Chapter 9: Morning Meals and Silent Understandings
The night teaches a simple lesson: plans are like the stars—countless, bright, and utterly useless when it's cloudy. That's how I felt as I stared at the courtyard under the moonlight, offering Mei Yun a room. She accepted without hesitation, and I watched her walk to one of the side rooms. It felt odd.
" Maybe , She's just staying for the night," I told myself as I locked the main door. But a small voice in my head added, And yet it feels like she belongs here.
I woke up to the soft light of dawn filtering through my window, accompanied by the faint chirping of birds. Stretching, I glanced toward the room where Mei Yun had stayed. It was empty.
"She must've left early," I thought, shrugging it off. It wasn't unusual for people to be gone by sunrise—especially cultivators who valued their morning routines. Still, I couldn't shake a tiny flicker of disappointment.
"Well, no use dwelling on it," I muttered as I headed to the kitchen.
Today's task was clear: a new dish. Eating the same meal every day might keep you alive, but it's also a surefire way to kill your mood. With the courtyard's self-sustaining magic, I had all the tools and ingredients at my disposal. A quick glance outside revealed the bubbling spring, its crystal-clear waters reflecting the morning sun. It was more of a pond, really, and it added a serene charm to the place.
Behind the courtyard, I noticed farm fields that seemed ripe for planting. "I'll deal with that later," I told myself. For now, my focus was on the kitchen.
The kitchen was modest but perfect—stone counters, wooden shelves, and an array of tools that seemed to fit in my hands like old friends. I started by examining the herbs Mei Yun had left behind yesterday. There was a mix of aromatic leaves, delicate flowers, and even some roots with faintly glowing veins.
I decided on a hearty herbal broth with crispy rolls on the side. The broth would be earthy and nourishing, while the rolls would add a satisfying crunch.
I chopped the herbs finely, their scents mingling in the air—peppery, sweet, and slightly tangy. The roots, when sliced, oozed a golden sap that shimmered in the light. Tossing everything into a pot of spring water, I let it simmer over a low flame.
Meanwhile, I prepared the rolls. The dough was soft and pliable, speckled with crushed seeds for texture. Rolling it out, I filled it with a mixture of mashed beans, finely diced vegetables, and a sprinkle of salt. Folding and sealing them, I set them to fry until they were golden and crisp.
The aroma that filled the air was intoxicating. The broth was rich and fragrant, its flavors deepened by the slow cooking process. The rolls crackled softly as I plated them, their golden crusts glistening with a faint sheen of oil.
Just as I was about to take a bite, a knock echoed through the tavern. I paused, chopsticks halfway to my mouth, and sighed. "Of course. The moment I sit down to eat."
Setting the bowl aside, I made my way to the door. Standing there was Mei Yun, carrying a bundle of fresh herbs.
"Good morning," I said, smiling. "Out herb-picking already?"
She nodded, her expression a mix of hesitation and resolve. "I thought I'd repay your kindness," she said, holding out the bundle.
It took me a moment to realize what this meant. "So… does this mean you're staying?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "If you'll have me."
"Well, welcome to the team," I said, stepping aside to let her in. "Oh, and since you're here, care to join me for breakfast? I just made something fresh.
From her perspective, who would refuse a meal prepared by someone she believed to be a hidden master? She nodded, and I set another bowl and pair of chopsticks on the table.
"Hope you like it," I said, serving her a generous portion of the broth and a couple of rolls. "It's a simple dish, but it should be hearty enough to start the day."
She picked up a spoon, her movements careful, as if the food might evaporate if she wasn't gentle. The moment she tasted it, her eyes widened.
From the first sip of broth, Mei Yun felt as though she'd been transported to another realm. The flavors were rich yet balanced, each herb adding its own note to the symphony. The warmth spread through her, not just physically but spiritually, as if the dish held a resonance with the natural world.
The rolls, crispy on the outside and soft within, provided a delightful contrast. They were more than just food—they were an experience. Every bite seemed to unveil a layer of insight, a glimpse into a world of harmony and balance.
As she ate, Mei Yun felt her cultivation stir. Unknowingly, her spiritual energy began to circulate more smoothly, and before she realized it, she had advanced two levels.
From my side of the table, she looked like someone savoring the best meal of her life. Her expressions shifted between awe, contentment, and something akin to reverence.
"You okay?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She blinked, snapping out of her trance. "Yes. This is… incredible," she said softly.
"Glad you like it," I said, grinning. "The rolls turned out better than I expected."
In her mind, she was drawing her own conclusions. To her, this was no ordinary meal, and I was no ordinary man. But to me, it was just breakfast.
As we finished eating, I leaned back with a satisfied sigh. "Well, since you're staying, we'll need to sort out a few things. Tasks, schedules, that sort of thing. But for now, feel free to settle in."
Mei Yun nodded, her gaze lingering on the empty bowl. I could tell she wanted to say something but chose to stay silent.
The morning stretched on, the sun climbing higher into the sky. The tavern felt alive in a way it hadn't before, and I couldn't help but feel that this was the start of something new.
Sometimes, life has a way of surprising you. And sometimes, it's just a matter of opening the door at the right moment.
Chapter 10: Building Dreams and Breaking Routines
In life, we often stumble upon the unexpected—a stray thought, a sudden plan, or in my case, an extra occupant. It's amusing how quickly life changes. One moment, you're a solitary man tending to your courtyard tavern; the next, you're building a room for someone who isn't even paying rent. Is this what they call kindness, or am I just too soft for my own good?
The morning arrived with a crisp breeze and a purpose—though purpose, like breakfast, is best served fresh. Today, mine was clear: Mei Yun needed a proper room.
When she decided to stay, I thought it would be the occasional drop-in—a day here, a night there. But over breakfast, she shared snippets of her life: staying in her workplace when allowed, inns when affordable, or camping in the wilderness when neither was an option.
"That's no way to live," I muttered to myself as she finished her meal, completely unaware that she had just secured herself a room.
The first thing I did was scout the courtyard for a suitable location. The kitchen sat cozily in one corner, overlooking the spring-fed pond. On the other side, a small clearing near the stone pathway seemed perfect.
I grabbed a piece of parchment and sketched the room's layout: simple but comfortable. A single bed, a wardrobe, a desk, and perhaps a small window to let the morning light in. Nothing extravagant, but something she could call her own.
To do that , the first step was gathering materials. Luckily, the tavern seemed to have a near-magical supply of wood, stone, and tools tucked away in storage. Was it strange that everything I needed was readily available? Probably. Did I question it? Not really. Life's too short to argue with convenience.
Construction, much like cooking, is all about preparation. I started by clearing the area, removing loose stones and leveling the ground. With a shovel in one hand and determination in the other, I dug shallow trenches for the foundation.
"Did I always know how to do this?" I wondered aloud as my hands worked with surprising efficiency. It was as though my body remembered skills my mind didn't.
