Bitter Realm: A Happy Person Traveling Across China

Qiezai Mian paused for a moment, then slowly put down the wiping cloth.

He picked up a thin, willow-leaf-like slicing knife, twirled it between his fingers, and the blade flashed a cold light in the lamplight.

"How many side dishes should we cut, and what kind of wine should we drink?" he asked, his voice lowered by a third, carrying a certain unspoken rhythm.

Ye Jinming tapped the table with his finger, "Cut off a heart and liver, and make three bowls of bone-breaking wine."

The noodle vendor asked casually, "Whose heart and soul, whose bones?"

Ye Jinming took out a neatly folded sheet of Xuan paper from his sleeve, placed it on the table, and gently pushed it over with his fingertips.

He didn't take the noodles immediately. Instead, he picked up a clean cloth and slowly wiped his hands, cleaning each finger carefully, as if performing some kind of ritual.

Then, he picked up the paper with two fingers and unfolded it.

A portrait of a man was sketched on the paper with ink—his eyebrows were elegant, his clothes were flowing, and he had a cynical smile on his lips, lifelike.

Qiezai Mian stared at the portrait for three breaths, his expression unchanged. He simply folded the paper again and put it in his pocket: "This bowl of noodles... isn't cheap."

Ye Jinming smiled slightly: "People in the martial world just need to make a living; the price is negotiable."

Qiezai Mian pulled a small wooden plaque from under the cutting board, placed it face down in front of Ye Jinming, and pushed it there.

Ye Jinming glanced down at the number engraved on the card, nodded, and didn't haggle: "Fair."

"Soup noodles or dry noodles, takeout or dine-in?" The noodle shop owner put away the wooden sign, his tone returning to normal, as if asking the customer whether they wanted soup noodles or dry noodles.

Ye Jinming tapped his fingertips lightly on the table: "What's the difference?"

"The soup noodles are like a stone sinking into the sea, unclear and ambiguous; the dry noodles are obvious and clear." Qiezai Mian picked up his long chopsticks and stirred them in the boiling soup pot. The steam rose up, blurring his face. "If you are in a hurry, then take it to go; otherwise, you can take some time to enjoy it slowly."

Ye Jinming hesitated for a moment, then said, "Then I'll have a bowl of dry noodles, to go."

"Okay," Qiezai Mian replied crisply. "Is there anything else I should be aware of?"

Ye Jinming thought for a moment and said, "If possible, we should find a beautiful woman to send him off."

After hearing this, the noodle seller asked another question: "Do you want to leave some in the bowl?"

"No need!" Ye Jinming shook his head at this. After all, he wasn't that perverted Dongfang Yi, who killed someone and then gave their head as a wedding gift to the girl's daughter to mess with her mind. That was truly inhuman.

Qiezai Noodles finally looked up, gave Ye Jinming a deep look, and slowly nodded: "Thank you for your patronage. I'm satisfied. I'll come again next time."

Ye Jinming said no more, stood up, flicked his sleeve, and turned to walk into the night.

On the table, several priceless luminous pearls had been placed there at some unknown time.

Qiezaimian stood there, watching the white-clad figure disappear into the alleyway.

Then, he turned the bowl upside down in the most inconspicuous corner of the stall and blew out the lantern.

The darkness completely swallowed that faint light...

.........

Inside the Northern Star constellation, candlelight blazed brightly, and the sounds of string and wind instruments filled the air.

He regretted not being able to lean against a soft couch covered with brocade, with a beautiful woman, half-undressed, nestled on either side of him.

He held a golden cup in one hand, the amber liquid inside swaying slightly with his laughter, while his other hand restlessly slipped inside the beauty's clothes, eliciting a coquettish reproach.

The table was laden with delicacies, but most remained untouched. Several wine jars were empty, and the strong aroma of wine mixed with the scent of perfume filled the warm air.

"Drink! Fill this cup again!" Hen Bufeng, his eyes still blurry with drunkenness, handed over his empty cup, and the beauty quickly picked up the pot and poured more wine.

He tilted his head back and drank it all in one gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing as the wine slid down his chin, soaking his luxurious clothes.

Outside the window, the moon was hidden behind thick clouds, only a faint, pale light showing through. The wind grew stronger, passing through the eaves with a low, mournful whistle.

Just as they were indulging in sensual pleasures, a subtle yet penetrating chill seeped in silently.

It wasn't the airflow from open doors and windows, but a purer, sharper kind of "cold," like a thin blade pressed against the skin.

Hen Bufeng paused abruptly as he brought the wine glass to his lips. The sudden chill dispelled some of his drunkenness. He frowned and looked up at the hall door.

The two beautiful women beside him tried to scream, but collapsed without making a sound.

The hall door had been opened a crack at some point.

Outside the door, the night was deep and dark, and a graceful figure stood quietly on the steps.

She held up a bright red oil-paper umbrella, the surface of which seemed to emit a faint glow in the starless and moonless night.

Beneath the umbrella was a woman dressed in an elaborate and gorgeous Japanese kimono, embroidered with large clusters of spider lilies on brocade, which appeared almost eerily red in the dim light.

The umbrella was lowered slightly, obscuring most of her face, revealing only a glimpse of her fair chin and a pair of pale, cold-toned lips.

She stood there silently, as if she had become one with the night, or as if she were a phantom emerging from the deepest nightmare.

A sudden jolt of regret shot through his heart, and the last vestiges of his drunkenness instantly turned into a cold sweat.

Almost instinctively, he loosened his grip—

"Snapped!"

The golden cup fell to the ground, splashing wine everywhere.

Just as the sound of the cup shattering rang out, the figure with the red umbrella moved.

Without warning or a sound, she seemed to have simply taken a step forward, yet she had already drifted into the hall like a ghost.

The candle flames were suddenly extinguished by an invisible force!

The moment darkness descended, even Hen Bufeng stirred.

After all, he was a well-known figure in the martial arts world. In his shock, his survival instincts drove him to use all his strength. He pointed his left hand like a sword and swiftly aimed at the person's throat, while his right hand grabbed the long sword beside the bed with lightning speed!

However, his movements seemed too slow in the eyes of the other party.

In the darkness, only a very light yet sharp metallic scraping sound could be heard—the soft hum of a long sword being drawn from its sheath.

Immediately following was an arc of light darker than darkness itself, which flashed by in an instant.

"Clang!"

The clang of metal was so brief that it was almost an illusion.

Immediately following was a heart-wrenching scream from Han Bufeng: "Ah—"

The candles were not relit, but by the dim light coming in from the window, one could vaguely see Hen Bufeng staggering backward, a thin line of blood suddenly bursting open on his right wrist, blood gushing out like a spring.

The meridians in his entire right hand had been severed by that lightning-fast strike, and his five fingers spread limply as the longsword clattered to the ground.

The excruciating pain nearly made him faint, but an even stronger fear gripped him.

He pressed his bleeding wrist tightly, his face ashen, staring in terror at the red figure standing in the darkness, knife in hand.

"Miss... wait!" Hen Bufeng's voice trembled as he forced back his words, enduring the pain and dizziness. "We... have no grudge against each other, we've never met before, why... why do you want to kill me?"