Lin’an City’s morning awoke in a sticky yet refreshingly sweet mist.
This flavor was quite unique.
It wasn’t like the mornings in the north, carrying the sharpness of dry grass and cold frost, nor like the Jiangnan water towns filled with the damp scent of moss.
Lin’an’s flavor was warm, the kind of caramelized sugary smoke from sugarcane being pressed and repeatedly boiled in huge purple copper pots.
When Nanxi pushed open the wooden window of the Pei family courtyard, a ray of sunlight happened to pass through the branches of the old locust tree, landing on his porcelain-pale fingertips.
The Pei family’s small courtyard was located in the “Sweet Water Alley” in the west of the city.
The name was vulgar, yet extremely fitting.
At the alley entrance were several of Lin’an Prefecture’s largest pressing mills.
At this time of year, ox carts transporting sugarcane could line up from the city gate all the way to the prefectural yamen street.
Those robust green-skinned sugarcanes, as thick as a child’s arm, were bundled and stacked on the carts.
After being dampened by the morning dew, they gleamed with a glistening green light.
“Young Hero Nan, awake?”
From the courtyard came Pei Xiuyu’s slightly hoarse voice.
This female constable wasn’t wearing her official uniform today, only a neat indigo short outfit.
Her sleeves were tightly bound with wrist guards.
She was practicing a set of basic fist techniques around that old locust tree.
The fist winds whistled, bringing down a few withered leaves.
Nanxi stood by the window and nodded lightly.
“Morning.”
His voice was still clear and cold, like a piece of ice dropped into warm water—though trying to melt, it always carried a bit of incompatible aloofness.
Pei Xiuyu retracted her stance, wiped the sweat from her forehead, and smiled, revealing a mouthful of white teeth.
“My mother went to the West Street market to buy the newly made ‘cane pulp cakes.’ She says that Wang’s pastries are the softest and glutinous, and insists that the young hero try them fresh. Sit for a bit; I’ll go fetch you a basin of freshly drawn well water.”
Nanxi originally wanted to refuse, but the words reached his lips and were swallowed back.
In this half-true, half-false era of peace, refusing others’ kindness seemed like a spoil-sport offense.
At this time, the Liang Kingdom was in a strange and fragile tranquility.
The armies of the northern Zhou Kingdom were temporarily holding back.
The diplomatic letters exchanged were full of flowery, hypocritical rhetoric.
The beacon towers on the border hadn’t emitted smoke for half a year.
Merchants were beginning to boldly cross the passes.
The people of Lin’an Prefecture had grown accustomed to this peace, even if it was exchanged for heavy annual tribute each year.
But for the men selling sugar and the women weaving cloth, as long as they could safely light a fire and cook tomorrow, it was a prosperous era.
After Nanxi finished washing up, he stepped out the door.
Old Madam Pei had already returned carrying a bamboo basket, her face beaming with joy.
From afar, one could smell the fresh aroma of rice and molasses.
“Young Master Nan, come quickly.”
Though the old madam was a down-and-out scholar, she still retained the dignity of a literati in her bones, and was extremely polite to this “lifesaver” of Nanxi’s.
“This is the first pot of cane pulp cakes from this morning, using last year’s first-press brown sugar base—sweet but not cloying.”
On the square table were several porcelain dishes.
The pastries were crystal clear, slightly yellow in color, wrapped inside with fine red bean paste.
Nanxi picked up a piece and put it in his mouth.
Sweet.
That pure sweetness, without any impurities, instantly exploded on the tip of his tongue, warming all the way down his throat to his stomach.
This sweetness was different from the bland malt sugar he had eaten in Huaniang Town.
Lin’an’s sugar was rich, as if it had vitality.
“Good?”
Pei Xiuyu sat to the side, propping her chin as she watched him, her eyes full of curiosity.
Nanxi swallowed the food in his mouth and seriously evaluated.
“Very sweet, better than medicine.”
Pei Xiuyu burst out laughing.
“Young hero, the way you say that—if sugar were harder to swallow than medicine, then the people of Lin’an City might as well all drink medicine.”
After the meal, Pei Xiuyu had to hurry off to the yamen for roll call and duty.
Before leaving, she specially instructed Nanxi that if he got bored, he should stroll around the streets—Lin’an’s daytime was even livelier than the night.
Nanxi did indeed go out.
He changed into a moon-white long robe.
