I was a mineral prospector in Chengdu, who transmigrated into the body of a mortal sword immortal.

The hustle and bustle of Chang'an West Market reached its peak in the afternoon.

The streets teemed with carriages and horses, a cacophony of voices. Shop signs fluttered in the autumn sun, the air thick with the aromas of baked flatbread, savory cooked meat, and the rich scents of spices, all mingled with the pungent smells of sweat, dust, and the vibrant energy unique to the bustling city. In the heart of this lively scene, a three-story wooden building stood out—vermilion-lacquered pillars, carved window frames, and dozens of strings of copper wind chimes hanging from the eaves, their delicate tinkling echoing in the breeze. Above the building hung a black plaque with gold lettering: "Drunken Immortal Pavilion."

The building was bustling with activity.

The spacious lobby on the first floor, furnished with over thirty square tables, was almost entirely full. Guests chatted and laughed loudly, the clinking of glasses and plates filling the air. Waiters, white towels draped over their shoulders, nimbly moved between tables and chairs carrying wooden trays, calling out "Excuse me, excuse me!" The air was thick with the aroma of wine, food, and the warmth of the charcoal brazier. The second floor featured private seating, semi-private spaces partitioned by screens, from which the faint sounds of traditional music and refined conversation could be heard. The third floor housed the truly private rooms, reserved for the elite.

It was the third quarter of Shen time, the sun was setting in the west, and sunlight streamed through the carved window lattices, casting dappled shadows on the lobby floor.

The light at the doorway dimmed for a moment.

A figure walked in.

The newcomer wore a simple blue robe, the fabric of which was clean and crisp. A dark cloth belt was tied around his waist, and a long sword hung on his left side, its scabbard made of ordinary ebony without any decoration. He was tall and slender, his steps unhurried, and as he stepped across the threshold, his gaze calmly swept across the hall.

That one glance caused the patrons at the tables near the door to unconsciously lower their voices.

His gaze was so calm, as calm as a bottomless lake, yet it subtly revealed an indescribable sharpness, as if it could see through people's hearts. What was even more striking was his demeanor—despite his simple attire, he possessed an extraordinary and refined elegance, like a green bamboo in a turbid world, out of place in this noisy marketplace, yet strangely blending in as well.

He had a faint smile on his face, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Sir, please come in!" A quick-witted waiter immediately greeted him, his gaze lingering for a moment on the longsword at the guest's waist before his smile grew even warmer. "How many of you are in your party? First floor or second floor?"

"One person," the man in the blue robe said, his voice clear and gentle. "The first floor is fine, I want a window seat with a view of the street."

"Alright! This way, please!"

The waiter led him past several tables to an open, carved wooden window on the west side of the lobby. It was indeed a good spot, offering a view of the bustling traffic on the main street of the West Market outside, as well as a panoramic view of most of the lobby. A clean blue cloth was laid out on the table, along with a set of rough porcelain teaware.

The man in the green robe sat down, unfastened the long sword from his waist, and gently leaned it against the table leg.

"What would you like, sir? Our 'Drunken Immortal's Brew' is a specialty of Chang'an, and we also have freshly arrived Yellow River carp, lively and plump..."

"A jar of Drunken Immortal Wine." The man in the blue robe interrupted the waiter's introduction, took out a five-tael ingot of snowflake silver from his pocket, and gently placed it on the table. "Also, slice two catties of braised beef, a dish of fennel beans, and a bowl of mutton soup, all served hot. The rest is your tip."

The silver ingot made a dull, soft sound as it hit the wooden table.

The patrons at the surrounding tables all looked over.

Five taels of silver was more than enough for such a simple meal at Zuixianlou, leaving at least three taels as a tip. This was quite generous for a simply dressed lone traveler.

The waiter's eyes lit up, and he quickly grabbed the silver ingot, his smile widening even further: "Thank you, sir! The food and wine will be here shortly!"

The man in the blue robe nodded slightly, said no more, and turned his gaze to the window.

