The sand, layer upon layer, was lifted by the gentle wind like silk, as if carrying with it fragments of broken memories, softly landing on the face of the lonely traveler in the vast desert. Zhan Bie, wrapped in a dust-covered headscarf, hunched his body and trudged forward. The sun beat down on his dry, split hair, making him appear somewhat disheveled and solitary. It was evident that after walking for a day and two nights, even the strongest brute would now have dry, cracked lips and be gasping for breath.
Zhan Bie wiped the filthy sweat from his brow with one hand and looked up at the distant, faintly visible oasis ahead. A faint, relieved smile appeared on his face...
Finally, he had reached the snowy plains, he thought. Once he crossed the snowy plains, it would be only half a day’s journey to Yunpei. The three-day deadline—he was certain he could meet it.
The snowy plains, situated north of Yunpei and south of Huohe, served as a vital stronghold between them. It spanned 4,700 pings (a unit of measurement for land), and the population was an ethnic mix. The local residents numbered just four hundred households, all of them merchants. Inns, taverns, shops, brothels, and auction houses were abundant, and the slave trade flourished. In the travel accounts of Na Qida, it was described as a land with no ethnic identity and no political stability—commerce was conducted on the spot, people managed their own affairs, and the city layout was simple. A single alley ran through it, with goods on the left and people on the right. Trade required no taxes, entry needed no paperwork, and movement was unrestricted. It was built about two hundred years ago, the customs were straightforward, and a balance of norms ensured that theft and robbery were rare.
By the tea house near the broad expanse of the snowy plains, a ragged, emaciated old man stood frail at the threshold. His face was a map of wrinkles, etched in varying depths, which seemed to fragment him, giving the impression of someone lost in confusion. Yet his eyes were sharp, reflecting the world around him with remarkable clarity. Leaning against the door, he shouted in a loud voice, “Gentlemen, today the old man will share some heavenly secrets! Do you want to hear them? Not listening would be a loss! All it costs is a pot of tea, a great bargain!”
His shout drew quite a few glances, but people merely looked; no one responded.
After a moment, the tea house's waiter came out, appearing a little busy but still wearing a friendly smile. He chuckled, “Old man, you're back again! You've been coming here every day, telling your stories, but I haven't seen many people paying attention! Maybe you should try another place.”
The old man, however, stubbornly grabbed the waiter's sleeve and said, “Young man, you don’t understand. I've spent my whole life traveling, and everywhere I go, I drink only one kind of tea—bitter-fragrant tea. This snowy plain is so small, and only your place has it. Otherwise, why would I spend hours telling stories every day, just for the sake of a pot of your tea!”
“Why bother?” the waiter replied helpfully. “If you walk half a day more, you'll reach Yunpei, where that tea is dirt cheap—almost every household has it.”
“Haha! I’m not going into Yunpei. Mark my words, within two months, Yunpei will close its gates.”
The moment the old man said this, a hundred pairs of eyes in the tea house instantly darted toward him. Naturally, these were all merchants, and the trends in border controls of the nearby major countries were of great concern to them. Such information directly affected price fluctuations.
No one knew what basis the old man had for his statement, but it certainly seemed like a random remark meant to lure people into his trap.
“Oh? What makes you say that, old man?”
Just as everyone was lost in their thoughts and doubts, they suddenly heard a deep voice inquire. The newcomer, who had somehow appeared at the entrance without anyone noticing, had striking features, with an air of carefree arrogance in his brows. He was leading a strong white horse, exuding a kind of sacred, untouchable dignity. The waiter was momentarily stunned before he hurriedly snapped back to reality, scurrying over, “Ah! Young master, this way, please!” He took the reins of the horse and tied it at the entrance, setting a table for the young man dressed in black.
The man in black cast a long, meaningful glance at the old man by the door, then turned to the waiter and said, “Bring me a jar of 'Conqueror's Wine' and a few of your signature dishes. Also, bring a pot of Bitter Fragrance Tea.”
The waiter nodded repeatedly, “Young master, Conqueror’s Wine is too strong. If you drink a whole jar, you’ll either need to stay the night or you won’t survive it. How about I prepare a room for you as well?” His tone was genuinely concerned since Conqueror’s Wine was notoriously potent and usually consumed in moderation—few people would order an entire jar.
However, the man in black merely frowned and shot the waiter a glance, saying nothing more. The waiter, suddenly realizing this man was of a different caliber, bowed and quickly retreated. After all, he had seen all sorts in this place and could tell that this man was no ordinary person.
The man in black raised his head, glancing at the old man by the door with a teasing smile. With a subtle but meaningful gesture, he beckoned him over with his finger. Yet the old man stood at the entrance for a long time, seemingly unwilling to approach. Just as he was about to turn and leave, the waiter appeared, carrying a pot of tea and a jar of wine. The old man glanced back at the table, hesitated for a while, but in the end, couldn't resist his craving. Like someone marching to his doom, he shuffled over to the man in black's table and sat down.
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