tier ones were slightly smaller, often next to famous brothels, taverns, or academies in town.
The ones along remote routes like this? Usually far humbler.
Fenglai Inn had a front hall and a rear courtyard.
The main hall had two floors—broad and open, filled with square tables for meals and drinks. Stairways on each side with wooden railings led to the upper rooms.
The back housed everything from communal sleeping areas to private rooms—depending on how deep your purse ran.
Perhaps because of the autumn rain, the place was fairly packed.
"Waiter! A jug of Lao Qin wine, and bring me something to eat!"
Sha Lifei shouted, found an empty corner table, and sat down. From his chest, he pulled out a worn copy of The Matchmaker Monk's Tales, pretending to read while quietly observing the room.
An old hand in the Jianghu, Sha Lifei quickly assessed the clientele.
On the left: people dressed cleanly, speaking politely, eating only vegetarian food—with guards behind them. Clearly a pilgrim group from Chang'an.
These pilgrim parties often hired escorts to travel to sacred mountains, both to show piety and to enjoy the scenic journey.
They tended to have money and sense—and often avoided trouble.
To the right: coachmen and drivers from cart shops. They drank cheap spirits, chewed on pickled veggies, and soon started singing and playing drinking games:
"Ah-yo, burnt wine is made from grain, softens the arms and then the legs, wine ruins gentlemen, water breaks roads, even gods can't hold their liquor…"
Their loud ruckus made the Chang'an pilgrims scowl, but after a word from one of their guards, they endured it without complaint.
Sha Lifei chuckled inwardly.
These coachmen might seem uncouth, but they weren't to be trifled with. Backed by transport guilds, sometimes in cahoots with mountain bandits, they could get nasty.
If a fight broke out, they might beat someone black and blue—or worse.
If they were the ruthless type, killing and robbing wasn't unheard of. Dump the corpse in the woods, let wild beasts finish the job.
If they got wanted, they'd just change names and move to another province.
The Chang'an pilgrims were clearly out of their league.
As for the rest—mostly Jianghu drifters.
Some burly men performed martial tricks for coin, others carried instruments like lutes and sanxians, their faces weather-beaten, expressions bitter—drowning sorrows in cloudy wine and tragic ballads.
That was the nature of inns.
Ordinary folks stayed home working the fields. Those on the roads were either haulers or Jianghu vagrants.
Sha Lifei scanned a while, saw no obvious threats. Just then, the waiter brought food and wine.
He leaned in and asked softly, "Hey, is the road ahead peaceful?"
He slipped a few copper coins onto the table.
"Ah, sir, you asked the right guy."
The waiter placed down the tray, casually swept up the coins, and chuckled. "This is near Zhongnan Mountain, sir. Even the wild beasts here chant sutras and eat vegetarian. No bandits would dare show up."
"Heading toward Shangzhou?"
Sha Lifei nodded. "To Fengyang."
The waiter glanced around, lowered his voice. "Past Zhongnan's border, you'll want to be careful. Some coachmen coming back said there've been beast attacks."
"And—over by Niubeiliang? Lots of forest bandits up there. I heard they clashed with the Dingyuan Escort Agency recently. Big trouble."
"Even if you're with a funeral party, who knows? They might still cause trouble."
"…Hmph."
Sha Lifei frowned. "Thanks."
He'd heard of Niubeiliang—it was rugged, densely forested, and a necessary pass to Shangzhou. Bandits there were notorious.
The authorities had tried multiple raids, but the place was never fully cleared.
He'd have to discuss this with Li Yan.
With that in mind, Sha Lifei stood and shouted, "Waiter! Wrap this up—and give me ten jin of wine!"
"Right away!"
The waiter beamed and ran to fetch the wine jars.
That Liulin Lao Qin wine wasn't cheap. Most folks couldn't afford it. The more sold, the better for him—and if the boss was pleased, maybe he'd get a bonus.
Sha Lifei was tall and broad. Carrying ten jin of wine was nothing.
But just as he turned to leave, someone else entered the inn.
It was a middle-aged man in a blue robe, wearing leather wrist guards and belt. A longsword hung at his waist. No smile on his lips—his brows carried a hint of menace.
Most notable were his boots—black shafts, thick white soles—heavy-duty official boots worn only by government personnel or nobility.
He scanned the room, frowned, and asked, "Waiter, do you have any private courtyards left?"
The waiter bowed. "Sir, those have all been booked."
The man tossed him a string of coins. "By who?"
The waiter caught it, smiled sheepishly, "You're putting me in a spot… I wouldn't dare say…"
But his eyes drifted—not so subtly—toward the Chang'an pilgrim group.
Without another word, the man strode to their table and cupped his fists. "Apologies. My lord can't stand noise. Would you kindly yield the private courtyard? I'll pay triple the room fee."
The pilgrims were already annoyed by the rowdy coachmen. Now this?
"You're quite presumptuous, aren't you?"
"Indeed! Do you think we can't afford it?"
One young noble among them noticed the man's boots. His eyes flickered and he quickly interjected, "Sir, my father is Zhang Xianqi—he serves under the new Provincial Commissioner, Lord Li. May I ask…"
It was a probe, also a test.
If the man had powerful backing, they'd concede and maybe build rapport.
If he was just a low-ranking official, he'd back off.
Either way, it was polite—without offense.
At the mention of "Provincial Commissioner Li", the man's expression changed. He lowered his voice, "Forget it. I won't trouble you."
The young noble sneered inwardly, then shot a glance at the coachmen—clearly thinking this entire inn beneath his status.
Meanwhile, the man in the blue robe turned to the waiter, "Is there anywhere nearby quiet enough to shelter from the rain?"
The waiter gulped, eyes flicking sideways again.
"You damn rat! One more glance and I'll gouge your eyes!"
Sha Lifei snapped.
Then he said plainly, "Travelers face hardships. There's another house nearby. We can give up a room—it's just a funeral crew. If you're not scared, you're welcome to join."
With that, he threw on his cloak and strode out.
Once beyond the inn's gate, Sha Lifei spotted two carriages parked under a roadside tree—elegantly built, cloth-draped. Six mounted riders stood guard, all dressed in blue robes and official boots.
He didn't want trouble. He just clutched his wine and walked.
The middle-aged man followed behind, came to the first carriage, bowed respectfully, "Master, no private courtyard left. It was taken by a group of Chang'an pilgrims…"
From inside the carriage came an old voice:
"Feng Ping, you've been tricked. Though the court banned it, many officials' sons still carry travel permits to rest at postal stations."
"Bragging like that… haven't you seen enough in Chang'an?"
"But you did well—not worth making a scene."
Feng Ping nodded. "Master, there's an abandoned house nearby, but a funeral group is staying there."
From inside: "A group sending a body home, huh? I too am returning to my roots. What's there to fear? Let's go."
"Yes, Master!"
Feng Ping gestured, and the caravan rolled into the rain.
At that moment, a second-floor window in the inn creaked open. A stubbled man peeked out, rubbed his chin, and muttered:
"Big fish. That's a rich one."
"Seven of them—all sharp. Yep, that's our real target."
He turned inside.
"Third Bro, this one's a tough nut…"
*(End of Chapter)*