As the dance came to an end, thunderous applause erupted from the audience. Amidst everyone’s eager gazes, Qiushui bowed and exited the stage.
Everyone wanted to share a drink and exchange a few words with her, but instead of lingering, she walked leisurely down from the stage, picked up a wine glass, and headed straight for the table where Li Jian and his companions were sitting.
Watching her approach, Qiushui stopped right by their table. Whether intentional or accidental, she leaned closer to Song Zhiyuan and spoke in a soft voice, “Young Master Song has graced us with his presence today. Qiushui failed to welcome you properly, and I hope you will not take offense, Young Master.”
Song Zhiyuan did not even raise his eyes to look at her, simply replying in a flat tone, “It is nothing.”
Qiushui glanced sideways at Li Jian, then turned back to Song Zhiyuan and continued, “How does Young Master find Qiushui’s dance today?”
“Splendid.”
Seeing that Song Zhiyuan answered every question she asked, Qiushui pressed her advantage, “Then… would Qiushui have the honor of sharing a drink with the Young Master?”
She lifted the cup of wine in her hand and leaned further toward Song Zhiyuan.
By this point, Qiushui fully intended to take a seat at their table. She knew very well that no man in this world could resist her invitation, and someone as aloof as Song Zhiyuan would be no exception.
However, their table could only seat four people, and Song Zhiyuan happened to occupy the very last spot. Qiushui cast a meaningful glance at Xuemei, signaling her to leave. Xuemei looked over at Li Jian, feeling rather reluctant to part, but knowing she was in no position to compete with Qiushui, she had no choice but to stand up with a disgruntled look.
Li Jian swirled the wine in his cup. He still had questions to ask, and he definitely could not let Xuemei leave just yet.
Setting his cup down, Li Jian was just about to speak when a flat, resolute voice cut through the quiet air, delivering two concise words.
“Not available,” Song Zhiyuan said.
Not just Qiushui, but even Li Jian was taken aback. To think he would reject such a great beauty so decisively!
Let alone others, even Li Jian could clearly tell that Qiushui was trying to hit on Song Zhiyuan.
Yet, this was only natural. Given Song Zhiyuan’s background, literary talent, and otherworldly appearance, which maiden in Yangyang City wouldn’t want to catch his eye, let alone the head courtesan of Changle Pavilion?
After dealing with too many unrefined men, people naturally grew even more infatuated with this one-in-a-million gentleman.
Alas, Song Zhiyuan was like a block of wood, interested only in swordsmanship and showing zero desire for worldly romance. Truly a peculiar fellow.
Could it be that he also possessed a fated affinity for immortality?
Before Li Jian could sort out his thoughts, Song Zhiyuan had already ruthlessly chased the person away.
And he didn’t use the wrong word—he literally chased her away, showing not a shred of regard for the star-struck courtesan who usually had everyone hanging on her every word.
Watching Qiushui stomp away in anger, Xuemei stood awkwardly by the side, unsure whether to stay or sit. Noticing her predicament, Li Jian waved his hand to tell her to leave first, lest she draw the resentment of others.
He had originally intended to ask a few more questions, but with Song Zhiyuan sitting right here, it was no longer convenient.
The three of them sat there while song and dance continued on the stage. The wine jars on the table were empty, and no one asked for more. After a brief moment of exchanging glances, Li Jian finally couldn’t hold on any longer and left first.
To pry information out of Xuemei, Li Jian had downed quite a bit of alcohol.
When he first chose Xuemei from among a group of maidens, it was because she looked gentle and uncalculating, making her an easy target for extracting information. Never had he expected his judgment to fail him; that drinking companion turned out to be formidable indeed, proving far too much for him to handle.
By the time Li Jian was heading back on a wooden cart with Xuan Lang, his entire being felt light and floaty. The night was pitch black, so dark you couldn’t see your own hand in front of your face. Sitting in the back, he tilted his head up and squinted as he counted the stars.
The return journey was far from smooth, bouncing and rocking along the way. Li Jian braced one hand behind himself, letting the wind blow past as he looked up at the sky, and suddenly muttered in a hazy voice:
“You know, you look like someone.”
His gentle voice was scattered by the wind. Xuan Lang tightened his grip on the reins, turned his head, and asked, “What kind of person?”