Once the foundation was set, I started by measuring the space. Using sturdy beams of aged wood, I laid the foundation. Each plank fit together seamlessly, as though the wood itself wanted to become a room. Strange, but I wasn't complaining.
I gathered stones from the courtyard's perimeter, fitting them together like pieces of a puzzle. Each stone seemed to find its place naturally, and before long, the base of the room took shape.
As I began constructing the walls, Mei Yun approached, curious.
"Do you need help?" she asked, her eyes darting between the half-built structure and my dusty hands.
"Actually, yes," I said, handing her a list. "Could you head to the village and pick up some rations? We'll need them for dinner."
She hesitated, glancing back at the worksite. "Are you sure you don't need assistance here?"
I grinned. "I think I can handle stacking stones. You, on the other hand, might have a better eye for picking out vegetables."
With a nod, she took the list and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the walls I was raising.
The walls went up piece by piece, wooden beams forming the framework and planks fitting snugly between them. I decided to carve simple patterns into the wooden panels—nothing fancy, just flowing lines reminiscent of water ripples.
I added a wide window overlooking the spring, thinking Mei Yun might appreciate the view. The glass, clear and smooth, slid into place as if guided by unseen hands.
The window frame was the trickiest part. It needed to be sturdy yet delicate enough to hold the glass pane I found in the storeroom. After a few adjustments (and a near-miss with a falling beam), it fit perfectly.
For the roof, I chose a simple design with curved tiles that complemented the tavern's aesthetic. The tiles locked together like puzzle pieces, forming a sturdy yet elegant cover.
Inside, I kept the decor minimal but refined. A single bed with a soft mattress, a wooden desk, and a small shelf for her belongings. A paper lantern hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow that felt both welcoming and serene.
By the time I stepped back to admire my work, the sun was dipping low, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson. The room stood complete—a harmonious blend of simplicity and elegance.
The interior smelled of fresh wood, and the carvings caught the fading light beautifully, casting soft shadows on the walls.
"Well, that's that," I said, s I was admireing my work. The room felt… alive. Like it belonged here all along.
After a day of heavy labor, my stomach reminded me that it needed attention too. The kitchen, as always, greeted me with its quiet charm. I decided on a hearty meal—something to replenish energy and celebrate the day's accomplishment.
I started by kneading dough for flatbreads, incorporating a pinch of salt and crushed herbs for flavor. The dough was pliable, soft under my hands, and after rolling it into thin rounds, I set it aside to rest.
Next, I turned my attention to the stew. Mei Yun had brought fresh vegetables and a chunk of dried meat from the village. I diced the meat into bite-sized pieces, searing them in a pot until they released a rich, savory aroma.
Adding chopped vegetables—carrots, potatoes, and a handful of leafy greens—I poured in spring water and let it simmer. A pinch of spices and a handful of crushed herbs went in last, their scents melding with the bubbling broth.
As the stew cooked, I returned to the flatbreads, slapping them onto a heated stone. They sizzled and puffed up, their edges crisping to a golden brown.
By the time the food was ready, the kitchen was filled with warmth and the comforting scent of a meal well-made.
Just as I was setting the table, Mei Yun returned, her arms laden with more herbs. "You've been busy," she said, glancing at the newly built room.
"Not as busy as you, it seems," I replied, nodding toward the herbs. "But first, let's eat. You're officially the first employee of this not-yet-open tavern, so it's only right to take care of you."
We sat at the table, the steaming stew and warm flatbreads between us.
"This smells amazing," she said, breaking off a piece of bread and dipping it into the stew.
The first bite brought a subtle smile to her face. Unlike the wide-eyed amazement of her earlier meals, this time her reaction was subdued—almost as if she had grown accustomed to the quality.
The stew was hearty, the flavors deep and satisfying. The meat was tender, the vegetables soft but not mushy, and the herbs added a freshness that balanced the richness. The flatbreads were crisp on the outside and fluffy within, perfect for soaking up the flavorful broth.
As we ate, I couldn't help but notice how natural she seemed, as if she belonged here. It was a strange thought, one I quickly dismissed.
After the meal, we sat in comfortable silence, the only sounds being the crackle of the kitchen's fire and the distant chirping of crickets.
"You've done a lot today," Mei Yun said finally, her gaze drifting toward the new room.
"So have you," I replied, nodding at the herbs she'd brought. "Looks like we're both earning our keep."
She smiled, a quiet, thoughtful expression. "It's… nice. Having a place like this."
Her words lingered in the air, and I realized she wasn't just talking about the room or the meal.
"Well, feel free to call it home," I said simply. "You can work and stay ,no trouble."
Her smile widened, and for the first time, I saw something I hadn't noticed before: gratitude.
Sometimes, building walls isn't about keeping peo
ple out—it's about inviting them in. And in that moment, I felt like I'd done just that.
Chapter 11: Planting Seeds for a Harvest
Some dreams are like plants—you water them, nurture them, and wait for them to bloom. Others are like weeds: they grow on their own, mostly in places you didn't want them. My tavern, however, was a mix of both. It had all the makings of a dream, but no roots yet. And roots, in this case, meant customers.
Time passed since Mei Yun's room was built beside the courtyard kitchen. The tavern was almost ready to open, yet its doors remained shut, the final step eluding me: customers. I couldn't help but laugh at the irony. Everything was in place—the warm wood tones of the tavern, the soft glow of oil lamps, and the irresistible allure of freshly cooked meals—but no one knew this place even existed.
"All dressed up and nowhere to go," I muttered as I stared at the empty courtyard. It was a beautiful day, with sunlight filtering through the trees, casting playful shadows on the cobblestones. Yet the stillness of the place gnawed at me.
Mei Yun emerged from the storeroom carrying a sack of rice. Despite her delicate frame, she moved with practiced ease, her ponytail swaying as she walked. "What are you thinking tavarn master," she said, setting the sack down with a light thud.
"I'm thinking," I corrected, crossing my arms.
"You always call it that," she teased, brushing her hands clean. "But at the end it goes as the way you described"
" Well! Those are coincidence and this time it's different, the tavern looks great. The food is great—if I may say so myself—but what's the point if no one comes to see it?" I gestured dramatically at the empty space, as if inviting an invisible audience to agree.
Mei Yun gave a small laugh. "Have you tried telling people about it?"
"I've mentioned it to a few villagers," I said, scratching the back of my neck. "But let's be honest—who's going to hike up a mountain just because some guy says his cooking is good?"
She tilted her head, thoughtful. "Sometimes, it's not about convincing everyone at once. Start with a few people. If they like it, they'll tell others, and if you need me do something just tell me - I'll do my utmost best."
"Fair point," I said, though something about her tone made me raise an eyebrow. "What's on your mind? You're thinking something."
Her lips curved into a mysterious smile. "Nothing you need to worry about."
