After seven days of travel, at dusk, Nanxi finally caught sight of the city walls.
He had just crested a low hill when the old wound on his leg began to throb faintly, so he found a bluestone to sit on and rest his feet.
When he looked up, he saw the gray-brown city walls lying quietly on the distant plain in the afterglow of the setting sun.
The banners atop the city towers fluttered in the evening breeze, and he could vaguely make out the two large characters: “Lin’an.”
He had finally arrived.
Nanxi let out a long breath, expelling the pent-up turbidity that had been stifling his chest for seven days.
He braced himself against the stone to stand, brushed the dust from his coarse cloth garments, and walked step by step toward the city gate.
These seven days had been quite tough for Nanxi.
Although the wound on his left leg had mostly healed, it still hurt after walking for a long time, especially when going up or down slopes—each step felt like needles pricking into the gaps in his bones.
Nights were even more troublesome.
There were hardly any inns along the way, so Nanxi had to make do with ruined temples or simply find a big tree in the wilderness, climb onto a sturdy branch, and huddle there for the night.
Later, his leg gradually adapted to the long journey.
It still hurt, but he could endure it.
He also figured out some tricks: rise before dawn when it was still cool to cover ground, rest in the shade during the scorching midday sun, drink some water, chew a few bites of dry rations, then walk again in the evening until it was completely dark.
The dry rations were bought from a small village he passed through before setting out—ten coarse flour cakes and two pounds of fried rice, wrapped in oilpaper and stuffed into his bundle.
The cakes were hard and tough to bite, so he broke them into pieces and soaked them in water until soft before eating.
The fried rice was simpler: grab a handful and stuff it into his mouth, chewing slowly—it staved off hunger.
Water was a problem; streams and springs weren’t always available on the road, and sometimes he’d walk half a day without encountering a water source.
He learned from the old travelers’ methods: in the early morning, find broad leaves to collect dew from their surfaces; when he saw wild fruit trees, he’d pick some fruits, which quenched thirst and filled the stomach.
Sometimes he’d inevitably eat something poisonous, but after bathing in dragon blood, his resistance to toxins had increased significantly.
Although aphrodisiac poisons still flared up occasionally, the cold qi could suppress them, and with his realm having risen a bit recently, he managed well enough.
On the fifth day of the journey, he encountered his first rain.
In the south, rain came suddenly—one moment the sky was clear and boundless, the next it was covered in dark clouds, and bean-sized raindrops came pitter-pattering down.
Nanxi hadn’t brought an umbrella and had nowhere to hide, so he could only press on with his head down.
The rainwater soaked through his clothes, clinging cold and heavy to his body; his hair stuck to his face, blurring his vision.
The worst part was his shoes—his cloth shoes quickly rotted in the muddy water, the soles split open, and every step let in slurry.
He walked in the rain for a full hour before finding an abandoned earth god temple.
The temple was tiny, just big enough for one person to curl up and take shelter. He sat there all night, listening to the pattering rain outside, the chattering of his own teeth, and the gurgling in his stomach from hunger.
That night, he missed home terribly.
He missed the hot noodle soup at home, how his master would always bring his training clothes inside ahead of time on rainy days, and how, when in a good mood, she would sit by the window humming tuneless little ditties.
Thinking about it, his eyes couldn’t help but grow moist—he now understood the homesickness of poets in their verses.
After a night, the rain stopped, but the road became even harder to traverse.
The official path had turned into a mud pit; one step could sink him up to his ankles.
Nanxi walked carefully but still fell several times, covering himself in mud.
At noon, he passed through a small town and gritted his teeth to spend twenty wen on a pair of straw sandals and two hot steamed buns.
The buns had vegetable filling, no oil or grease, but they were hot, and eating them finally brought some warmth to his stomach.
The auntie selling the buns saw how disheveled he looked and asked a few more questions.
Nanxi only said he was going to visit relatives and had been robbed on the road, losing his travel money.
The auntie was kind-hearted and gave him a half-worn rain cape, though it had several holes, it was better than nothing.
On the last day, the road gradually dried, and his leg finally got used to the long trek.
Nanxi walked a bit faster, and along the way, he encountered a few traveling merchants going the same direction, so he followed them from afar—keeping his distance while borrowing their sense of direction.
At dusk, he caught sight of Lin’an City’s walls.
………………
There was a line at the city gate.
Peddlers with shoulder poles, vendors pushing carts, merchants on horseback, and travelers on foot like Nanxi.
The guarding soldiers checked travel permits one by one, their movements sluggish, occasionally scolding someone or reaching out for “tea money.”
When it was Nanxi’s turn, the female soldier stared at him for a good while.
