Chapter 591

Bianjing has been extraordinarily lively these days!

Firecrackers crackle endlessly; lanterns stretch like a long dragon.

Following Da Qi's tradition, during the days leading up to New Year's Eve, dragon and lion dances continue nonstop along the city's streets.

This year seems different!

In past years, there was a curfew, but this year the court has lifted all restrictions.

The snow from these past days has yet to fully melt, yet banquet halls and poetry gatherings keep unfolding one after another in the wine houses.

With the New Year approaching, merchants traveling abroad and distant travelers have all returned home, celebrating with family and friends, guessing riddles, and strolling night markets.

This capital of the realm glows as brightly at night as it does by day.

Fish and dragons dance all night!

The scent of wine permeates every closely packed street in Bianjing.

The great mansions of the Nine Surnames hang bright red lanterns, decked in colorful decorations, brimming with festive joy.

Even in the depths of winter, daughters of noble families and handsome scholars from academies brush past each other beside snack stalls lining Bianjing's streets.

There are also ordinary three-person families walking the streets with their children.

Crowds flow like woven silk!

Welcoming the new and bidding farewell to the old, laughter and joy reach their peak.

Of course, the most bustling place is Xixiang Tower.

Xixiang Tower, though named a tower, is in fact the collective term for this entire willow-lined district in western Bianjing.

Over time, the people of Bianjing began using the name casually—it rolled off their tongues easily.

Especially today, with the Qunfang Banquet selecting the Flower Queen, many have already headed toward Xixiang Tower.

The streets leading to Xixiang Tower are already packed with people.

At this moment!

The afternoon sun has set; the sky has darkened—it is now the hour of You (5 p. .), with the last glimmers of sunset scattered across the horizon.

Lanterns glow softly, illuminating a river shimmering with ripples.

Upon it stands a broad stone bridge—Nai Bridge.

It is one of the routes to Xixiang Tower, connecting Changning Street and Guannan Street, where the Xie, Li, and Sima families of the Nine Surnames reside.

Nai Bridge is wide enough for five carriages to travel side by side, stretching about seven or eight zhang in length.

Yet fewer people pass here than elsewhere.

Because this is an official road, built and controlled by the Nine Surnames; of its five lanes, only one is open to commoners—and even then, they must pay silver—so traffic is light.

At the bridgehead, there are about ten roadside stalls.

At one stall selling mutton soup, wontons, and glutinous rice balls!

A middle-aged couple runs the stall, tending glowing charcoal fires beneath a large iron pot, where boiling water bubbles vigorously.

The man patiently stirs the white glutinous rice balls floating in the broth, wary of them sticking together.

The stall is small, holding only four or five tables and chairs—all occupied.

With so many passersby today, business is unusually brisk, and the price of a bowl of rice balls has risen significantly.

The man counts the silver earned today—several times more than usual—and grins warmly at his wife.

The woman wipes her hands on her ruqun but ignores her husband's gaze.

Instead, she watches silently!

At a table near the back of the stall, a middle-aged, refined man slowly sips his mutton soup, his demeanor out of place yet strangely harmonious.

He is tall and slender, wearing a white long robe beneath a costly sable fur coat.

The snowy white fur collar accentuates his pale, handsome features.

His lips are thin, his nose high and straight; his temples are streaked with gray, yet his naturally cold aura is softened by slightly curved eyebrows and eyes tinged with weariness.

The man pulls out a handkerchief, wipes his mouth, then slowly lifts his head—meeting the woman's gaze—and smiles gently.

The woman blushes, quickly lowering her head, one hand frantically wiping the table with the cloth, the other pressed to her chest, heart racing.

Good heavens!

In all her years in Bianjing, she has never seen such a mature, refined man.

A few strands of white hair only add to his charm.

Just moments ago at the bridge entrance, countless young women had stared at him intently.

Some beautiful ladies prefer not dashing youths but mature, elegant men of advanced years.

Especially among Bianjing's noblewomen, they are utterly enchanted.

Several groups have finished eating and left; only the man remains, savoring each bite slowly.

Occasionally, carriages of the Nine Surnames cross the bridge—processions of over ten vehicles, riding past with arrogant pride.

Soon!

The man finishes his meal; his bowl of mutton soup is drained, leaving only a thick layer of oil floating atop.

He praises it.

"This mutton soup is rich but not greasy—truly authentic. Even in the capital, you'd be hard-pressed to find better."

"You have real skill, master."

His voice is rich and resonant, deepening the woman's growing fondness.

"It's a family recipe, sir. You flatter us."