Her lips curved into a small smile.
But I wasn't convinced.
In truth, Mei Yun believed the tavern didn't need much advertising. She had experienced my cooking firsthand, and the food alone was enough to draw people in. Add to that the serene ambiance of the mountain setting, and she was certain that once someone visited, they'd come back. But Mei Yun chose not to voice her thoughts. She knew I enjoyed solving problems in my own way, even if it took longer.
After breakfast, I decided to take Mei Yun's advice and visit the village to spread the word. The walk down the mountain was as peaceful as ever. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of pine and wildflowers. Birds chirped overhead, and sunlight streamed through the trees in golden shafts.
When I arrived, the village was already alive with activity. Merchants shouted about their wares, children darted through the streets, and the smell of fresh bread wafted from a nearby bakery.
My first stop was the butcher's shop, where I had previously made a deal for fresh meat. The owner, a burly man with a permanent scowl, was trimming fat from a large slab of pork when I walked in.
"Well, look who's back," he said gruffly, glancing up.
"I'm not here for meat today," I said with a smile. "Just wanted to let you know my tavern's opening in two days."
He raised an eyebrow. "A tavern? Up on the mountain? Bit out of the way, don't you think?"
"Maybe," I admitted. "But I think the food will make it worth the trip."
He grunted, his version of a polite response. "Good luck, then. If it's as good as you claim, maybe I'll stop by someday."
Leaving the butcher's shop, I spent the next few hours wandering the village. I spoke to shopkeepers, chatted with passersby, and tried to build some buzz about the tavern. But as the sun climbed higher in the sky, a nagging thought crept into my mind: Even if people are interested, will they really hike up the mountain just for a meal?
As I sat on a bench near the town square, watching the bustling activity around me, my gaze landed on a group of children playing tag. Their laughter echoed through the air, bright and unrestrained.
And then, inspiration struck.
If you want a story to spread, start with those who love to tell it.
Children were natural storytellers. They would exaggerate, embellish, and talk about every detail with unbridled enthusiasm. If I invited them to the tavern for a meal, they'd talk about it for days—maybe even weeks.
I chuckled to myself. "Feeding children to feed the future. Who knew running a tavern would turn me into a philosopher?"
"Genius," I muttered to myself, a grin spreading across my face.
I approached the group of children, who stopped their game to stare at me with wide eyes. "Hello there," I said, crouching to their level.
A boy with a missing tooth stepped forward, eyeing me warily. "Who are you?"
"I'm opening a tavern up on the mountain," I said with a friendly smile. "How would you like to be my first guests?"
Their eyes lit up. "Really?!" one of them exclaimed.
"Really," I confirmed. "But there's one rule. After you've eaten, you have to tell everyone in the village about it."
They nodded eagerly, chattering amongst themselves about the free meal.
As I made my way back up the mountain, the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Despite the challenges, a sense of satisfaction settled over me. Even if only a handful of villagers came to the tavern after hearing the children's stories, it would be a start.
That evening, Mei Yun and I sat down for dinner in the courtyard. The meal was simple: stir-fried vegetables, steamed rice, and a clear broth.
"I invited the village children to the tavern," I said, breaking the silence.
Mei Yun raised an eyebrow. "Children?"
"They're the best messengers," I explained. "They'll spread the word faster than we ever could."
She chuckled. "You're either a genius or completely mad."
"Can't I be both?"
She didn't respond, but the amused glint in her eyes said enough.
As the stars began to appear overhead, I leaned back in my chair, staring up at the sky. "It's strange," I mused.
"What is?" Mei Yun asked, her tone curious.
"Nothing! ."
I was was silent for a moment before saying, "Sometimes, the best paths are the ones we don't plan. They're the ones we stumble upon."
My words lingered in the air, resonating deeply. The tavern wasn't just a place for food. I wanted it to become something more—a space for stories, connections, and maybe even a little magic.
Chapter 12: The Quiet Opening
Life often unfolds with a poetic irony, a quiet reminder that the grandest beginnings often come wrapped in the simplest moments. A tavern on the mountain? In a world ruled by cultivation and might, where power determined everything, it was the epitome of audacity to rely on something as mundane as food and hospitality. Yet here I was, a man without any discernible cultivation talent—opening a tavern where strength meant little but flavor meant everything. If there's a philosophy hidden here, perhaps it's this: even the mightiest cultivator must eat, and in those fleeting moments, they're all mortal again.
They say that the first step is always the hardest, but they never mention how awkward it feels to take that step in complete silence.
The morning began early, the air crisp and cool as I sorted the last details in my tavern. I had spent the previous night poring over an ancient cookbook I found tucked away in my courtyard storeroom. Titled Heavenly Delicacies, the book exuded an aura that made Mei Yun, my sole employee, glance at it with reverence.
"Is this… an ancient treasure?" she asked hesitantly, her tone laced with awe.
I blinked at her, then at the book. Its cover was a little dusty, the edges frayed, and the binding creaked when opened. To me, it was just an old recipe book. To Mei Yun? Well, she regarded it as though it held the secrets of immortality itself.
"Treasure?" I chuckled. "It's a cookbook. You know, a guide for making food?"
Her expression didn't falter, her gaze serious. "Tavern Master Li, ordinary mortals cannot possess something like this. The energy it radiates... it's faint but profound. It must have been written by a culinary sage. You truly are… remarkable."
She said that last part so solemnly that I didn't even know how to respond. A sage? Me? I flipped open the book, staring at the recipes.
"If you say so," I muttered, more to myself than her.
I frowned slightly. This was becoming a pattern. Ever since she started working here, Mei Yun had been acting… strange. Her words were overly formal, her gaze filled with what could only be described as awe.
"Is everything ready?" I asked, trying to shake off the odd feeling.
"Yes, the tables are set, the courtyard is spotless, and the storeroom is organized," she reported. "I also polished the menu board, as you instructed."
"Perfect," I said.
She hesitated for a moment before adding, "It's remarkable how you've created such a place. Truly… divine."
There it was again—that strange tone, as if she believed I was some kind of hidden expert. I decided not to address it, focusing instead on the task at hand.
Inside the tavern, I stood before the counter, a piece of charcoal in hand and a blank wooden board before me. Creating the menu was a daunting task, not because I didn't know what to serve but because I wanted it to reflect the spirit of the tavern.
The Heavenly Delicacies recipe book sat open on the counter, its pages filled with intricate illustrations and detailed instructions.
Now, as I flipped through its pages, I couldn't help but chuckle. The recipes were undoubtedly impressive, but to Mei Yun, it seemed as if the book contained techniques for ascension rather than cooking.
I jotted down a few dishes on the menu board:
1. Mountain Spirit Stir-Fry
2. Five Element Soup
3. Heavenly Herb Rice
4. Mystical Fruit Platter
Most of these were names I'd come up with to make the dishes sound more appealing. In truth, they were simple recipes elevated by quality ingredients and a bit of flair.
