The storyteller had lived in Heaven Dou City for decades.
From the southern gate to the northern walls, he had worn down the soles of his feet counting every slab of bluestone.
He had just stepped into the shadowed city gate arch when a surprised voice rang out:
"Isn't that the old storyteller?! Haven't seen you in five years! You've come back, old sir?!"
The storyteller took a deep breath of the city's familiar smoke and fire.
"I'm back."
He walked inward.
Vendors along the street called out one after another:
"Old clapper, you've finally returned! Our ears have been craving your stories!"
"Hurry home and see that grandson of yours! Seven, eight years old now—so wild he's climbing rooftops and peeling tiles!"
"Ha! Strange indeed. Five years gone and you're looking sturdier than before!"
"Old sir, will you be staying this time?"
To most of these casual greetings, the old man just smiled them off.
But at that last question, he paused and nodded.
"I'll rest my legs for a bit… but I'll have to go again."
He'd already discussed it with a few Spirit Masters.
Perhaps next time, he'd hire some assistants.
If money ran too tight, he could look for one of Lord Sword Wine's diehard fans—throw together a small troupe if needed.
Storytelling as a trade…
It was fading, after all.
Aside from a few nostalgic old-timers who still nodded along for the flavor of it, most folks now found his tales long-winded and dull.
Maybe it was time for a new trick.
If he could start a fresh line of work—
He might yet become a founder of his craft.
"Only thing is…"
The old storyteller rubbed his calloused hands together.
"Those stories of Lord Sword Wine—his rise in the Spirit Battle Arena, his daring strike upon the Pope's Palace—I've told 'em to death these five years. Every traveler's ears have grown calluses!"
"No new stories to tell."
He sighed.
Then turned to the Spirit Master walking beside him:
"Haven't crossed my doorstep in five years. I'll head home first."
"Once I've caught my breath, we'll be on our way again."
"Alright."
Just as they were speaking—
A thunderous voice suddenly erupted from a steaming bun stall nearby:
"You old clapper, spouting nonsense again!"
The storyteller's brow wrinkled deep.
"When have I ever spoken nonsense?"
"How dare you say Lord Sword Wine's dead! The man's alive and well!"
"Huh?!"
"He's been back in Heaven Dou City for over a month!"
"Right this moment, he's hosting a banquet for his friends at Fragrant Pavilion!"
That banquet —
From the misty tea-scented dawn all the way to the crimson glow of sunset —
They drank until even the wind outside swayed.
They were all strong Spirit Masters, yet none of them used Spirit Power to resist the drunken haze.
By the time the wine reached their hearts, they were no different from ordinary men and women in the streets.
They pounded their chests, stamped their feet, sang with wild abandon — some even sobbed openly in their cups.
"Zhexian! Tell me, damn it—" hic "—when will you finally treat me like a real brother?!"
"Wh—when will I ever be as free as you, Zhexian bro? I don't wanna inherit my damn clan's business!"
"Ha! Wine sharpens the blade! Zhexian, lemme nail you to the wall like a painting!"
"Li Zhexian… if only I'd met you earlier."
The air was thick with the heady scent of wine.
A lively crowd of young men and women stumbled out through the doors of the Fragrant Pavilion.
"Esteemed guests—!"
"Please, walk carefully—!"
The waiter's voice cracked from shouting.
Li Zhexian, his eyes hazy with drink, fished a gold coin from Qian Renxue's robe and flicked it into the waiter's hand.
The group—arms slung over shoulders—staggered into the street.
Only then did they realize—
Night had long since fallen.
Feng Wuyu tilted his head back, squinting at the moon.
He wrapped a strip of black silk loosely across his eyes.
"Eh, why's the sun so dim tonight?"
"So where're we goin' next?"
Hiccups and laughter mingled as they all turned toward the white-robed youth at their head.
"N-night… night tour of Heaven Dou City?"
"Let's—hic—go to Brother Zhexian's courtyard! Keep drinking!"
Li Zhexian's cheeks flushed red as he swayed slightly from side to side.
Down the long street to his right, moonstones embedded in the walls bathed the road in a warm golden glow stretching to the horizon.