The honest man grins and ventures, "Sir, you're not from Jingshidao, are you?"

The man looks puzzled. "Why do you say that?"

Before the man can answer, the woman cuts in quickly:

"Sir, your attire gives nothing away."

"Your speech is standard Da Qi court language, yet your intonation carries a northern accent."

She wonders—this "handsome man"—where is he from?

His bearing resembles that of Bianjing's Nine Surnames.

But he cannot be one of them—otherwise he'd be accompanied by servants. Why is he alone?

The man boasts, "Most people wouldn't notice. My wife and I have seen countless travelers from north and south here."

"Our elders always said: southern accents, northern tones—it's always true."

The man smiles. "I'm not from Jingshidao—or even from Da Qi."

The honest man freezes. Not from Da Qi? And from the north?

"The Land of Eternal Heaven?"

The man nods. "I come from the grasslands."

The woman is startled—he truly comes from the northern Land of Eternal Heaven.

"The Land of Eternal Heaven is far from Da Qi. How did you come alone?"

"Especially these past years—the borderlands are chaotic. Northern barbarians often raid southward. Though the Li family's two State Pacifiers have stationed troops there for years, they still can't fully hold them back."

The man smiles. "The road is long, but if you walk, you'll arrive."

"I descended from the Great Snow Mountain in October. Though I traveled slowly, it still took me two months."

The man gasps. "The Great Snow Mountain?"

The Great Snow Mountain is the sacred land of the Land of Eternal Heaven—ordinary people cannot enter; it's sealed year-round. Even common herders and the Khan himself dare not enter lightly.

It's like the fifth floor of Da Qi's academy—the Master's residence. No one without permission may enter.

If this man, eating at a roadside stall, had truly been to the Great Snow Mountain, he'd never believe it.

And yet!

The Great Snow Mountain lies thousands of miles away—along the way lie bandits, ferocious mountains, treacherous rivers…

How could one man make it alone in just two months? Even armed merchant caravans escorted by troops take half a year.

He says nothing to challenge him, instead humoring him: "Sir, you've truly traveled far and wide. The Master said: reading ten thousand books is not as good as walking ten thousand miles."

"Sir, what is there on the Great Snow Mountain?"

The man smiles. "Besides a few old monks, there's only snow."

"Nothing special. But beyond the mountain lies endless ice plains. There are no legendary kunpeng, but there are giant white bears that swim, and fish larger than this bridge—fish that spout water columns several zhang high."

"The sun never sets. Sometimes, you can see dazzling auroras in the sky."

The man listens as if hearing ancient tales told by elders in the alleyways.

He only listens—no more.

Who could believe it? Even a five-year-old child wouldn't be fooled.

A familiar voice, tinged with reverence, speaks up.

"Sir, you've seen so much!"

The man blinks, watching his wife, utterly entranced, eyes burning.

Her expression is hotter than the one she wears when she eagerly crawls into bed after ten days apart.

The woman blurts out: "Sir, why have you come to Bianjing?"

"Do you know anyone here?"

The man pauses thoughtfully. "I came for the Qunfang Banquet—and to visit family."

The man pondered briefly and said, "I came to Bianjing for the Group of Beauties Banquet, and also to visit relatives."

As for Bianjing, it's truly a foreign land to me!

The man, upon hearing the words "Qunfang Banquet," cast the man a knowing look.

He dared not say it aloud—who wouldn't want to see the Flower Queen?

Tonight he was going to watch the Qunfang Banquet; he feared he wouldn't even make it home, his wife weeping with two fat sons in her arms, demanding to return to her parents' house.

The woman asked: "Visiting relatives?"

"It's my younger sister. She married far away to Bianjing many years ago and has been silent ever since. Now that I'm here, I thought I'd stop by and see her."

The woman's eyes shimmered with emotion—traveling ten thousand miles for her own sister, what a good man he was.

"Married far away for years, no word at all—Bianjing is so vast, finding one person is like searching for a sesame seed inside a tangyuan. Hard indeed."

"Perhaps you'll have trouble finding her? But if you know where her in-laws live, there's a way!"

The man smiled: "They say she married into the Li family. She's doing fairly well now."

"The Li family!"

The man couldn't help asking: "Not the Li family among the Nine Surnames, are you?"

The man gave a slight nod.

"But later, they say she remarried."

The woman found this strange—the Nine Surnames intermarried among themselves; how could a woman from the Northern Changsheng Heaven have wed into one of them?

She guessed the man's sister was too shy to admit the truth, so she'd married some random Li household and exaggerated it to "the Li family."

Or perhaps the man didn't understand the weight of Bianjing's Li family.