By mid-morning, the tavern was ready. The tables were set, the kitchen was stocked, and the menu board stood proudly at the entrance. Everything was perfect… except for the absence of customers.
Mei Yun busied herself with minor tasks, her movements precise and deliberate. She glanced at me occasionally, as if expecting me to conjure guests with a wave of my hand.
"Is something wrong?" I asked, catching her gaze.
"No, nothing," she replied quickly. "I was merely… admiring your composure."
"My composure?"
"Yes. Most people would be anxious, but you remain calm. It's as if you already know the outcome."
I laughed softly. "If by 'knowing the outcome,' you mean I'm bracing myself for an empty tavern, then yes, I'm very calm."
She looked at me as if I'd just spoken in riddles. "Truly remarkable," she murmured.
By noon, my first "guests" arrived—a group of children from the village. They had come because of my invitation earlier in the week, their faces lit with excitement and curiosity.
"Welcome," I greeted them warmly, leading them to a table.
The children devoured their meals with the kind of enthusiasm only youth can muster, their chatter filling the once-silent tavern. Mei Yun watched them from the kitchen doorway, a soft smile on her lips.
"They're so carefree," she said quietly.
I nodded. "That's the beauty of childhood. They don't worry about tomorrow. They live in the moment."
As the children finished their meals and scampered off, I couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. They were not paying customers, after all.
The hours dragged on, and no other guests appeared. I found myself pacing the courtyard, occasionally glancing at the empty path leading to the village.
"You keep looking outside," Mei Yun observed as she swept the floor.
"Habit," I admitted. "I guess I'm hoping to see someone… anyone."
"You're too modest," she said. "A place like this doesn't need to chase customers. They'll come on their own once they hear about it."
I raised an eyebrow. "You make it sound like this tavern is some kind of sacred ground."
"Isn't it?" she countered, her tone earnest.
I stared at her, unsure whether to laugh or feel concerned. She really believed I was some kind of expert hiding in plain sight.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across the tavern, I leaned against the counter, letting out a heavy sigh.
"Well, Mei Yun, the first day was a success."
She blinked at me, puzzled. "But no one came, Tavern Master."
"Exactly," I said with a grin. "No disasters. No complaints. That's a success in my book."
She frowned, clearly not following my logic. "But the purpose of a tavern is to serve customers. Without them, it cannot be considered successful."
I waved a hand dismissively. "Details, details. Success is about perspective, Mei Yun. Besides, Rome wasn't built in a day."
"Rome?"
I paused, realizing the slip. "Uh… it's a… never mind. Let's just call it a metaphor."
She nodded slowly, though I could tell she wasn't entirely convinced.
As the first stars began to appear in the night sky, I lit the lanterns inside the tavern, their warm glow filling the space. Mei Yun watched silently as I moved about, her expression thoughtful.
"You know," I said, breaking the silence, "this place may not attract hordes of customers overnight, but that's okay. It's about building something that lasts. Something meaningful."
She tilted her head, considering my words. "You speak as though you've seen the rise and fall of empires, Tavern Master."
I laughed and said in faintly,Well *I did read history*, let's not talk about it , "I've learned that patience is key. Rushing things only leads to mistakes."
Her gaze lingered on me for a moment before she nodded. "You are… truly an extraordinary person."
There it was again—that strange reverence in her tone. I didn't know how to respond, so I simply shrugged and turned my attention back to the tavern.
As I sipped my tea, a sense of quiet satisfaction settled over me. The day hadn't gone as I'd hoped, but it wasn't a failure either.
I couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. I had hoped for at least one real customer, someone who could validate all the effort I'd put into this place. But as I stood there, the empty tables and quiet atmosphere felt oddly comforting.
"Tomorrow is another day," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.
As I extinguished the lanterns and locked up for the night, I felt a sense of quiet determination. The first day may not have gone as planned, but the journey was just beginning.
And who knows? Maybe tomorrow, the mountain would echo with the footsteps of those seeking more than just a meal—they'd find something unexpected.
A
fter all, if there's one thing I've learned, it's that life has a way of surprising you when you least expect it.
Chapter 13: Bonds Beyond the Tavern
In the grand scheme of life, what is a bond? Is it a shared smile, a small gesture, or an unspoken understanding between two people? Perhaps it is all of these, bound by the threads of time and circumstance. My tavern, despite its humble beginnings, had started weaving such bonds, one thread at a time.
It had been days since the tavern opened, and while it wasn't exactly bustling with customers, the villagers had started trickling in. The children had been my unexpected ambassadors, their chatter about my "delicious food" spreading through the village like wildfire. It wasn't long before their parents—stall owners, vendors, and humble workers—began visiting, out of curiosity or simply to keep their kids company.
Old Man Chen, the fish vendor, was the first. "I hear the kids talk about your soup. Said it's like nothing they've tasted," he said one day, sitting at a corner table as I served him my herb soup. He slurped it loudly, nodded, and said, "Not bad. You might just make a name for yourself, young man."
Then there was Auntie Lin, the dumpling vendor, who came to "judge my cooking." Her words, not mine. She left with a satisfied nod and a promise to send more villagers my way.
The small connections were slowly growing, and I found myself enjoying the company of these simple, hardworking people.
One such connection was with Mr. Yan, the village teacher. He had visited the tavern a few times with his young son, Cheng, a bright-eyed boy who loved my spicy mountain stew. It was during one of these visits that Mr. Yan and I struck up a conversation about knowledge.
"The children these days," he had sighed, "they lack discipline. It's hard to get them to focus on their lessons."
"Maybe they're bored," I had replied casually, not thinking much of it. "Kids learn best when they're curious. Teach them through play, let them ask questions. Make them want to learn instead of forcing it on them."
At the time, I hadn't realized the weight of my words. To me, it was just an offhand remark, a philosophy I had picked up in my previous life. But for Mr. Yan, it was a revelation.
The next day, he had implemented the idea in his classroom. He later told me how the children, who had previously been restless and inattentive, suddenly became engaged and curious. They asked questions, explored ideas, and learned with enthusiasm.
"You've changed the way I teach," he had said, his voice filled with gratitude. "You've helped me see the potential in these young minds."
I had shrugged it off with a smile, but his words stayed with me.
Today, I decided to visit Mr. Yan. Word had reached me that he was unwell, and while I wasn't one to meddle in others' affairs, I felt compelled to check on him. He had become a friend, and friends looked out for one another.
The village was bustling as I arrived at noon. The air was filled with the scent of freshly baked bread, sizzling skewers, and the chatter of vendors hawking their wares. Old Man Chen waved at me from his fish stall, a broad grin on his face.
"Li, come to buy some fish? Fresh catch today!"
"Maybe next time, Old Man Chen," I replied with a laugh.