Although Nanxi wore a bamboo hat that covered most of his face, the line of his chin, the color of his neck, and those eyes peeking out from under the brim were all too striking.
“Travel permit.”
The female soldier extended her hand.
Nanxi pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his bosom—it was one Huang Muzhi had gotten from the village’s old scholar back in the fishing village, costing fifty wen.
It stated he was from Fuzhou, orphaned, heading to Lin’an to seek distant relatives.
The female soldier took the paper, glanced at it, then looked up at him again.
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing in the city?”
“Seeking relatives.”
“Where do they live?”
“South of the city, surname Li.”
These were all lines the old scholar had taught him.
The scholar had wandered the jianghu in his youth and knew these tricks: answers should be concise, gaze steady, no panic.
Panic meant trouble.
The female soldier looked at him a few more times, finally waving her hand.
“Go on in. Don’t wander around at night; the city’s been unsettled lately.”
Nanxi nodded, took back his permit, and quickly walked through the gate.
Once inside the city, the clamor hit him full force.
Shops lined both sides of the street—selling cloth, rice, ironware, sundries—with signs hanging densely, swaying in the twilight.
Hawking cries, haggling voices, the sounds of carts and horses, children’s wails—all mixed together like a pot of boiling porridge.
There was a particular scent in the air.
Sweet and silky, mingled with the aroma of caramel, and the unique astringency of crushed sugarcane.
The deeper into the city he went, the stronger the scent became.
Nanxi followed it with his eyes and saw many shops with large pots at their doors, boiling dark red syrup inside.
The clerks stirred continuously with long-handled iron ladles, the syrup bubbling gurgle-gurgle, sending up white steam laced with sweetness.
This was Lin’an.
Fuzhou’s famous sugar city—it’s said seventy percent of the households here made their living from sugar: some growing sugarcane, some running presses, some boiling sugar, some making confections.
Every autumn, merchant caravans from all over flocked here to buy and sell sugar, carrying Lin’an’s sweetness to the far corners of the world.
Nanxi walked along the main street, his eyes scanning the inns on both sides.
“Pleasant Arrival Inn,” “Peaceful Inn,” “Fortune Full Pavilion”—each sign more imposing than the last, with carriages parked at the doors one more luxurious than the next.
Nanxi knew he couldn’t afford such places.
His bundle held less than fifty taels of silver now, which he needed to save for food, buying a horse, and handling emergencies.
After walking a bit further, he spotted a small inn at the mouth of an alley.
The inn was old, a two-story wooden building with a narrow facade.
The sign’s characters were nearly worn away, but he could just make out “Liu Family Old Shop.”
No carriages at the door, only two skinny donkeys tied up, heads down munching hay.
This would do.
Nanxi entered the inn.
The main hall was dimly lit, with only one oil lamp burning.
The wick probably hadn’t been trimmed in ages, making the flame flicker, stretching the shadows on the walls long and short.
Behind the counter sat a middle-aged woman, head down fiddling with an abacus.
Hearing footsteps, she looked up.
“Staying here?”
“Yes. The cheapest room.”
“Shared bunk for ten wen a night, single room thirty wen.”
“Single room.”
The woman sized him up, seemingly judging if this raggedly dressed youth could afford it, when Nanxi pulled a piece of broken silver from his bosom and placed it on the counter.
The silver wasn’t large, but it was pure, gleaming warmly under the oil lamp.
The woman’s attitude improved immediately. She pocketed the silver and pulled a copper key from the drawer.
“Last room on the second floor. Fetch water yourself from the back courtyard. Dinner’s porridge and pickled vegetables; anything else costs extra.”
Nanxi took the key and was about to head upstairs when his gaze was suddenly drawn to a sheet of paper pasted on the wall beside the counter.
It was a wanted poster.
The paper was somewhat yellowed, edges curled, but the portrait and text were still clear. It depicted a woman around thirty, with a long thin face, triangular eyes, and a black mole at the left corner of her mouth. Below it read:
“Wanted: One flower-plucking thief. This thief specializes in robbing lone male travelers, multiple cases. Reward for information: fifty taels of silver. Reward for capture and delivery to authorities: five hundred taels of silver. Lin’an Prefecture Office, Seventh Month of the Third Year of Yongchang.”
Five hundred taels.
Nanxi’s heart skipped a beat.
He stared at the number, reading it again to confirm he hadn’t misseen.
Five hundred taels—enough to buy a good horse, with plenty left over.
“Guest?” The woman behind the counter saw him staring at the poster and spoke up. “That’s the authorities’ bounty, been up for half a month.”
Nanxi turned his head, asking casually.