“Like… my beloved.”
Every single word he uttered was serious and solemn.
Xuan Lang froze instantly. His spine went rigid, his heart gave a violent leap, and his mind went completely blank.
After a moment of silence, Xuan Lang drew a long breath and asked in a low voice, “Immortal Master, do you know what you are saying?”
Even though he knew full well that Li Jian was speaking under the influence of alcohol and might forget it all by tomorrow, his thoughts still drifted helplessly along with the words, turning them over and over in his mind.
Instead of stopping, Li Jian shifted forward, his breath brushing against Xuan Lang’s back. In the biting wind, his breathing was unusually scorching—so hot that Xuan Lang didn’t dare move an inch.
“I know,” he said. “You must think I’m talking nonsense, just some rambling half-baked Taoist. But you have to believe me, you truly have the potential to ascend to immortality and become an immortal lord.”
And I…” He patted his chest with a righteous expression, “I! The heavens sent me down to the mortal realm to help you get through your tribulation!”
Before long, Li Jian had scrambled up, draped half his body over Xuan Lang’s back, and propped one hand on his shoulder. With the night so dark and the road so bumpy, Xuan Lang feared he might fall off and couldn’t help reaching out to steady him.
Is that true?
Xuan Lang wanted to ask, but he didn’t dare.
Because no one had ever spoken such words to him before, and no one had ever come specifically for his sake.
Only Li Jian.
Therefore, even if he were being deceived, Xuan Lang would still choose to believe him unconditionally.
With the wind heating his cheeks and drowsiness creeping over him, Li Jian slowly closed his eyes and slid downward from Xuan Lang’s back.
Right before drifting off to sleep, he was still mumbling incoherently, “So… if one day I ever hurt you, you must never blame me…”
It was a peaceful night. Having transmigrated for so long, Li Jian finally had a truly sound sleep.
He even had a dream. In the dream, there was a man whose features were blurred, dressed in flowing white robes with a tall figure. His hair was meticulously tied up in a topknot, and he held a sword that glinted with a bone-chilling cold light. They stood side by side beneath a massive pear blossom tree, surrounded by the most breathtaking scenery in the world.
He played the zither while the man danced with his sword, perfectly in harmony. Li Jian could distinctly feel that he had been happy back then.
Suddenly, the scene shifted. When he looked up again, that same sword gleaming with frosty light was thrusting straight at him. The harmonious zither music was gone, replaced by a biting, bone-chilling frost in the air.
The man coldly demanded to know why he had forgotten him.
Startled awake, Li Jian opened his eyes to find the day already fully bright. Afternoon sunlight streamed in through the windowsill. He rubbed his temples as he sat up, remembering nothing of what had happened the previous night, save for a dull, throbbing ache in his head.
Seeming to notice that he was awake, Xuan Lang walked in carrying a bowl of medicinal soup. He handed it to Li Jian, saying, “Immortal Master is awake. Drink some hangover soup and your head will stop hurting.”
Taking the bowl, Li Jian initially expected it to be scalding hot and prepared to blow on it. To his surprise, the warmth radiating from the rim of the bowl was just right.
He glanced at Xuan Lang, wondering how this person could have known precisely when he would wake up, preparing a warm hangover soup right on time. Who knew how long he had been quietly waiting outside?
Li Jian held the bowl and drank it down in one go, casually wiping his mouth. There was a lingering hint of sweetness in the aftertaste.
“What time did we return last night? Did we manage to find out anything useful?” Li Jian propped his head up, his brow still furrowing slightly from residual soreness.
Even as he asked, his vague memories told him the answer was likely no. The bustling, noisy crowd had left him no time to get the answers he wanted.
Just as he was about to reply, Xuan Lang paused. Remembering the scorching wind by his ear last night and the man’s soft, murmured words, he couldn’t help speaking up, probing tentatively:
“Does the Immortal Master remember what you said last night?”
Taken aback by the question, Li Jian blinked in bewilderment, cleared his throat guiltily, and asked, “Did I say something last night? Why don’t I remember? I didn’t make a fool of myself, did I?”