I made my way to Mr. Yan's modest home, a simple wooden structure that stood near the edge of the village. As I approached, I overheard voices from inside.
"Mother, can we go to Mr. Li's tavern today?" It was Cheng's voice, eager and hopeful.
"Not today," his mother replied gently. "Your father isn't well, and we need to take care of him."
"But why do you and Your Father like going there so much?"
"Because the food is delicious, and the place is… special," he said with a chuckle. "And Mr. Li is a good man."
Her words caught me off guard. A good man? That was a title I wasn't sure I deserved.
I knocked on the door, and Cheng's voice rang out excitedly, "It's Mr. Li!"
Mrs. Yan opened the door, her face lighting up with surprise. "Mr. Li! What a pleasant surprise. Please, come in."
"Thank you," I said, stepping inside.
The house was simple and warm, with a small kitchen to one side and a modest bed where Mr. Yan lay, wrapped in blankets. He looked pale but smiled weakly when he saw me.
"Mr. Li," he greeted me, his voice hoarse. "What brings you here?"
"I heard you were unwell," I said, taking a seat by his bedside. "Thought I'd check on you. Hope you don't mind."
"Mind? I'm honored," he said, attempting to sit up.
"Stay put," I told him firmly. "Rest is what you need."
Cheng sat nearby, his eyes wide with admiration. "Mr. Li, did you bring any food?"
I chuckled. "Not today, Cheng. Maybe next time."
As we talked, I couldn't help but notice how frail Mr. Yan looked. Something stirred within me—a quiet sense of responsibility.
"Mr. Yan," I said, "I'm no expert, but I know a thing or two about medicine. Would you mind if I took a look?"
His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded. "If it's you, Mr. Li, I'm sure I'll be cured in no time."
I smiled at his faith in me, though I didn't quite understand it. Carefully, I examined him, checking his pulse and observing his condition. My skills, honed from years of study and practice in another life, came naturally.
"It's not too serious," I said after a moment. "Just a case of exhaustion and mild fever. You'll be fine with some rest and the right medicine."
I glanced at Mrs. Yan. "Do you have any herbs here?"
She nodded and quickly fetched a small basket of dried herbs. Using these, I prepared a simple medicine, grinding and mixing the ingredients with practiced ease.
As I worked, I felt their eyes on me—wide with amazement.
"You're… incredible," Mrs. Yan murmured.
I laughed softly. "It's just basic medicine. Nothing extraordinary."
To them, though, it seemed like magic.
After giving Mr. Yan the medicine and leaving a prescription, I stood to leave.
"You'll be back on your feet in no time," I assured him. "And when you're feeling better, come by the tavern. First bowl of stew is on the house."
He smiled warmly. "Thank you, Mr. Li. You've done more for me than I can express."
As I stepped out into the afternoon sun, I couldn't help but reflect on the day. Life had a funny way of surprising you, weaving connections in the most unexpected ways.
Perhaps that was the true essence of a tavern—not just a place to eat, but a place where lives intertwined, one thread at a time.
Chapter 13: Ink Dragon in the Sky
They say the world is full of mysteries—some we chase after, desperate to uncover their secrets, and others we run from, terrified of their unknown depths. For me, mysteries were an unfortunate constant in my life ever since I ended up in this foreign land. I wasn't chasing them, and I definitely wasn't equipped to face them. Yet, they had a peculiar way of finding me.
What is fear but the unknown knocking on the doors of our minds? It's not the shadow in the corner or the creak of an empty room that frightens us; it's our own imagination filling the void. Today, the void seemed darker, and my imagination wasn't helping.
The sun shone brightly as I walked down the village's bustling market street. Vendors called out to customers, and the air was filled with the smell of fresh produce, sizzling skewers, and chatter. I had come to the meat vendor's shop, a simple stall with freshly plucked chickens hanging on hooks.
As I approached, the vendor, Mr. Zhang, spotted me and waved enthusiastically.
"Master Li!" he called out, grinning.
I winced slightly at the title. Ever since Mei Yun started addressing me with such exaggerated respect, it seemed to have caught on. "Hello, Mr. Zhang," I replied, trying to keep my tone casual. "I came to buy some chicken today."
"Of course, of course!" he said, already reaching for a plump chicken. As he began to butcher it skillfully, I couldn't help but notice a small group of customers gossiping nearby. They were huddled together, whispering in hushed tones, their faces a mix of fear and curiosity. Curiosity got the better of me.
"What's going on? What were they talking about?" I asked, leaning in slightly.
Mr. Zhang glanced around and lowered his voice. "You didn't hear? Word's been spreading that a few villages nearby have been haunted by ghosts. People are vanishing—just disappearing into thin air."
A cold shiver ran down my spine. Ghosts? Here? I already felt out of place in this land where I couldn't even cultivate, and now I had to deal with supernatural threats? My knees felt weak, and for a moment, it was as if the ground beneath me had disappeared. but I tried to keep my expression neutral.
Mr. Zhang must have noticed the sudden change in my expression because he chuckled nervously. "Master Li, be careful. You stay in the mountains, don't you? Strange things happen in places like that."
I managed a weak smile. "Thanks for the warning, Mr. Zhang. I'll keep that in mind."
He handed me the wrapped chicken, and I paid before leaving, still feeling the weight of his words.
As I passed by the fish vendor's stall, a cheerful voice called out to me.
"Master Li! Wait a moment!"
I turned to see Medam Wei, the fish vendor, waving me over. She was a kind woman in her forties, always wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat that barely contained her thick, coiled hair.
"I've got something for you," she said, pulling out a pot. Inside was a carp unlike any I'd ever seen. Its scales shimmered like polished gemstones, its tail long and flowing like silk, and its fins spread out like majestic wings.
"It's beautiful," I said, genuinely impressed. "Where did you find this?"
"This was my son's idea," she explained. "He bought it, saying it was special. But we don't have the time or the place to care for it properly. I thought it might suit you better."
I stared at the fish, unsure how to respond. "It's… beautiful. Are you sure?"
"Of course!" she said, pushing the pot toward me. "And you can't refuse, or I'll be offended. Just take care of it, alright?"
"Thank you," I said, accepting the pot carefully. "You'll have to visit the tavern sometime. A meal on me, alright?"
She laughed. "I'll hold you to that, Master Li."
Carrying the pot with the carp fish, I made my way back to the tavern.
The walk back to the tavern was quiet, though my mind was far from it. The mention of ghosts lingered like a shadow, and the carp in the pot seemed almost otherworldly in its beauty.
When I arrived, Mei Yun greeted me at the door. She was always polite—too polite, if you asked me.
"Master Li," she said, bowing slightly. "You're back. What is this you've brought?"
"Some meat for the kitchen," I said, handing her the chicken. "And this," I added, gesturing to the pot, "is a gift from Medam Wei. A carp , I plan to raise it in the spring pool."
