One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

At eight o'clock the next morning, two mud-gray off-road vehicles started up from the guesthouse entrance on time. The morning light in Qinghai had a unique clarity characteristic of high altitudes; the poplar trees on both sides of the road turned the backs of their silvery-gray leaves in the wind, and the distant mountain ranges were as clean as paper cut by a knife. The convoy's first destination was Xining, and the journey would take about six hours from Golmud along the Qinghai-Tibet Highway northeastward.

Zhang Chulan sat in the passenger seat of the first car, a bag of naan bread bought from a roadside vendor spread on his lap. He tore off a small piece, dipped it in the chili sauce he carried with him, and popped it into his mouth. After chewing a couple of times, his cheeks puffed out as he said, "Aren't the lamb skewers in Xining better than those in Golmud? I read in a travel guide that the 'kang guo' lamb there is especially authentic."

"All you ever think about is eating," Wang Zhenqiu said, catching up on sleep with his eyes closed in the back seat, his head bobbing up and down with the bumps in the car window. "We're here to ask Old Master Li about serious business, so you need to get the important stuff right."

"Getting things done and enjoying a good meal don't have to be separate! Besides, when you're looking for someone, you need a place to rest, right? What's wrong with grabbing some local specialties while you're resting?"

"You need to take care of your stomach; it's still young. Don't let it go astray too early."

"You make it sound like my stomach is going through some kind of roundabout route—"

"Isn't the road to making braised mutton in a hot pot winding enough?"

The two started bickering again, separated by their seats. Lu Linglong sat in the middle of the back row, leaning against the window and watching the scenery. As they traveled west, the vegetation became increasingly sparse. After passing a small town called Daotanghe, the landscape on both sides turned into gray-brown Gobi Desert with occasional low sand dunes. The highway stretched straight into the horizon, and in the distance, a row of high-voltage power line towers extended northwestward along the mountainside, the conductors on the towers casting long, thin silver lines in the backlight.

Chen Duo held Xiao Yun in her arms, sitting by the other side of the car window. The little girl was full of energy the whole way, pressing her face against the window to count the passing trucks, "One truck, two trucks, three—Daddy, why is this truck red?"

"Because its owner likes red." Nie Lingfeng gripped the steering wheel, glanced at the road ahead, and replied casually.

"Then why is that one blue?"

"Because that owner likes blue."

"Then Yunyun wants to buy a car too, a pink one!"

"good."

"Buy two! One pink and one rainbow-colored!"

"Okay, I'll buy two."

Suddenly, Zhang Chulan, sitting in the back, leaned over to the middle of the front seat and whispered to Nie Lingfeng, "Brother Nie, you're going to spoil her."

Nie Lingfeng didn't even turn his head: "I'm willing."

Zhang Chulan shrank back and mouthed "You saw that, right?" to the others in the back row. Wang Zhenqiu had his eyes closed, but the corners of his mouth were clearly upturned.

A little after 2 p.m., the convoy entered Xining city. This provincial capital on the plateau was much busier than Golmud, with several times more pedestrians and vehicles on the streets. Shop signs lined the streets, from those selling Tibetan ornaments and cordyceps to barbecue restaurants with rows of lamb legs hanging from the windows, a colorful array that filled the eye. The rich aroma of roasted lamb, cumin, and charcoal wafted into the air even through the closed car windows, and Zhang Chulan pressed his face against the glass and took a deep breath.

"Can you smell it... the authentic aroma of braised pork... it's calling my name right next to my ear..."

"Are your ears on your nose?" Wang Zhenqiu finally opened one eye.

"You don't understand, this is called fully immersing yourself in the food."

Nie Lingfeng turned the car into a relatively quiet old street. The street was half the width of the main road, and the buildings on both sides were low and old, many of them old houses with whitewashed walls but revealing the original mud bricks underneath. At the entrance of the alley stood an old locust tree, its trunk leaning crookedly towards the middle of the road, its branches casting a large patch of shade overhead. The car drove into the shade of the old locust tree and stopped in front of a vermilion wooden door.

The door wasn't large, with two polished stone door piers on either side of the frame. Above the door hung a faded plaque with four characters in bold ink on a vermilion background: "Qinghe Xiaozhu" (清河小筑). The strokes were steady and powerful, with a restrained elegance reminiscent of old-fashioned scholars, revealing considerable skill in the calligraphy. Large patches of the paint had peeled away over the years, revealing the wood grain beneath, but the door itself remained intact, and the hinges were glossy, indicating it had been regularly maintained.

"We've arrived." Nie Lingfeng turned off the engine and got out of the car.

The alley was quiet. A long, slanting shadow fell from the western wall, dividing the cobblestone path into light and shadow. A faint scent of incense wafted through the air, seeping from a crack in some window. Zhang Chulan jumped out of the car and took a deep breath, remarking, "This place has a… well, you know, the kind of feeling you get from the hermitage of a reclusive master in a martial arts novel."

