Chapter Eight: Inside the Inn

Indeed, no matter how small a tavern might be, it should not look like this. The main hall was exceptionally empty, and even the chairs and tables that had once been scattered about had vanished without a trace. In their place stood an enormous water jar, at least a meter in diameter. Its towering sides caught the eye, and compared to Han Tanyi, it was not much shorter. The surface of the water, owing to the angle, was only faintly visible, but it was plain enough that the jar was filled to the brim. Of course, the most striking thing was the lotus blossom.

Most lotuses are red or white, but this one was an astonishing shade of blue, so unusual that even the young man felt a sense of inexplicable novelty as he gazed upon it. It was hard not to be curious—anyone would feel the same, and Han Tanyi was no exception. Yet, at this moment, a sense of unease seemed to supplant his curiosity. He looked around; the place was deserted, not a trace of life to be felt. There was no sign of other patrons or even a single attendant. Most notably, the innkeeper, Old Su, was nowhere to be found. This was a man of advanced years, one who would hardly wish to exert himself unnecessarily, let alone abandon the home he’d known for decades. For him, leaving this place would be as unbearable as giving up his beloved drink.

Truth be told, Han Tanyi’s purpose in coming here was for this very thing. Old Su’s brew, while not a peerless vintage, possessed a purity and sweetness that ordinary taverns could not match. Han Tanyi was not a man with a particular fondness for wine, but after tasting it once, he found himself yearning for it. His footsteps slowly carried him closer to the jar, and as he neared, he suddenly noticed a line of small characters inscribed on the jar. Leaning in, he read them clearly.

“On the fifteenth of this month, at the outskirts of Jinjiang, Kunwu still unsettled, one item shall be taken from you!” Han Tanyi murmured softly. He understood some of the words, while others remained a mystery. The first half was straightforward—the fifteenth of this month indicated the time, and today was the fourteenth, meaning tomorrow was the appointed day. The outskirts of Jinjiang referred to the location; this place was on the city's edge, bordering the Qilian Mountains, a strategic pass for both advance and retreat. Calling it an “outskirt” was fitting. That much was clear. But the latter part—Kunwu still unsettled, one item shall be taken—was perplexing. No matter how he considered it, the meaning eluded him.

Han Tanyi pondered these words over and over in his mind, but still found no answer. He chose to let it go. Clearly, this was no ordinary matter; otherwise, the inn wouldn’t be so deserted. Yet, none of this truly concerned him. There was no need for undue worry. His eyes roamed the room, searching—searching for what? Wine, of course. The urge hadn’t been so strong at first, but upon entering this place, the craving within him grew uncontrollable, leaving him inexplicably uncomfortable. He was convinced that, no matter what, wine could not have been completely cleared out.

The silence was acute, almost unnaturally so. Whatever the circumstances, Han Tanyi decided caution was wise—a habit ingrained in all who wandered the martial world. The counter was the most likely place to find what he sought; that much was common sense. He would not neglect it. But just as his hand touched the counter, a strange sound broke the silence.

“Who’s there?” a sharp voice demanded. Han Tanyi’s hand instinctively went to the long sword at his back. In such circumstances, anyone would be on guard. Yet no reply came. He stepped forward, and then he saw clearly—a person, disheveled and filthy, difficult to recognize at first glance. But Han Tanyi’s keen eyes could not be deceived; it was none other than Old Su, the innkeeper, clutching a wine jar, his manner unsteady with drunkenness. The sound just now had been the jar bumping against the floor. Han Tanyi knew Old Su was fond of drink, but he had never seen him so far gone. According to his master, Old Su was always measured in his actions, including drinking.

But today, he was acting strangely, entirely unlike his usual self. There was no need to guess the cause—it was surely related to the water jar in the hall, and more importantly, those eight characters. As he glanced around, the youth’s eyes caught sight of a long sword lying at Old Su’s side, its carvings finely wrought, the gemstone in the hilt dazzlingly bright. Clearly, this was no ordinary sword. The blade gleamed coldly, sending a chill through Han Tanyi, though there was a small nick on the edge, marring its otherwise flawless surface.

“Kunwu still unsettled”—these words suddenly flashed through Han Tanyi’s mind. He understood now: the Kunwu referred to this sword, and “one item shall be taken” meant something of Old Su’s was to be claimed. What could that item be? The thought was too troubling to pursue further. This was dangerous water, best avoided. In the world of wanderers, two secrets ensured longevity: meddle less and curb your curiosity.

Thus, Han Tanyi’s first impulse was to leave. Surely in a city as large as Jinjiang, he could find another place to stay. He took a step toward the door, but then, against his better judgment, stopped. His gaze returned to Old Su.

When a man grows old and is reduced to such a state, it stirs a measure of pity, however slight. Perhaps it only touched his heart a little, but Old Su was from the Qilian foothills, an old acquaintance of his master. Last time, the old man had been a gracious host, treating him with warmth. Could he really abandon him so heartlessly? Moreover, Han Tanyi had another reason to stay: Qiu Wan’er had disappeared, and in this sea of people, finding her would be no easy task. For now, he had to wait here until the mischievous girl returned.

With no other choice, Han Tanyi sighed softly, walked over to Old Su, took the wine jar from his hands and placed it on the counter, then carried the old man to a room and laid him down to sleep. Only then did the youth return to the hall. Old Su was not light, and though Han Tanyi was trained, it had taken some effort. Leaning against the counter, he let out a faint breath, and perhaps because the wine jar was still nearby, the lingering aroma of wine was especially strong. Almost without thinking, he grabbed the jar and took a deep swallow.

It was hardly pleasurable—if anything, the wine burned fiercely as it went down, much stronger than the mild sake he’d tasted before. Clearly, this was a far more potent brew, liable to muddle the mind. Han Tanyi set the jar down; he was not accustomed to such strong wine. His cheeks, already flushed from exertion, now burned as if on fire, but he could endure it. His gaze settled once more on the water jar. The blue lotus floated serenely. He knew it was not a real flower—this was not yet the season for lotus blooms—but the more he looked, the more lifelike it seemed. Unlike ordinary lotuses, it lacked a certain freshness and grace, instead exuding a seductive, almost wicked charm.

He had no idea how long he stared, only that time seemed to pass unnoticed, while he remained unmoved. The waning light of sunset gradually gave way to deep night. The lotus was now hard to make out. Han Tanyi easily found candles and flint within the inn—he could not remain in darkness forever. When he returned to the hall, the faint candlelight just barely illuminated the water jar. For some reason, a sudden urge to approach the lotus overtook him. Perhaps it was its beauty; there was a mysterious aura about it that drew him in. People are, after all, drawn to beautiful things, though the most beautiful are often the most dangerous.

Thus, Han Tanyi moved slowly, with extreme caution. The distance was not far, yet it took him some time to cross it. When he was just a few feet from the lotus, almost at the same moment, the corner of his eye caught sight of a face. The suddenness of it startled him so greatly that he involuntarily staggered back a step, scarcely believing his own eyes.