"Here take it," I handed out the chicken meat as I entered.
She took it with her usual respect, bowing slightly. "Yes Master Li, I'll start preparing lunch right away."
"Wait," I said, lowering my voice. "Be careful. There's talk of ghosts haunting nearby villages. Keep an eye out for anything strange."
Her eyes widened, and she nodded solemnly. "Understood."
I sighed and stand with the clay pot with the carp fish near the spiritual spring pool in the back of the tavern. The pool, with its crystal-clear water and faint glow. It had a calming aura, and I figured the fish would thrive in its waters.
The pool was small but clear, its water shimmering faintly in the afternoon light. I released the carp into the pool, watching as it swam gracefully, its long tail trailing like a ribbon.
As I watched the fish swim gracefully in the pool, I found myself thinking about the old Chinese legend of carp turning into dragons.
"Legend has it," I murmured to myself, "that a carp can become a dragon if it overcomes the odds."
The thought was both comforting and unsettling. Was I like that carp, struggling to transform in a world that wasn't my own?
I sat down at the nearby table, lost in thought. The idea of ghosts and supernatural phenomena in this foreign land made me uneasy. I had no cultivation, no means to protect myself if something truly dangerous happened. Yet, as always, I tried to maintain a calm facade for the sake of those around me.
Unconsciously, I picked up a brush and a piece of paper that were lying nearby. Writing had always been a way for me to clear my mind, to channel my thoughts into something tangible.
The brush moved almost on its own, flowing across the paper in elegant strokes. Before I realized it, I was creating a piece of calligraphy—bold, sweeping characters that seemed to pulse with life.
Unbeknownst to me, the weather outside began to shift. Clouds gathered, dark and heavy, as if the heavens themselves were watching. A faint breeze stirred, carrying with it a sense of anticipation.
Ink began to seep from the brush, not just onto the paper but into the air. It swirled and coalesced, forming a shape—a long, sinuous form that grew larger and more defined with each passing moment.
It was a dragon.
Its body was sleek and serpentine, made entirely of ink that shimmered like liquid obsidian. Its eyes glowed with an ethereal light, and it stretched wide, each feather-like detail rendered in perfect strokes. As it rose into the sky, it let out a silent roar, a sound that seemed to resonate in the very soul.
Mei Yun had been tending to the kitchen when she felt it—a sudden stillness, as if the world had paused. She stepped outside to see but she froze seeing the scene outside.
Above the mountains , the ink dragon coiled and danced, its movements both graceful and powerful. It was a sight that left her breathless.
She couldn't move, her body paralyzed by equal parts awe and fear. The villagers, too, had noticed, their voices rising in a mix of astonishment and panic.
"It's a dragon!" someone shouted.
"A sign from the heavens!"
"No, it's an omen!"
But as quickly as it had appeared, the dragon began to fade. Its inky form dissolved into the sky, leaving behind a cascade of flowers that drifted gently to the ground. The air was filled with their sweet fragrance, a strange but beautiful aftermath.
"Master Li…" she whispered, her voice trembling.
"What… what is this?" but there's no response it seemed like the other person isn't present in this world .
Mei Yun's heart was racing as she stared at the now-ordinary piece of paper on the table. To her, everything about her boss was extraordinary. The tavern, the food, the spiritual spring—she had always believed they were treasures from the heavens. And now this.
She approached cautiously, her voice trembling. "Master… what was that?"
I looked up at her, blinking in confusion. "What was what?"
"The dragon," she said, pointing to the sky.
"Oh, that," I said, laughing awkwardly. "I didn't even realize I was doing it. I was just… writing."
I handed her the paper, on which elegant calligraphy was inscribed. "Why don't you hang this on the wall? It might add some character to the tavern."
She nodded, though she couldn't shake the feeling that the paper held an immense power. To her, I was no ordinary man. I was a powerful expert, perhaps even an immortal, pretending to live a mundane life.
"Of course, Boss," she said respectfully, I could tell she wanted to ask more, but she didn't. She simply nodded and left to carry out my request. taking the paper and placing it on the tavern wall.
As she stepped back to admire it, she thought, Even his casual writings are treasures. Just who is he?
As the evening settled in, I sat by the pool, watching the carp swim lazily. Despite the strange events of the day, I felt a sense of peace. Life in this foreign land was unpredictable, but perhaps that was what made it so fascinating.
I smiled to myself, again thinking about the legend of the dragon. Maybe, just maybe, the carp destined to transform. Then wouldn't I get a means of protection, as I am the one nurturing it, well anything is possible in this strange world .
Chapter 15: A Chance Encounter at the Tavern
Life, as they say, is a series of coincidences woven into a greater purpose. Some call it fate, others chance. Yet, here I am, a simple man running a tavern in the heart of the desolate mountains, pondering how strange life can be.
It was early in the afternoon when Mr. Yan showed up at my tavern. His presence was a pleasant surprise; I'd heard he had been unwell and expected him to need more time to recover.
"Mr. Li!" he called out, his voice full of vigor. "I came to thank you for your medicine. I haven't felt this healthy in years."
I blinked, slightly embarrassed. I wasn't a healer. I'd only offered him a simple medicinal soup, a remedy I knew of in my head, it was just coincidence "Oh, it was nothing," I said, scratching the back of my head. "Just something I whipped up. It's not worth mentioning."
But he wouldn't hear of it. "Not worth mentioning? If this is nothing, then I fear to imagine what could have happened to me if not for you . Thank you again, Mr. Li."
He bowed deeply, leaving me flustered and fumbling for words. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, he left, leaving me to wonder how a simple soup could have such an effect.
Later that afternoon, as I was tidying up the tavern, I heard faint voices outside. At first, it was just a murmur, but soon they became clearer.
"Miss, wait for me!" a voice called out, breathless and slightly panicked.
"Quickly, we need to keep moving," another voice replied, this one more assertive and laced with irritation. "My father is insufferable! Imagine trying to marry me off to someone I've never even met. How could I possibly forgive him?"
I peered out from the window and saw two figures—a young lady dressed in fine robes and her maid, struggling to keep up. They looked out of place in the rugged mountains, their elegant attire contrasting sharply with the wild surroundings.
The maid, panting heavily, said, "Miss, I think I heard an animal just now. Shouldn't we leave this place? It's dangerous."
The young lady waved her hand dismissively, her tone brimming with confidence. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm just a step away from Foundation Building. Let them come; they're no match for me."
Her maid frowned, clearly unconvinced. "Miss, are you really planning to stay in these desolate mountains? What if we get lost?"
The young lady huffed. "Do you think I have a choice? My father's influence reaches everywhere. If I don't hide in a place like this, he'll find me in no time."
As they continued their bickering, their eyes fell onto something. Deeper into the forest, something caught their eye—a courtyard attached to a tavern. The lady froze, her maid stumbling behind her. "Huh? Was this always here? This place is supposed to be uninhabited!"