Though he felt much clearer after finishing the hangover soup, Li Jian’s memory of the previous night extended only as far as going to Changle Pavilion to gather information, being surrounded by a row of heavily made-up beauties, and ultimately choosing one who looked gentle—only to realize he had picked the wrong person, as she could hold her liquor far better than he ever imagined.
And not just a little better. By the end, while he was completely dizzy and intoxicated, that woman still looked as calm as ever, without a single change in her expression.
And then Song Zhiyuan had shown up…
Could I have gone wild while drunk? I didn’t make a fool of myself in Changle Pavilion right in front of Song Zhiyuan, did I?
While getting caught by Song Zhiyuan wasn’t the end of the world, his painstakingly established immortal image would be ruined overnight, wouldn’t it? After this, whatever he said in Yangyang City would carry zero credibility.
“No,” Xuan Lang shook his head. “We came back before the Immortal Master got drunk, so you didn’t make a fool of yourself.”
“Really? Did I really not make a fool of myself?” Li Jian asked again, finding it hard to believe.
Xuan Lang nodded firmly. “Mm, you didn’t.”
Whenever Xuan Lang spoke, he always wore an expression of absolute sincerity, fixing his gaze directly on you in a way that made disbelief impossible. Since Li Jian truly couldn’t recall anything, he decided to drop the matter.
Yet this meant their efforts to gather information the night before had all been in vain, wasting an entire jar of wine for nothing.
Thinking it over, Li Jian figured that since they couldn’t get any intelligence from outsiders, they might as well infiltrate the place directly. Didn’t the fierce-faced female demon like beautiful women? In that case, they could just send a beautiful person inside to lure the demon out—killing two birds with one stone.
But… who would be suitable to send?
Leaving aside whether they could quickly find someone matching the demon’s aesthetic preferences, even if they did, that person would merely be an ordinary mortal. With neither the strength nor the capability to face the demon, they would be putting themselves in grave danger.
They couldn’t just sacrifice an innocent woman’s life purely for the sake of catching a demon.
Leaning against the window sill, Li Jian caught sight of Xuan Lang busy working outside the courtyard. Thinking about how the dignified Shiyuan Immortal Lord was actually washing his hands and making soup for him here, Li Jian felt a pang of guilt. He decided he needed to hurry up and bring Xuan Lang back to the Chengxun Sect soon.
Then, a thought struck him, and Li Jian slapped his forehead. How could he have forgotten? The system had explicitly stated that the fierce-faced female demon was fond of Shiyuan’s appearance and even wanted to take him in as her own!
As long as one had looks, who said it had to be a woman?
At Changle Pavilion, Li Jian led Xuan Lang straight to the proprietress in a huff. Upon seeing that the visitors were the two extraordinary-looking young masters from the night before, the proprietress’s previously irritable demeanor instantly melted into overwhelming enthusiasm.
“You two young masters have come at rather an inconvenient time. We haven’t even opened our doors to guests yet! If you want to drink and have fun, I’m afraid you’ll have to come back in a couple of hours.”
Changle Pavilion usually opened its doors only at night. Regular patrons were well aware of this, so very few people would bother them at this hour.
Assuming Li Jian was unfamiliar with their rules, the proprietress patiently explained with rare accommodation.
Without wasting any pleasantries, Li Jian pulled a gold ingot straight out of his sleeve and shoved it into the proprietress’s arms. Seeing that gleaming gold ingot, the woman’s eyes widened even further, reflecting pure brilliance as her smile stretched nearly from ear to ear.
“Oh, what is the young master doing this for? Just tell me whatever is on your mind, and this mama of yours will surely get it done for you, won’t she?”
Flapping a heavily scented handkerchief in her hand, the heavily made-up proprietress beamed so brightly that one would think she’d readily agree even if Li Jian asked her to open for business right this second.
Li Jian glanced around. The front courtyard, usually brightly lit at night, now only caught a few sparse glimmers of daylight filtering through the windows—dim, but bright enough for the proprietress to read his expression.
Then, the proprietress heard him say with utmost solemnity:
“I do indeed have a favor to ask of Mother Hua.”
Listening to his opening words, the proprietress’s expression gradually shifted from delight to melancholy. Her brows furrowed deeply and her painted lips trembled slightly, as if she found it rather difficult to comprehend.
“What? You said… you want to become the head courtesan?!”