Chapter 93: Mountain Rain, Jianghu Road

BOOM!

The sky was dark, thunder rumbling.

Soon, a light rain began to patter down, fine as silk, tapping against the leaves beside the road with a constant rustling.

It was now the Frost’s Descent season, when all things mature, yang retreats into the earth, yin begins to congeal, the weather grows colder, and the daily temperature difference reaches its peak.

As soon as the rain fell, cold seeped up from the soles of the feet.

“Damn bad luck…”

Sha Li-fei stood under the eaves, shivered, then turned and stepped inside, raising his thumb: “The Daoist master’s got it right—he knew it’d rain today and got us out of the way. Shame we don’t have a proper place to rest.”

This was an old mansion on a hillside.

The mansion was desolate; it was said to have been built years ago by a wealthy merchant who planned to establish his entire family here, but before it was even finished, bandits raided and destroyed it, leaving it abandoned.

Though most of the buildings had collapsed and the surroundings were overgrown with wild grass, the two remaining large main halls were enough to shelter everyone from wind and rain.

Inside, Wang Daoxuan burned dried mugwort, waving it around every corner, especially the rotting, shadowy nooks and crannies, to dispel ill fortune.

The cart driver, an old man, fed the horses; four bearers chopped wood and built a stove; as for Li Yan, he found others’ cooking unpalatable and unclean, so he took charge himself.

Over the past few days, the group had developed a strong rapport, working in orderly harmony.

Bored, Sha Li-fei complained: “That innkeeper really doesn’t play fair—we’re fellow travelers of the Jianghu, yet he won’t even let us in.”

“If we’d gone there, we’d already be eating hot food…”

After leaving Xianyang, their journey had gone smoothly.

Several days later, they had reached the foot of the Qinling Mountains.

Wang Daoxuan checked the sky and saw days of continuous rain ahead; if they pressed on, the coffin might get soaked, so he led the group to find shelter.

This spot was not far from the mountain path—in a few hundred meters stood an inn, but they refused entry, merely pointing them here for shelter.

The leader of the bearers was Yue Bala, so named because as a child he rolled down a hill while playing—he didn’t die, but his head was covered in scars.

When he grew up, he shaved his head; the combination of his scarred scalp and rugged face inevitably earned him the nickname “Bala,” and over time, no one called him by his real name anymore.

Though he looked fearsome, he was honest and dependable; with that intimidating face, he quickly became a well-known bearer in Xianyang.

Hearing Sha Li-fei’s complaint, Yue Bala scratched his head and grinned sheepishly: “Sha Daxia, we’re escorting the dead home. The inn serves the living—wouldn’t our presence bring them bad luck?”

“Our trade has a rule: don’t intrude. It’s to avoid bringing misfortune. We’ve always slept in the wild or ruined temples—we’re used to it.”

The cart driver, Old Meng, came from Taihang Cart and Horse House—a seasoned Jianghu veteran. He rolled his eyes and smacked his lips: “Travel’s always like this—who doesn’t endure wind and sun? The only thing I regret is the drink.”

Sha Li-fei laughed. “Old Meng, you’re circling around to beg for liquor, aren’t you? What good wine could there be in this backwater inn?”

“Ah~”

Old Meng blinked. “You don’t understand.”

“That inn down the hill—Fenglai Inn—is famous in Chang’an. They brew Liulin Old Qin wine from Fengxiang—it’s unmatched.”

“Rich, elegant, smooth, crisp, balanced, with a long, clean finish… Zeze , I never rose to fame, but I’ve traveled far and wide—I know where the best liquor is made!”

Sha Li-fei’s mouth watered. “Don’t lie to me.”

Li Yan, chopping vegetables, perked up. “Uncle Sha, if it’s famous, it must have plenty of Jianghu news.”

“Since we can’t travel today, go buy some wine to warm everyone, and ask around—see if the Qinling Road is safe.”

“Got it!”

Sha Li-fei grinned, pulled on his straw hat and rain cape, and dashed into the rain.

He hated work, but running errands and gathering information? That was his strength.

Wang Daoxuan had just finished dispelling the ill fortune and lit three incense sticks, placing them in the small incense burner beside the coffin. He smiled: “Don’t worry—this road we’re taking is the ancient Qin-Chu Trail, right through Zhongnan Mountain.”

“Zhongnan Mountain is thick with Daoist temples and monasteries, and many Xuanmen masters dwell there in seclusion. Caravans of pilgrims from Chang’an pass through regularly—there’s little danger.”

“But now it’s Frost’s Descent—the jackals offer sacrifices to beasts; the mountain creatures prepare for winter and may descend to harass travelers…”

Mid-sentence, he noticed Li Yan staring blankly out the door. Wang Daoxuan frowned. “Again?”

Li Yan nodded, silent.