Curiosity sparked, and they approached cautiously. At first glance, the tavern seemed ordinary, yet as they drew closer, awe replaced skepticism. The craftsmanship of the courtyard, the intricate carvings on the doors, and the aura of tranquility emanating from the building were unlike anything they had seen.
"This... this is even more elegant than my father's palace," the lady whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief.
The maid nodded, her eyes wide with astonishment. "Miss, who could live in such a dangerous place and build something like this?"
The lady's mind raced. "Could this be the home of a reclusive expert? Perhaps a hidden master living away from the chaos of the world?" Her curiosity overtook her caution. "Let's check it out."
The maid hesitated but eventually nodded. Together, they pushed open the tavern doors.
Is anyone here?" the young lady called out, her voice carrying a mix of authority and hesitation.
I stepped out from the kitchen, wiping my hands on a towel. "Oh! New customers? You're not from around here, are you?"
The young lady straightened up, a proud smile on her face. "That's correct. I'm Lin Yu, and this is my maid, Xiao Mei. We were passing by and saw your… establishment."
I nodded, trying not to stare at her too much. She was stunning, with an air of grace that made her seem otherworldly. "Welcome to my tavern. Please, have a seat. What can I get you to eat?"
They sat down, glancing around the tavern. At first, they seemed composed, but as they took in their surroundings, their expressions shifted. Shock. Awe. Confusion. The wooden craftsmanship, the detailed paintings, the carefully arranged furniture—all of it left them speechless.
"This place... it's full of spiritual energy," Lin Yu murmured, her voice trembling.
Her maid nodded in agreement. "Miss, every corner of this place feels... extraordinary."
I chuckled inwardly, unaware of their thoughts. To me, it was just a simple tavern. But to them, it was something far greater.
"What can I get you to eat?" I asked, breaking their reverie.
After a moment of hesitation, Lin yu answered, "The specialty of this tavern, please."
"Good choice," I replied. "I'll get started right away."
As I returned to the kitchen, I could hear them murmuring to each other.
"This place… it's too strange," Lin Yu whispered. "The energy here… it's unlike anything I've felt before."
Her maid nodded. "Miss, do you think this is the residence of a hidden expert?"
Lin Yu hesitated. "It must be. But let's not think too much about it. We'll eat and leave."
Ah, the tavern's specialty. Nothing too extravagant, just a dish crafted with care and fresh ingredients from my garden. Today, it would be stir-fried spiritual vegetables with aromatic herbs, paired with steamed rice and a light broth.
I began by selecting vibrant green vegetables, their leaves glistening with morning dew. Each one was handpicked from my courtyard garden, nurtured with the purest spiritual energy.
Heating the wok, I added a splash of oil, letting it shimmer before tossing in minced garlic and ginger. The fragrance filled the air as I stirred in the vegetables, their colors brightening with the heat.
Next came the herbs, their aromas blending seamlessly with the vegetables. A dash of salt, a drizzle of soy sauce, and a sprinkle of spiritual energy-infused spices completed the dish.
The broth was simple yet rich, made from spiritual roots and mushrooms simmered to perfection. Together with the steamed rice, the meal was a harmony of flavors—earthy, fresh, and nourishing.
Plating the dish, I carried it to their table, setting it down with a smile. "Enjoy your meal," I said before stepping back to give them privacy.
Lin yu and her maid stared at the food, their initial skepticism giving way to intrigue. The vibrant colors and tantalizing aroma were unlike anything they had encountered.
"It's beautiful," Lin yu admitted, though she remained doubtful. "But it's just mortal food. What could it possibly do for me? Let's just eat and leave quickly."
With that thought, she took a bite. And then, everything changed.
Her surroundings dissolved, replaced by an ethereal scene. Water rippled beneath her feet, lotus flowers blooming in the distance. The air was filled with a divine energy that defied comprehension.
"This... this is water," she murmured, her voice quivering with wonder.
A manifestation appeared in the water—a deity-like figure, radiant and serene. Mei Yun stared in disbelief. "My reflection... it's become a deity," she whispered.
Before she could process the vision, a surge of spiritual energy enveloped her. Her body trembled continuously as the energy merged with her being, it was feeling hard to describe with mortal understanding and in an instant, she broke through to Foundation Building.
Her maid, watching her in panic, cried out, "Miss, what's happening to you?"
But Lin Yu opened her eyes, her face glowing with joy. "I did it. After three years of stagnation, I finally broke through!"
Hearing the commotion, I approached, concerned. "Is everything alright? Did you not like the food?".
I was worried if they don't like the food , though I had confidence in my cooking but taste varies people some may other don't and it's my responsibility to adjust it accordingly.
Lin Yu stood abruptly, her expression had a mix of gratitude and reverence. She came infront of me and said,"Thank you! Because of your food, I achieved my breakthrough!"
I blinked, taken aback. "Call again' What? No, I just served you a meal. I didn't do anything special I'm just a ordinary tavern owner, how come your break through have anything to do with me."
As I finished my sentence I noticed her expression turnd grim as if she committed a grave crime, She thought ".Did I anger the expert, is he gonna erase my existence. Expert said he is just a ordinary tavarn's owner, he must be experiencing mortal life... I almost blew his cover."
Lin Yu misinterpreted my words, assuming I was a powerful expert hiding my identity. "I apologize if I offended you," she said, bowing deeply. "Thank you for your guidance."
Guidance? I scratched my head, thoroughly confused. But before I could respond, she offered me a jade token, insisting it was a token of her gratitude, "Miss, you can't give it" her maid called out.
"It's just a armament not much valuable compare to the food, please accept it" Lin Yu said.
It's was clearly something valuable.. I hesitated, not wanting to take something so valuable. But she was persistent. "Please accept it," she said. "And perhaps I'll return to enjoy your cooking again."
Reluctantly, I accepted the token, still unsure of what had just transpired, Well on bright side maybe I got a regular who is not from this nearby village.
After that they prepare to left," Thank you so much for you generosity sir, I'll never forget it"
Didn't she making it a big deal out of nothing still," No Problem" I answered.
As they left, I couldn't help but chuckle. Life, once again, had thrown me into the strangest of situations.
As Lin Yu and her maid disappeared into the forest, I returned to the kitchen, pondering the encounter. To them, I was a mysterious figure, a hidden expert. But in truth, I was just a simple man running a tavern.
Perhaps that's the beauty of life. Everyone sees the world through their own lens, weaving their own stories from the threads of reality. And who am I to shatter their illusions?
With a sigh and a smile, I began preparing for the next meal, wondering what strange adventure tomorrow would bring.
Chapter 16: The Weight of Time and the Shadow of the Past
"To seek knowledge is a journey of a lifetime, but to understand its weight is a burden not all can bear."
