Chapter One: The Tavern

If anything significant were about to happen in the world, at least for those inside this tavern, it would be that drinking is suddenly free. Who wouldn’t wish for such a windfall, a pie falling from the sky? But such chances are rare, though not impossible. At least today, in the city of Xingyang, it’s happened.

The tavern itself was not large; the grander establishments had long since filled to capacity. The waiter scurried back and forth, busier than ever, for it was a rare day to make a little extra money—a chance he had no intention of letting slip. After all, today’s drinks didn’t need to be paid for by these patrons; all that was required was a thirst and a willing spirit.

Jugs of wine were piled everywhere, and the place was packed with people. Even the corner by the wall, not usually favored, had been fitted with a small table by the owner. That spot could seat only a single person, and with one’s back to the room and face to the wall, it was not a comfortable position. Still, it didn’t matter—so long as there was wine.

Yet the man sitting there was an odd one, out of step with the lively atmosphere around him. He sat in silence, never uttering a word. In the dim light, his face was obscured. Alone, he drank at his own pace, not quickly; the small jug of wine before him seemed hardly touched, though he’d been at it for some time.

Such characters, the waiter left well alone—he was too busy to bother with them anyway.

“Hey, some things are better left unsaid. Here in Xingyang, if Master Shen hears you, there’ll be trouble. Today, he’s marrying off his daughter, and every notable in the city—the officials, the wealthy merchants—has gone to offer thanks and gifts. If you’re late, they might not even let you in! Even us, we’re lucky—thanks to him, we’re enjoying this free wine!” Amid the swelling cheer, someone had said something to prompt this, and a gray-haired elder in his fifties or sixties, slightly displeased, offered a gentle rebuke.

Of course, he wasn’t truly annoyed. Days like these were rare and precious. As soon as he spoke, everyone’s curiosity was piqued, even the waiter slowed his pace to listen in. Among the patrons, a youth with a scholarly air, emboldened by drink, couldn’t help but ask, “This Shen—who is he, really? Is he some kind of monster with three heads and six arms?”

The elder drained a bowl of wine, glanced at the youth, and a faint, almost mocking smile played at his lips. All eyes were on him now, waiting for an explanation.

He took his time, gulping down his wine with the air of a man of the world, then answered, “You must be from out of town, not to know Master Shen Wansan of Bright Moon Manor. No, he’s not a monster, but even those with three heads and six arms may not match his prowess. Let’s not speak of all his deeds, but just last month at North Tomb Ridge—seventeen or eighteen petty thieves appeared out of nowhere and stole from the authorities. Theft isn’t uncommon in our circles, but these fools left a note on the wall: ‘We’ll meet again on the fifteenth of next month.’ Taunting fate!”

Here, the old man paused, leaving his listeners hanging, like diners staring at a sumptuous feast just out of reach. He was clearly a master storyteller, knowing just when to build suspense.

Some could wait patiently, others could not. The room grew noisy with people urging him to continue, all eyes fixed on the old man—save for the mysterious figure in the corner, who seemed unmoved. Perhaps for him, the wine was more interesting than tales.

Maybe the urging worked, for the elder’s enthusiasm rose. He stood abruptly, drawing every eye, his presence commanding attention. He looked around, relishing the moment, and the room fell silent in anticipation.

“It served those fools right. They should have known who they were dealing with. In Xingyang, Master Shen’s cousin is the local magistrate. Of all people to provoke! But you know, those thieves did keep their word. On the fifteenth, they returned, openly, as if fearing no one. They broke into the magistrate’s compound, and in less than half a stick of incense, every last one of them was immobilized, unable to move. My own son works in the yamen and saw it all—came home raving that Master Shen must be inhuman. The thieves brandished shining blades, but Master Shen disarmed them with a few swift moves—without even drawing a weapon!”

As the old man spoke, he mimed the action, jabbing the air as if he himself were Shen Wansan, and the audience mere bandits beneath his notice. A good storyteller must first lose himself in the tale.

Perhaps swept up by the story, even the tavern owner left his place behind the counter and approached. He moved slowly, but all eyes followed him. Though the drinks were on Shen’s tab today, the owner was still half a host, and so everyone showed him due respect.

He placed a jug of wine on the table before the old man, patted his shoulder, and with a playful tone, said, “Monkey Old Third, you’re not bad as a storyteller. Everyone in Xingyang knows these stories, but you make them worth hearing. Since we’re all here in my tavern today, let me tell one myself!”

With that, the crowd erupted in cheers—at times like these, who wouldn’t humor the owner? Of course, this meant the old man’s moment in the sun was abruptly ended, but what could he say? It wasn’t his place.

Resigned, he sat down, filled his bowl to the brim, and the aroma of wine soon soothed his irritation. After all, he’d come for merriment—why quibble over small things? Better to drink his fill and enjoy the night.

“North Tomb Ridge is nothing—just some arrogant street thugs. But have you heard of the Twin Demons of Lingnan? They’re infamous in the martial world, wanted for countless crimes and murders. The authorities couldn’t touch them, and even the greatest heroes failed to bring them down. But just recently, things got even wilder. The two of them gathered a band of notorious outlaws—real cutthroats. For a while, the whole martial world was in an uproar. And in the end, what happened? Shen Wansan, Master Shen himself, single-handedly laid them all low—not one escaped!”

Though Monkey Old Third was a fine storyteller, Old Man Du was his equal, if not his superior. His words were leaner, more forceful, and the effect was electric. For a brief moment, the patrons were left stunned, but then the room burst into applause and cheers, even Monkey Old Third joining in, clapping along.

The mood was boisterous, perfectly matching the free-flowing wine. The air crackled with excitement, and for a moment, everyone felt themselves part of the martial world, exchanging tales and braggadocio as if they were Shen Wansan himself. Of course, such things were mere fantasy, but what did it matter? So long as they drank their fill and enjoyed themselves, Old Man Du’s purpose was served. He’d simply send the bill to the Shen family—who would dare refuse?

But just as the merriment reached its peak, a figure burst through the tavern door. Before anyone could see who it was, a breathless voice called out, “Did you hear? This time, Shen Wansan has suffered a defeat—and it’s not a small one!”