The woman looked at the man's salt-and-pepper temples and suddenly felt a pang of pity.

Coming all the way from the north to find his sister—what a man of true feeling.

"If you have no lodging in Bianjing..."

Before she could finish!

Another carriage procession slowly passed by the bridge entrance.

A banner fluttered above it, bearing the character "Xie."

The couple, long-time residents of Bianjing, naturally recognized it as the Xie family's convoy and instinctively lowered their heads, daring not to look.

The man, however, lifted his gaze slightly, watching until the convoy faded into the distance, crossing the bridge.

He rose, placed a silver ingot on the table, and smiled faintly: "No need. Thank you."

"The extra silver is for the cook's skill—I haven't had such authentic mutton soup in two months."

The man stared at the silver on the table, his eyes brightening.

The woman, however, gazed at the man's retreating back, her eyes dreamy.

"Wife, this man is so generous—this one silver ingot equals a hundred bowls of mutton soup!"

The woman sighed, looking at her own husband's short, stumpy frame, his round, flat face, his gap-toothed grin—and compared him to the man who had just left. The difference was vast: one heaven, one earth.

She grew furious.

If only the man were honest enough, and his... abilities sufficient, they might barely scrape by!

The woman cast one last lingering look at the man's figure vanishing at the bridge's end.

The woman urged: "What are you standing there for? Clean the table—customers are coming."

The simple-minded man smiled, unoffended, and swiftly swept up the tables and chairs.

A man, after all, fears his woman won't find him unattractive.

The man with salt-and-pepper temples walked alone to the bridge's end, where several constables stood guard—naturally to collect tolls.

Beyond the Nine Surnames, common folk—whether walking or riding—had to pay to cross the bridge.

The man, too, was no exception; he handed over a silver ingot and smiled:

"Keep the change!"

Clearly, the silver far exceeded the toll.

The constable's eyes lit up at the silver—then darkened at his words. He snatched it away, sneering:

"We don't give change here."

The man didn't care; he walked slowly across.

Beyond the bridge lay a vast open space, divided into three sections by bamboo groves.

In the open area stood carriage pavilions, built to park carts.

Above them were inscribed:

Three plaques: Xie, Li, Sima.

Each marked the respective carriage pavilion of the three families, all far apart, separated by bamboo groves and fences.

After crossing Nai Bridge, Xixiang Pavilion was not far.

Many chose to walk there.

On such a grand occasion, carriages were numerous; all had to be left here under the care of grooms, then walked to Xixiang Pavilion.

The man smiled and walked straight into the Sima family's carriage pavilion.

Strangely!

Inside the Sima pavilion, besides the rustling bamboo, there was only deathly silence.

Night had fallen; the moon had risen.

The grooms who should have been tending the horses were nowhere to be seen—over twenty fine draft horses snorted in the dark.

The man's eyes flickered—he noticed blood dripping beneath the carriage, pooling at his feet.

At that moment!

From within a nearby carriage, a blade sliced through the air.

The man flicked his sleeve, extended two fingers, and caught the sharp long knife between them.

The man smiled: "It's been a long time since someone drew a blade on me."

"Foolish!"

The black-clad, masked man before him gasped—his eye socket was pierced by a pale hand, and he instantly lost consciousness.

On the ground, his shadow showed only his head bursting open like a watermelon.

Blood splattered everywhere—but not a single drop touched the man.

In the man's hand now lay an iron waist token.

Inscribed: "Xueyue Hall!"

The man didn't care; he exhaled a purple vapor that enveloped the corpse.

The body hissed as it burned, thick smoke rising.

In moments!

The corpse vanished. The blood vanished too.

The man's eyes shifted; he slowly turned around.

The bamboo grove rustled.

There!

An old man, wearing a fur cap, with a grotesquely large nose and ugly features.

Descended from above the bamboo.

The old man was Shen Kui. He had just arrived at Nai Bridge from the Zhao family, waiting for Xie Guan, when he heard the commotion.

He sensed overwhelming bloodlust.

All the grooms from the three families had been killed.

Shen Kui stared at the blood-soaked ground, his vision poor; then he looked at the token in the white-haired man's hand.

It bore three characters: "Xueyue Hall."

"You're the assassin from Xueyue Hall!"

"Your Xueyue Hall never thinks of consequences—you've killed all the grooms of the Xie, Li, and Sima families. Don't you fear their retaliation?"

Shen Kui thought: with such a massive incident at the Qunfang Banquet, so many dead—tomorrow, Bianjing would surely shake.

"Never mind. Not my concern."

(End of Chapter)