The Qingming Festival, the beginning of late spring.
The moon was like a bright mirror, casting its silvery radiance down. In the courtyard of the Xiao Hun Inn, the green willow branches hung low, their shadows crisscrossing like water weeds.
Xue Ling looked at the full moon outside the window lattice, calculated the time, and sighed, "Qingming is here."
The rain falls heavily during the Qingming season; there was no rain tonight, yet Xue Ling's heart felt exceptionally chaotic.
Unable to fall asleep no matter what, she had no choice but to get up, put on her clothes and shoes, and walk out of her room—much like Fang Bie, her room was also a quiet side room, less than ten feet in size, barely enough to hold a bed and a table with chairs. It was difficult to fit any other luggage, and even harder to find space for a vanity to dress up.
Fortunately, she did not really need to dress up much anymore.
Wearing moon-white hemp shoes, she walked into the moonlit courtyard and saw Fang Bie still dressed in black, his eyes covered by a strip of cloth. He held a wooden sword, continuously hacking, retracting, and hacking again under the moonlight, repeating the cycle over and over.
His sword moves were clumsy, showing no signs of finesse. The only commendable thing was that his sword swings were truly steady; every time the sword fell, the position was precise without the slightest deviation.
But was such a sword technique really useful when facing an enemy? Xue Ling looked at the youth under the moonlight. This was Bee Sting, and they were about to cooperate to complete their first mission. Moreover, this mission, in terms of both rewards and difficulty, could be considered a beginner-level task for practice.
Yet, regarding this person, Xue Ling felt she could never see through him.
Back then, he had effortlessly held her hostage against the wall to interrogate her, as natural as a teacher questioning a student.
But now, as they spent time together, Xue Ling really felt that Fang Bie was actually quite weak.
When he was working as a waiter and doing odd jobs in the inn, he was precise and fast at serving dishes. He could keep the large inn spotlessly clean, and his attitude toward every guest was neither cold nor indifferent. He was truly a very capable waiter. On the other hand, the cook on Xue Ling's side was not very presentable. Fortunately, even in Luocheng, the Xiao Hun Inn was a small establishment, and usually, no high officials or nobles came to dine, so it was fine to just fool the ordinary country folk.
He looked weak in his backhand, unrefined in his forehand, his footwork was loose, and his reactions were slow—with just this appearance, how did he manage to subdue her in one move back then?
Xue Ling could not figure it out no matter how she thought about it.
"Still not asleep?" A voice came from behind Xue Ling.
Xue Ling turned around and saw He Ping wearing a loose green dress, her hair bun tilted, holding a white porcelain wine cup in her hand as she asked from behind.
The young woman gave a start.
"What is this?" She smelled the scent of wine in He Ping's cup.
"Fenjiu." He Ping smiled faintly, "The rain falls heavily during the Qingming season, doesn't it?"
"Where can one find a tavern to ask for wine? The shepherd boy points from afar to Xinghua Village."
"The traveler on the road is heartbroken," Xue Ling replied. "Is Sister Ping not a local either?"
"I just make the world my home; I really don't know where I am actually from." He Ping reached out and took Xue Ling's hand. Xue Ling felt the big sister's fingers were cold and hard. Then, she followed her around the main room, climbed the stairs, and in the blink of an eye, they were on the rooftop ridge of the inn.
On the narrow rooftop ridge sat a square table, upon which was a brown coarse porcelain wine jar, with a delicate white porcelain wine cup beside it. This combination of ruggedness and refinement made Xue Ling feel a bit dazed.
The moonlight shone down, and the wine in the cup rippled slightly.
He Ping sat on one side of the square table, facing the moonlight, and raised her hand to drink the wine in her cup. Her cloud-like hair bun was loose, and a section of snow-white ankle was revealed beneath her long skirt.
Only then did Xue Ling realize that this nominal innkeeper of the Xiao Hun Inn, and the actual Bee Attractor, was so breathtakingly beautiful that she could not help but feel inferior.
"Sit," He Ping said.
Xue Ling could not refuse to sit.