In his vision, beyond the rain, the bloodied wandering master appeared once more—drenched in gore, long hair hanging low, his left finger pointing toward the Qinling range.

Though Qingyangzi said it was nothing, he still felt uneasy.

No reason—he was just too gruesome to look at.

What had he endured…

…………

“Phoenix soars, bringing good tidings; guests fill the hall, hearts warm with talk…”

Sha Li-fei read the couplet on the inn’s gate, muttering: “Cowardly bastards—Jianghu inn, yet so literary. Must’ve been opened by some little lady!”

Fenglai Inn was indeed large.

Its tall wooden gate bore the couplet; hanging lanterns shaped like gourds lined both sides, connecting with the earthen walls and enclosing the entire inn along with the surrounding wilderness.

Before even entering, Sha Li-fei heard the braying of mules and horses.

Inside the courtyard, two animal sheds sheltered the beasts from the rain; two attendants bustled about, feeding them fodder.

One of them, a round-faced attendant, spotted Sha Li-fei and rushed over, bowing repeatedly with a pained smile: “Oh sir, we don’t allow funeral processions inside—please don’t make things hard for me.”

“You scared little fool.”

Sha Li-fei glared. “I’m here to buy wine—can’t you let me in for that?”

“Of course.”

The attendant bowed low, gesturing: “Please, sir, come in.”

Innkeepers see all kinds—rude ones, arrogant ones, the lot. Sha Li-fei’s demeanor didn’t scare him at all.

Sha Li-fei didn’t bother arguing—he sprinted, leapt over muddy puddles, and pushed aside the cloth curtain into the inn.

In the Jianghu, inns came in tiers.

The top-tier ones stood in bustling cities, with dozens of courtyards inside, catering to nobles and wealthy merchants.

The upper-tier ones were similar but smaller, often next to famous brothels or teahouses, or near academies where crowds gathered.

Those along the roads were mostly crude.

Fenglai Inn had a front hall and a back courtyard.

The front hall had two stories, spacious, filled with square tables for guests to drink and eat; on both sides were wooden railings and brick staircases leading to second-floor rooms.

The back courtyard had both long communal beds for dozens and private rooms—depending on how much silver you had.

Perhaps because of the autumn rain, the inn was crowded.

“Waiter! Bring a pot of Old Qin wine, and some food.”

Sha Li-fei called out, then sat in a quiet corner, pulled out a copy of *The Sand Gate’s Red Lady*, pretending to read while watching the surroundings.

He was a seasoned Jianghu man—he quickly sized up the guests.

The group near the left side wore neat clothes, spoke politely, ate only vegetarian food, and had guards standing behind them—they were clearly a Chang’an pilgrimage group.

A pilgrimage group meant travelers who journeyed together to sacred mountains and rivers to offer incense—first to show sincerity, second to sightsee.

They usually had modest wealth, pooled funds to hire guards, since some roads were unsafe…

The group on the right were clearly cart drivers—drinking coarse liquor, eating pickled vegetables, and when drunk, sang and played dice: “Hey! Liquor’s made from five grains—first it softens your arms, then your legs! Liquor ruins the gentleman, water ruins the road—no immortal escapes liquor’s grip!”

Their loud shouting annoyed the Chang’an pilgrims, but after their guards whispered warnings, they swallowed their anger.

Sha Li-fei smirked inwardly.

Though these cart drivers were crude, they were never to be trifled with—they had cart houses backing them, and might even know local bandits.

If a fight broke out, getting beaten up with a cloth over your face was the best-case scenario.

Some with ill intent had secretly murdered travelers, stolen their goods, then dumped the bodies in the woods for wild beasts.

If wanted, they’d just flee to another province and keep working.

These Chang’an pilgrims? Definitely not to be provoked.

The rest of the guests were mostly lone Jianghu performers—muscular men showing off stunts, or musicians with willow lutes and three-stringed instruments, weathered faces etched with hardship, sipping murky wine to mourn the world’s suffering…

That’s what inns were like.

!.

Ordinary folk were busy with their fields, so those on the road were either cart drivers or Jianghu workers.

Sha Li-fei watched a while, saw no suspicious figures. Just then, the waiter brought wine and snacks. He lowered his voice: “Waiter, tell me—is the road safe lately?”

He placed several copper coins on the table.

“Sir, you asked the right man.”

The waiter set down the food and wine, then picked up the tray—the coins vanished. He grinned: “This place is near Zhongnan Mountain. Even bandits and wild beasts here observe vegetarian vows—they won’t harm anyone.”

“Are you heading toward Shangzhou?”

Sha Li-fei nodded. “To Fengyang.”

The waiter glanced around, then whispered: “Once you cross Zhongnan’s border, be careful. Yesterday, returning cart drivers said wild beasts have attacked people there.”

“Also, near Niubeiliang, there are many outlaws on the mountain—they’ve been short on cash lately and clashed with Dingyuan Escort Agency. Word is it got ugly.”