“What did this person do to be worth so much money?”
The woman pursed her lips. “Doesn’t it say? Flower-plucking thief, specializes in targeting young men traveling alone at night—robs money and virtue. Heard she’s harmed several people already.”
At that moment, a young woman emerged from the back hall, lifting the curtain, carrying a basin of hot water.
She looked like the inn’s clerk.
Hearing the conversation, she came over and lowered her voice.
“Boss, you’re making it sound light. If it were an ordinary flower-plucker, would it be worth five hundred taels?”
The woman glared at her.
“You and your big mouth!”
The clerk shrank her neck but still glanced at Nanxi, a flush crossing her face.
Though the youth was dressed shabbily, his figure and aura were outstanding—she’d noticed when he entered.
Nanxi pulled a few wen from his bosom and handed them to the clerk.
“Sister, could you tell me more?”
The clerk looked at the boss, and seeing no objection, took the money and lowered her voice even more.
“Guest, you’re from out of town, right? The authorities didn’t want this spread, but everyone in the city knows. Just half a month ago, the prefect’s young master had an incident.”
She paused, confirming no one else was around, then continued.
“That young master was only sixteen, handsome, frail body, didn’t go out much usually. That day, for some reason, he sneaked out at night to see the lantern festival and never came back. The next day, they found him in an abandoned house west of the city… already gone.”
Nanxi frowned, asking curiously.
“Was it really the flower-plucker?”
“Officially, they said he died of illness, but who believes that?” The clerk pursed her lips. “A perfectly fine person goes out for one night and drops dead? And I heard his clothes were disheveled. Before that, the bounty was only a hundred taels; after the incident, it jumped to five hundred taels right away. Even a fool knows what’s up.”
“Ahem…”
The boss coughed.
“Enough of that. Guest, head upstairs.”
Nanxi nodded, thanked her, and turned to go up.
The stairs were narrow, creaking underfoot.
The second-floor corridor was even darker, with only a small window at the end letting in a bit of twilight. He walked to the innermost room and unlocked the door with the key.
The room was pitifully small: a wooden plank bed, a rickety table, a chair—that was all.
The window faced the back courtyard, where he could see a few old garments hanging on the clothesline and firewood piled in the corner.
Nanxi placed his bundle on the bed and sat in the chair.
His leg still ached, but it was much better than the previous days.
He removed his straw sandals; his socks were worn through, and his soles had several blisters—some already burst, oozing blood.
Usually, his true qi was all used to suppress the poison, and without lightness skill, it was truly miserable.
He fetched a basin of cold water and soaked his feet in it; the icy sensation eased the pain a little.
Then he began thinking about those five hundred taels.
Flower-plucking thief, prefect’s son, sudden death, bounty.
These fragments pieced together in his mind, gradually forming a vague outline: a audacious thief, a grieving and furious mother, an unspeakable scandal, a bounty tempting enough to move hearts.
Nanxi needed this money.
He walked to the window and pushed it open. The evening breeze blew in, carrying Lin’an City’s unique sweet fragrance.
In the distance came the sound of the night watchman banging his clapper, long and desolate. Night deepened, lights flickered on one by one, and the smoke from the sugar boilers rose curling into the night sky like gray silk ribbons.
Five hundred taels.
That money could do a lot—enough to buy a good horse, at least.
Nanxi looked at his own hands; these hands had already killed people.
Perhaps… he could give it a try.
Not recklessly going to catch her, but first inquiring, observing, figuring out this flower-plucker’s background.
If the strength gap was too big, give up; if there was a chance, make a move.
Plus, with his own appearance, he might be able to lure her out.
As for danger?
Nanxi smiled.
These past months, which day hadn’t he been dancing with danger? From the peach grove to the fishing village, surviving to now was already luck.
In that case, why not gamble?
He closed the window, returned to the bed, and took out the one relatively clean coarse cloth garment from his bundle, preparing to change into it tomorrow.
Then he checked his belongings again: a few dozen taels of broken silver, a packet of fried rice, the seashell Huang Muzhi had given him, and… that shadow sword.
The sword appeared silently in his hand at a thought.
The pitch-black blade, dark red edge, looked especially eerie in the dim room. Nanxi gripped the hilt, feeling that blood-connected throb.
“It was yours to begin with.”
The words “himself” had said before dissipating echoed in his ears.
Nanxi stared at the sword for a long time, then with a thought, it vanished again.
He lay on the bed and closed his eyes.
Starting tomorrow, in this Lin’an City, he would search for a person worth five hundred taels
Thinking about it was a bit exciting—after all, this counted as doing a good deed.
Outside the window, the sugar fragrance permeated the air, and the night was deep.