"Hic…"
Li Zhexian rubbed his nose and grinned.
"You lot only know how to drown me in wine — all those fine dishes, and you barely touched a bite!"
"Come on, come on—let's go get some noodles! Can't let our stomachs stay empty!"
As soon as he said that, a cool night breeze swept by.
Everyone who had just stepped out of the pavilion suddenly realized how hollow their bellies felt.
Feng Buyu and Yu Tianheng hooked their arms around Li Zhexian's neck from either side.
"Haha, Zhexian, it's always you who thinks of the best things—after getting drunk, nothing beats a hot bowl of noodles!"
"Hey, I wonder if that old storyteller's still around? You've gotta eat those noodles while listening to his tales of the jianghu—then they really taste right!"
Feng Xiaotian, half drunk, tugged on Huo Wushuang's arm, shouting that he wanted to spar with Li Zhexian.
Yu Feng and the others widened their eyes and quickly blocked his path.
Behind them, Qian Renxue and Dugu Yan exchanged knowing smiles, their laughter bright and soft.
"Look over there!"
Across from the noodle stall, a small tent had been set up.
A square, oil-slicked wooden table gleamed under the lamplight, and the long benches beneath it were packed with an eager crowd.
Someone with sharp eyes shouted out, and instantly all heads turned toward the far end of the street.
And there they came—
A group of carefree, high-spirited young men and women, their steps swaying, light, or bold.
Their shadows stretched and shortened beneath the golden moonstones lining the street.
Laughter, slurred words, and off-key songs mingled together—
Every kind of drunkenness, yet not a hint of disgrace.
It was a revelry steeped in youth, talent, and bonds forged in life-and-death struggle—
the unrestrained joy of those too young to know sorrow.
"Young people… truly wonderful…"
Someone sighed softly.
All around, the listeners nodded in heartfelt agreement.
"Sir, look!" The Spirit Master beside him pointed excitedly at the white-robed youth in front.
The storyteller pressed both palms to the table, took a deep breath—then slowly exhaled.
He rolled up his blue sleeves—
And raised the wooden clapper.
Crack!
Instantly, the chatter died away.
Even the young revelers turned at the sound.
"Haha! The old storyteller's still here! Now this night's truly perfect!"
Across the hazy golden glow of night—
Li Zhexian and the storyteller met each other's gaze from across the street.
Li Zhexian spread his white sleeves and bowed with a smile.
The storyteller stroked his gray beard—
And in that moment, the vigor of a man steeped in Jianghu for decades returned to him.
His aged yet resonant voice, full of rhythm, rolled down the street:
"The world says, 'Let us buy osmanthus and carry the wine,'
but it can never match the joy of youth's wandering!"
"Yet this old man dares to add—"
"Once more we pour the new brew and drink to the autumn rivers—
it feels as though no time has passed, and still, we are gallant as ever!"
"Esteemed audience, still your tongues and lend your ears! Tonight's tale—"
"Before the sword is drawn, the wine is warmed. Let us see how Lord Sword Wine and his comrades—strike one dazzling blade to shatter the Spirit Hall!"
With steaming bowls of noodles before them,
listening to the storyteller narrate their own legends in that fiery, passionate tone—
there was no feeling in the world quite like it.
Feng Xiaotian slurped down his last mouthful of noodles, slammed the bowl on the table with a bang, and stood abruptly.
Fueled by wine—
"Zhexian!" he shouted, flushed with drink.
"That story's got my blood boiling!"
"No day like today—come on, let's have a duel right now!"
Yu Tianheng, Feng Buyu, and the others lit up with excitement.
"Ha! Perfect way to cap off this banquet!"
It had been five years apart—
and they were burning with curiosity to see just how far Li Zhexian's swordsmanship had come.
Li Zhexian was about to laugh and scold them when—
his brows suddenly knitted tight.
In only a few breaths—
BOOM!
BOOM!
The ground beneath them began to quake violently without warning.
From the crisscrossing alleys on all sides,
dozens of figures surged out at once—
each clad in the robes of Spirit Masters,
their auras sharp and cold as blades.