Morning came with an unexpected tug—quite literally.
It started with a simple conversation—one of those idle exchanges that one has while sipping tea and watching the sunset.
I had mentioned to Mr. Yan, in passing, that I enjoyed reading history.
"History?" He had leaned forward, eyes gleaming with interest. "You like reading about old wars and ancient rulers?"
"Not just that," I had said, swirling the tea in my cup. "History isn't just about battles and empires. It's about people. The choices they made, the dreams they had, the mistakes that shaped everything after them."
Mr. Yan nodded thoughtfully. "So you seek wisdom from the past?"
I chuckled. "Something like that." Well Since I don't know much about this land, I thought understanding its past might help me navigate this present world.
I should have realized then that I had said too much.
Because, as it turned out, Mr. Yan was the kind of person who took things very seriously.
I had barely opened my eyes when I found myself being dragged along the stone-paved path leading out of the tavern. The culprit? Mr. Yan, looking unusually excited for this early in the morning.
"You said you liked reading history, right?" he asked, his grip firm on my wrist as if I were a sack of rice he was hauling to market.
I yawned, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from my eyes. "I did say that, but I didn't expect you to take it this seriously."
"Of course I did!" Mr. Yan said, puffing out his chest. "
At this point, I could only sigh and go along with it.
Mr. Yan's house was nothing extravagant, but it had an undeniable warmth to it. A courtyard filled with potted plants, a small yard with tree lazily spreading its shadow, and a wooden house that had clearly stood through generations.
As soon as we stepped in, his wife greeted us with a bright smile. She handed me a cup of fresh water, and I took a sip, feeling an odd sense of belonging in this place.
Then, Mr. Yan disappeared into one of the rooms and returned with an old book—so old that its pages were slightly torn, yellowed with age, as if carrying the dust of centuries within them.
I reached out to take it, running my fingers over the fragile cover. Time had left its mark on this book, just as it did on all things. History, after all, was not immune to the passage of time.
"It's a biography," Mr. Yan explained, "written by a great man in his later years after traveling the entirety of the mortal world. It's been passed down in my family for generations."
I looked up at him, curiosity piqued. "Your family?"
A shadow flickered across his face, and for a brief moment, he seemed hesitant. "My family was once influential," he admitted. "But... things happened."
I didn't press further. Tragedies are like old wounds—prodding them only makes them hurt more.
Instead, I simply murmured a quote I remembered from Confucian literature:
"The past is not dead, nor is it gone—it simply waits for those who dare to remember."
Mr. Yan stared at me for a moment before chuckling. "You really do like history, don't you?"
I smirked. "Well, I did just get dragged here against my will, so I might as well enjoy it."
With that, I opened the book and began to read.
The words on the pages were profound, yet filled with raw emotion. It wasn't just a historical record—it was a personal account of a man's journey, his triumphs, and his heartbreaks.
The words on the pages were not just words. They carried weight—like echoes from a time long past.
It began with four friends.
In a world where the immortal path had been severed and the ways of heaven hid itself from mortal eyes, these four men walked a different path—the path of martial arts. Through sheer discipline, training, and willpower, they rose to the top of the mortal world.
At first, they were heroes.
They destroyed corrupt sects. They toppled tyrants. They were the sword that cut away the rot in the world.
But power is a strange thing.
But as time passed, their victories turned into something else.
Their hunger for power grew. The darkness that once lurked in the shadows began to creep into their hearts.
And then, everything changed.
It starts as a means to an end. But eventually, it becomes the end itself.
Over time, the four friends began to change. Their victories piled up, but so did their hunger for more.
They no longer fought just to rid the world of evil. They fought to conquer it.
Until, one day, their unity was shattered by something none of them had expected.
Love.
One of them—one of the strongest among them—met a woman.
And he fell in love.
And she changed him.
For this man, love was a revelation. Through her, he realized that there were things in this world beyond power—things that made life worth living beyond endless conquest.
His friends noticed the change. But his friends did not see it the same way.
They did not understand why he had changed. More importantly, they did not want him to change.
At first, they teased him.
"You've gone soft," one of them laughed.
"Are you going to throw away everything for a woman?" another scoffed.
But as time went on, their laughter faded.
Because he was changing.
His goals shifted. His ambition dimmed. He no longer spoke of conquest, of ruling, of war.
And the others… they did not like that.
They had built an empire together. They had sworn an oath.
And now, one of them was turning away.
It felt like a betrayal.
So, driven by fear and anger, they decided to do the unthinkable.
The shift was subtle at first. Conversations became shorter. Disagreements arose.
So, driven by fear and anger, they decided to do the unthinkable.
And then came the final betrayal.
On a cold, snowy night, the tree of them made their move.
They ambushed him.
They knew they couldn't defeat him, not in a fair fight. So instead, they took the one thing that had changed him—the woman he loved.
Holding her hostage, they forced him into submission.
And when he knelt before them, begging them to stop—begging them to remember their bond—
They slit her throat.
The snow turned red.
And something inside him snapped.
He did not scream.
He did not cry.
He simply rose to his feet, blood staining his hands as he held the lifeless body of the woman he loved.
And in that moment, the man who had once been their brother was gone.
Only wrath remained.
And then he swore an oath.
An oath that only ended with blood.
Broken by grief, consumed by rage, he swore revenge.
He abandoned everything—his past, his name, his mercy.
For years, he wandered the mortal world, seeking power not for conquest, but for retribution.
His path was paved with blood.
He no longer fought for justice.
He no longer fought for power.
He fought for revenge.
One by one, he hunted them down.
The first died begging for mercy.
The second tried to fight back—but he was no match for the monster his former friend had become.
The third fled, but no one can run forever.
When it was over, he was alone.
A man who had won every battle… and lost everything else.
A man with no home, no love, and no purpose beyond the revenge he had carved into existence.
And yet, despite all his strength, all his power, he could not bring back what he had lost.
I shut the book gently, exhaling a slow breath.
The weight of the story settled in my chest—a tale of love, betrayal, vengeance, and loss.
I glanced up at Mr. Yan. "This… this isn't just history, is it?"
He gave me a small, knowing smile. "History is written by those who survive it."
I leaned back in my seat, staring at the sky. The clouds drifted lazily above, as if unaware of the tragedies that had unfolded beneath them.
"Does the book say what happened to him in the end?" I asked.
Mr. Yan shook his head. "No one knows. Some say he became a ghost, a shadow wandering the lands. Others say he simply disappeared. Perhaps, after all his vengeance, he no longer had a reason to exist."
I closed my eyes, letting his words sink in.
"To seek power is easy. To lose oneself in it is even easier. But to find something worth holding onto… that is the hardest path of all."
As I sat there with Mr. Yan's that day, My mind was somewhere else , I couldn't help but wonder—was history doomed to repeat itself?
And if so…
Who would be left to write it?