“Even if you’re a funeral procession, they might still attack.”

“Oh…”

Sha Li-fei frowned slightly. “Thanks.”

He’d heard of Niubeiliang—complex terrain, high mountains, dense forests, the only route to Shangzhou, teeming with bandits.

The authorities had launched several crackdowns but never cleared them out.

He’d need to return and discuss this with Li Yan.

Thinking this, Sha Li-fei called out loudly: “Waiter! Wrap this up, and give me ten jin of wine!”

“Got it!”

The waiter beamed and hurried off to fetch the wine jars.

These Liulin Laoqin wines? Poor folks can’t afford them—pour a little less, save a little more; maybe the landlord’ll be pleased and give him a bonus.

Sha Lifei was tall and broad-shouldered; he lifted a ten-jin wine jar as if it were nothing. But just as he turned to leave, another man entered through the door.

The newcomer was a middle-aged man, dressed in a blue robe, wearing leather belts and wrist guards, with a long sword at his waist. His lips held no smile; his brow brimmed with menace.

The key was his shoes—caked in mud, yet black boot shafts with thick white soles.

These were thick-soled black boots—official footwear, worn only by officials or their sons.

He glanced around, frowned slightly, and said in a low voice: “Waiter, do you still have a private courtyard?”

The waiter smiled apologetically: “Sir, all courtyards are already booked.”

The middle-aged man tossed down a string of coins. “Who’s got them?”

The waiter snatched them up, grinning foolishly: “You’re putting me in a bind—I wouldn’t dare say…”

Though he spoke thus, his eyes darted to the side.

There, exactly, was the Chang’an incense delegation.

Without hesitation, the middle-aged man walked over to the incense group, bowed with clasped fists: “Gentlemen, I apologize for the intrusion. My master cannot tolerate noise—I seek a private courtyard. Might you yield it? I’ll pay triple the inn fee as compensation.”

The incense group, already irritated by the cart drivers’ clamor and preparing to leave, now grew displeased.

“You’re being rather tyrannical, aren’t you?”

“Exactly! Do you think we can’t afford it?”

One of the incense group was a young nobleman. Seeing the man’s official boots, his gaze shifted slightly. He quickly stepped forward, smiling and bowing: “Sir, my father is Zhang Xianqi, serving under the newly appointed Provincial Governor Li. Might I ask…?”

This was a probe—and a test.

If the man was powerful, they’d yield the courtyard and forge a connection.

If he was just some minor clerk, he’d back down on his own.

And by speaking politely, they wouldn’t offend anyone.

Upon hearing “newly appointed Provincial Governor Li,” the middle-aged man’s expression changed instantly. He growled: “Forget it. No need to trouble you.”

The young pilgrim’s eyes flickered with disdain. He glanced again at the cart drivers, thinking it a disgrace to share an inn with such coarse louts.

On the other side, the middle-aged man turned away and asked the waiter: “Is there any quiet place nearby to shelter from the rain?”

The waiter swallowed hard, his eyes darting once more.

“You cowardly sneak—look again and I’ll gouge out your eyes!”

Sha Lifei cursed outright, then spoke: “Traveling the Jianghu is always inconvenient. There’s another house over there—we can give up one room.”

“It’s just a funeral procession—if you’re not afraid, come along.”

With that, he pulled on his straw hat and rain cape and stepped out the door.

Outside the inn’s gate, Sha Lifei immediately saw two carriages parked beneath a tree—spacious, elegant, with closed silk curtains. Six riders stood beside them, all in blue robes and official black boots.

He didn’t want trouble. He clutched the wine jar and walked away.

The middle-aged man followed closely behind, rushing to the first carriage and bowing respectfully: “Master, no private courtyard is available—it’s been taken by a group of Chang’an pilgrims…”

A frail voice came from inside the carriage: “Fengping, you’ve been fooled. Though the court has repeatedly banned it, noble sons on the road often carry official permits to rest at post stations.”

“Don’t you see enough of these big-talkers in Chang’an?”

“Still, you did right—we needn’t stir up trouble.”

Fengping nodded. “Master, there’s a dilapidated house nearby for shelter, but a funeral procession is there too.”

The voice from the carriage spoke again: “They’re merely escorting the dead home. Am I not returning to my roots as well? No taboos here. Let’s go.”

“Yes, Master!”

The middle-aged man waved his hand, and the procession moved into the rain.

At that moment, a crack appeared in the second-floor wooden window. A bearded man rubbed his chin, watching the caravan slowly depart, and murmured:

“Hai Chi Zi (big official), Huo Dian (rich man), Xing (seven) Jian Guazi (skilled fighters)—this is definitely the real target.”

He turned his head toward the room.

“Third Brother, this target’s tougher than we thought…”

(End of Chapter)