"You've been reading too many martial arts novels," Wang Zhenqiu said, getting out of the car behind him. "This is a proper courtyard."

Nie Lingfeng walked to the vermilion gate and knocked three times. The door was thick, and his knuckles only made a few muffled tapping sounds that didn't carry into the depths of the courtyard. He waited a moment, then knocked three more times. The wind rushed in from the alley entrance, whipping up a dry locust leaf from the ground and sending it tumbling a few times.

No one answered the door.

Zhang Chulan leaned closer, pressing his ear against the crack in the door to listen: "There seems to be no sound inside? Could it be that Old Master Li has gone out?"

Nie Lingfeng did not answer. He placed his palm flat on the door panel and pushed forward with his fingertips with a little force—the door hinge made a low creak, and the door opened a crack inward.

The courtyard was paved with blue bricks, a thin layer of moss growing in the cracks. A large locust tree in the center stretched its branches over the courtyard wall, blocking out most of the sky above the small courtyard. Under the tree's shade sat a blue stone table, its surface worn smooth and rounded. On the table sat a purple clay teapot and two upside-down teacups. Fine droplets of water still clung to the rims of the teacups.

The tea in the pot was still steaming.

"He just left." Nie Lingfeng stepped into the courtyard, his gaze sweeping over the tea set on the stone table, and then over the tightly closed door of the main room facing the courtyard gate. He stopped in front of the stone table, but did not touch the teapot. Instead, he sat down on the stone bench beside the table.

The silence in the courtyard lasted for about ten seconds. A sparrow hopped twice on the roof tiles and then fluttered away. Then the wooden door of the main room was slowly pushed open from the inside out.

Li Muxuan wore a faded blue long robe, the sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm, revealing a slender, tanned wrist. In his hand, he carried a dark red gourd, the lacquer on its surface worn thin, revealing the dark wood beneath. Leaning against the doorframe, the curve of his lips held a composure and cunning born of decades of drinking and smoking.

"You arrived faster than I expected." He unscrewed the gourd, tilted his head back, took a swig, his Adam's apple bobbing, then put down the gourd, wiping the remaining liquid from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "It seems that the dragon matter has kept you on your toes quite a bit."

Nie Lingfeng remained seated on the stone bench. He was relaxed, with his hands on his knees, his back slightly leaning forward, and his gaze level with Li Muxuan.

"Did Senior Li know we were coming?"

"I know." Li Muxuan swayed as he straightened up from the doorframe, dragged his feet to the stone table, sat down opposite Nie Lingfeng, and tapped his wine gourd on the table. "I knew from the moment you left the ice wall."

"How much does Senior Li know about that dragon?"

Li Muxuan reached for the teapot and poured himself a cup. The dark brown tea poured into the white porcelain cup, and steam rose, carrying the mellow aroma of aged Pu'er tea. He didn't drink it right away; he first held the cup to his nose, swirled it around, and smelled it before finally bringing it to his lips and taking a sip.

"No more, no less." He put down his cup, his gaze lingering on the dappled sunlight on the stone tabletop. After a long pause, he spoke again, "That dragon was called Zhu Jiuyou. Some of you should have heard of that name."

Zhang Chulan stood beside the stone table, who had been discreetly rubbing a small patch of moss on the edge of the table with his fingers. Upon hearing this address, he paused: "Zhu Jiuyou? The one from the *Classic of Mountains and Seas*?"

"It's mentioned in the same book, but the same name doesn't necessarily mean the same thing." Li Muxuan shook his wine gourd, as if estimating how much was left. "Myths have been passed down for thousands of years, embellished, distorted, and misattributed, wrapped in several layers of skin. But a few things are certain—it's a real dragon, it has been in the Kunlun Mountains for a long time, and it possesses certain powers related to time and celestial phenomena. Not some petty trick like summoning wind and rain, but something much more fundamental."

"For example?" Lu Linglong couldn't help but interject, standing in the shadows inside the courtyard gate.

Li Muxuan glanced at her, his gaze lingering on her face for a moment as if trying to discern something, before turning back to Nie Lingfeng: "For example, the heartbeat you heard in front of the ice wall. That wasn't a heartbeat; it was the way it controlled the flow of time in that area—it locked its small space within a very slow rhythm, allowing the seal to last so long. In other words, Zhang Sanfeng's seal, besides the suppression by the dragon vein, also borrowed its own power to lock itself."

Nie Lingfeng's eyebrows twitched slightly.

"Then why did Zhang Sanfeng seal it away?" he asked.

Li Muxuan remained silent for a long time. He finished the cup of tea, sip by sip, then poured another cup, but didn't pick it up. His fingers slowly traced the rim of the cup, his gaze fixed on the shimmering light on its surface.

"Because Zhu Jiuyou has gone mad." He finally said those words.