Though the fabric was still ordinary, it was neat and clean.
His white hair was bound at the back of his head with a simple ebony hairpin.
Walking on the stone-paved road of Sweet Water Alley, he attracted frequent backward glances from passing women and ladies.
He paid no attention to these gazes.
The youth walked on the street, for the first time examining this vibrant “illusion” as an observer.
On both sides of the street, traces of sugar were everywhere.
Lin’an City didn’t produce sugarcane, but the Fuzhou Plain it backed onto was sugarcane’s paradise.
Outside the city, the docks were filled with deep-draft flat-bottomed cargo ships.
The boat workers, bare-chested with sturdy builds, shouted chants as they carried bundles of sugarcane ashore.
Nanxi wandered into a sugar mill named “Wanhe Sheng.”
It was a huge wooden building.
As soon as he approached, waves of heat hit his face.
More than a dozen purple copper cauldrons, five feet in diameter, were arranged in two rows, with roaring fires beneath.
Bare-armed women held long-handled iron ladles, constantly stirring in the pots.
The emerald green cane juice gradually turned yellow and viscous under the heat, finally becoming a rich amber color, bubbling with huge, caramel-scented bubbles.
“Young man, don’t stand too close—careful not to singe your fine looks!”
An old hand, while skimming the foam with a ladle, shouted a reminder to Nanxi.
Nanxi stopped his steps, looking at the rolling syrup in the pot, and suddenly asked.
“How long does it take to boil one pot of sugar?”
The old hand, seeing his handsome appearance, became much kinder in attitude.
“Depends on the weather, depends on the heat. First boil removes impurities, second boil concentrates, by the third boil, it depends on the strength in these hands of ours. Boil too lightly, the sugar won’t crystallize; boil too heavily, and it turns bitter. This pot of syrup is our family’s livelihood for the year.”
Nanxi nodded.
In this fiery sugar mill, he felt an extremely primal vitality.
These folks didn’t understand any sword techniques, nor any shadow powers.
All their obsessions were poured into these pots of viscous syrup.
Exiting the sugar mill, the heat in the air dissipated somewhat, replaced by the clamor of the market.
Vendors selling iced drinks banged copper gongs, carrying crushed ice and iced sugarcane juice in their loads.
This cold drink was extremely popular in Lin’an—five wen per bowl, refreshingly cool.
Nanxi also bought a bowl.
The ice shards cracked between his teeth, the clear sweetness of the sugarcane diluting the heat he had picked up in the sugar mill.
He sat on a long bench at the street corner, watching the myriad faces before him.
In the distant teahouse, the storyteller was slapping the waking wood, recounting the oft-repeated tale of the flying general.
The tea guests either sighed or cheered, but after those heroic words, they would still calmly discuss whether this autumn’s sugar price would rise another three wen.
Across the street, several schoolchildren were gathered around a sugar-blowing stall.
The artisan was very skilled, blowing out a proud little horse in one breath—entirely transparent, gleaming with tempting caramel yellow.
The children clapped and cheered.
One child got the sugar horse but couldn’t bear to eat it, just carefully licking it once, then smiling with full-faced happiness.
Nanxi watched that child, his gaze slightly dazed.
Ordinary… everyday?
If this peace were real, if the world had no bizarre sorceries, no shadow swords fueled by divine souls, perhaps he too should be like these schoolchildren, overjoyed for a sugar figurine.
But he knew that behind this tranquility was festering decay.
He had once seen in the mass graves outside the city those farmers who hanged themselves because they couldn’t pay heavy taxes.
He had also heard of villages on the border burned during the Jin Kingdom’s raids.
Lin’an City’s sweetness was built on an extremely fragile balance.
Like an exquisitely beautiful glazed pagoda, seemingly towering into the clouds, but in reality, a slightly stronger wind could shatter it to pieces.
“Young master, buy a ruyi knot?”
A very young girl, carrying a basket, walked up to Nanxi.
The basket was filled with colorful silk knots, each stuffed in the middle with a hard sugar pellet—that was Lin’an’s unique “ruyi sugar knot.”
Nanxi lowered his head to look at the girl.
Her clothes were very old, full of patches, but her eyes revealed an unyielding toughness.
“How much?” Nanxi asked.
“Three wen each, sweet and silky, can ensure safety.” The girl answered crisply.
Nanxi fished three wen from his bosom and handed them to her, taking a green ruyi knot.