"Drink," He Ping pushed a cup of wine in front of her.
"I don't know how to drink," Xue Ling said.
Not only did she not know how to drink, but she was also very afraid of saying the wrong thing after drinking.
"How old are you this year?" He Ping asked.
Xue Ling bit her lips; this was clearly a question with an obvious answer: "Seventeen."
She still answered honestly; whether by nominal age or actual age, she was seventeen.
"That's not young," He Ping said. "The year I became an assassin, I had just passed my sixteenth birthday."
Xue Ling glanced at this beautiful sister who looked so bright and moving under the moonlight; she did not look old at all right now.
"How old are you now?" Xue Ling asked.
"Did that kid Fang Bie not tell you?" He Ping asked in return.
Xue Ling shook her head.
"Then did he not tell you not to call me Innkeeper?" He Ping continued to ask.
Xue Ling nodded.
He Ping laughed heartily, her laughter echoing in the night sky. This woman's laughter could not be called heroic, nor could it be called gentle, but it had a unique flavor.
A few birds that had just returned to the south were startled in the night sky.
The youth in the courtyard was still practicing his sword.
"I am twenty-nine this year," He Ping said.
Cold and detached.
Xue Ling shook her head: "I can't tell at all."
"If you practice martial arts, you age slowly," He Ping smiled. "But sometimes, the person hasn't aged, but the heart has."
"I always feel that my heart is getting softer and softer now."
As she said this, He Ping lowered her eyes to look at the cup in front of Xue Ling.
The cup was filled with wine, the finest Xinghua Village Fenjiu. This wine was produced in Shanxi and was not a specialty of Luocheng.
"Drink it," He Ping said.
Xue Ling picked up the cup and drank it in one gulp. The Fenjiu was soft and smooth upon entering her mouth, with a sweet aftertaste, but it was also an authentic distilled white spirit, so it still felt like a fiery line of spice as it entered her belly.
Xue Ling put down the cup and began to cough gently, a cloud of red appearing on her pretty face.
He Ping reached across the square table and rubbed Xue Ling's hair: "You are a good girl; I quite like you."
"Tomorrow at noon, Ning Huaiyuan will pass by the Xiao Hun Inn. It is the best opportunity to make a move. You will assist Fang Bie and follow all his instructions."
"He is my disciple, and he is a very reliable person."
"Yes, sometimes even more reliable than I thought."
Xue Ling bit her lip and nodded.
"Being an assassin means you can die at any time. I am one of the assassins who has lived the longest," He Ping said. "If you live long enough, there will be a day when you retire, but if you know too much, you can never truly leave the organization even if you retire."
"Please, live well for me."
Xue Ling did not know why He Ping was telling her so much tonight, but she could only nod and listen.
After all, the innkeeper at this moment was truly kind.
"Drink a cup of wine, and you will be able to have a good sleep," He Ping said calmly. "You can go back to sleep now."
Xue Ling nodded and stood up. The intoxication rippled in her chest, making her feel a little dizzy.
However, walking down from the rooftop ridge was still no problem. She walked away step by step, when suddenly He Ping called out to stop her: "Wait."
Xue Ling turned back and looked at this assassin under the moon.
"In the future when you cook," He Ping said seriously, "use less salt."
Xue Ling's face turned red, and she muttered, "Why are you only telling me now?"
He Ping raised her cup and drank it all, laughing, "Wasn't I afraid you'd be shy?"
……
……
He Ping continued to drink under the moon, Fang Bie continued to practice his sword under the moon, and Xue Ling returned to her room to rest. After a cup of wine, her dreamland was indeed dark and sweet.
Until the moon rose higher and higher and Xue Ling fell into a deep sleep, Fang Bie finally put away his sword, his forehead without a single drop of sweat.
He walked onto the rooftop ridge, looked at He Ping under the moon, took out a white porcelain wine cup from his bosom, filled it for himself, and then drank it all.
He Ping looked up at the black-clothed, black-haired youth: "This Lin Xue has a problem."
Fang Bie nodded, expressionless: "I know."
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