He held the ruyi knot in his hand, not eating the sugar, but hanging it on his wrist.
The green silk thread against his snow-white skin had a poignant harmony.
In the afternoon, a fine drizzle began to fall on Lin’an’s streets.
Southern rains were always like this—not hurried, not impatient, like shattered silver falling from the clouds.
The raindrops fell on the sugarcane carts, on the sugar molds drying under the eaves, pressing the city’s sweet fragrance even more solidly.
Nanxi opened the oil-paper umbrella that Pei Xiuyu had lent him, strolling slowly in the rain.
The rainwater hit the umbrella surface, producing muffled, rhythmic sounds.
He passed through the crisscrossing alleys, seeing women pushing carts home laughing loudly in the rain, seeing husbands behind street-facing windows busily gathering the drying clothes.
This ordinariness had a power to erode the will.
It could make someone accustomed to killing and displacement produce the illusion that “living like this for a lifetime wouldn’t be bad.”
But Nanxi understood he wasn’t one of them.
When he walked back to Sweet Water Alley, he saw a horse at the alley entrance.
That was the chestnut horse he had asked Pei Xiuyu to find.
The horse was tied to a post at the Pei family door, idly swishing its tail.
The horse was tall and sturdy, its eyes revealing a stubbornness—even in this cloyingly sweet Lin’an City, it still retained a wildness belonging to the wilderness.
Nanxi walked over, reaching out to stroke the horse’s smooth mane.
The horse snorted loudly, affectionately rubbing against his palm.
Pei Xiuyu happened to push the door open and come out.
Seeing this scene, she sighed somewhat regretfully.
“Young hero, I’ve already fed this horse—the best feed. You… really plan to leave tomorrow?”
Nanxi withdrew his hand, looking at the blurry Lin’an City in the fine rain, and said softly.
“Money claimed, horse bought. I should go handle my affairs.”
“Can’t you stay a few more days?” Pei Xiuyu grew anxious.
“In a few days, it’s Lin’an’s ‘Sugar Pressing Festival.’ At that time, the whole city will boil sugar water on the streets, everywhere fragrant, and there’ll be lantern festivals…”
“I don’t like places that are too sweet.”
Nanxi told a small lie.
Actually, he liked it very much, but this wasn’t his home.
The peace here was too false.
The youth didn’t like false things.
“Young hero, you’re really a strange person.”
Pei Xiuyu muttered, but also knew she couldn’t keep him.
She turned and said.
“Then tonight, I’ll have my mother make a few more meat buns for you to take on the road.
“The road north isn’t easy; I hear there’s famine brewing there again…”
Nanxi didn’t refuse this final care.
That evening, a dim yellow oil lamp was lit in the Pei family courtyard.
Through the window, Nanxi could hear the Pei mother and daughter’s fragmented conversation.
They were discussing neighborhood trifles, tomorrow’s meat prices, when Pei Xiuyu could be promoted to head constable.
Those trivial sounds seemed especially vivid in the quiet night.
Nanxi sat cross-legged on the bed, placing the shadow sword horizontally on his knees.
The sword body was pitch black, reflecting not a trace of light under the lamp—it thirsted for blood, thirsted for battle, utterly incompatible with this peaceful city.
Nanxi extended his finger, lightly flicking the sword body.
Hum—
A extremely fine, extremely cold sword hum rippled through the room, instantly cutting off the warm human fireworks transmitted from outside the window.
He closed his eyes and began circulating the true qi in his body.
The icy cold qi traveled through his meridians, gradually freezing and sealing away the slight wavering produced by the day’s warmth.
This was his ordinary everyday.
When dawn was approaching, Nanxi left behind that ruyi knot he had obtained from Constable Pei Xiuyu, returning it to her.
Finally, he pressed a few taels of silver under the pillow.
That counted as payment for his stay during this time, and also his small thanks for this ordinary everyday.
When the first ray of morning light once again enveloped Lin’an City, when those sugar-boiling smokes rose again.
Nanxi had already led that chestnut horse, quietly exiting the city gate.
At the city gate, the ox carts transporting sugarcane were still lining up.
The farmhands loudly cracked vulgar jokes, their whips snapping crisply in the air.
Nanxi mounted the horse’s back, turning back for one last look.
That city wrapped in cloying sweetness appeared so unreal in the morning light, like a magnificent dream.
But he didn’t belong here.