Sunlight slanted across his profile, outlining his distinct features. He looked to be about twenty-five or twenty-six years old, with a handsome face, yet his brows held a calmness beyond his years, even... a hint of vicissitude.

Soon, the food and drinks were served.

As soon as the clay seal on the coarse earthenware wine jar was broken, a rich and mellow aroma of wine wafted out. The braised beef was sliced ​​thinly and evenly, drizzled with a dark brown sauce. The fennel beans glistened with oil, and the mutton soup steamed, with a layer of golden oil and bright green scallions floating on the surface.

The man in the blue robe poured himself a full bowl of wine.

The wine was amber in color, swirling slightly in the rough porcelain bowl. He picked up the bowl, brought it to his nose to sniff, then tilted his head back and drank it all in one gulp.

"Good wine," he murmured, his voice not loud, but clearly reaching the ears of the patrons at the next table.

The men, who had been secretly observing him, were now intrigued by his hearty drinking and felt a desire to befriend him. One of them, a middle-aged man dressed in silk robes and resembling a merchant, tentatively raised his cup, saying, "Brother, you have quite the capacity for alcohol! Would you care to share a drink with me?"

The man in the blue robe turned his head, glanced at him, and a faint smile appeared on his lips: "Drinking alone is no fun; sharing a drink with friends is always a good thing. Please."

The merchant's face immediately lit up with joy, and he quickly brought over his wine glass and sat down opposite him. His two companions followed suit.

"My surname is Wang, and I'm in the silk business," the merchant introduced himself. "Seeing your impressive bearing, may I ask your name?"

The man in the blue robe poured himself another bowl of wine and said calmly, "My surname is Li, and my given name is Bai."

"Li Bai?" The merchant paused, then his eyes widened. "But... but the Li Bai, the Poet Immortal, whose brushstrokes could startle wind and rain, whose poems could move even ghosts and gods to tears?"

The voice was quite loud, and the surrounding tables immediately fell silent.

Countless eyes turned to the window.

The man in the blue robe—Li Bai—put down his wine bowl and smiled, "I dare not claim the title of 'Poet Immortal.' I have only written a few mediocre poems, which have been misunderstood and appreciated by you all."

"Truly Li Bai!"

"Li Bai is back?"

"Hasn't he been away from Chang'an for several years?"

Whispers filled the lobby like a tidal wave. Many patrons put down their glasses and craned their necks to look in their direction. Several men dressed in scholarly attire even stood up and walked over.

"Master Li! It really is you!" A scholar with a thin face and wearing a square headscarf exclaimed excitedly, bowing with his hands clasped. "Three years ago at the Qujiang Poetry Gathering, I had the honor of hearing you recite 'The Road to Shu is Hard,' a memory I still cherish! When did you return to Chang'an?"

Li Bai looked up at him, seemed to recall for a moment, and smiled, "So it's Brother Zhang. I just returned a few days ago and, having nothing to do, I came to this Drunken Immortal Pavilion to ask for a drink."

"With the return of the recluse, the poetry scene of Chang'an will surely shine once more!" Another plump scholar squeezed in, his face beaming. "It's such a fortunate coincidence that we've met today; I must ask the recluse to leave behind a new work!"

More and more people gathered around.

Surrounded by the crowd, Li Bai remained calm. He picked up his wine bowl, took another sip, and glanced at the faces that were filled with excitement, curiosity, or scrutiny.

This is the effect he wanted.

High-profile, but not ostentatious. Natural, yet eye-catching.

"A new piece...?" Li Bai put down his wine bowl, his fingers unconsciously tapping lightly on the rough tabletop. "There are a couple of incomplete lines, not yet a complete poem."

"We'd like to hear the details!" everyone said in unison.

Li Bai looked out the window.

The setting sun bathed the eaves of the West Market in a golden-red hue, while the distant silhouette of the imperial city appeared majestic and far removed in the twilight. Pedestrians hurried along the streets, dust kicked up by carriages swirling in the beams of light. The atmosphere was bustling and prosperous, yet tinged with an indescribable restlessness and vanity.

He was silent for a moment.

The lobby was so quiet that you could hear the crackling of the charcoal in the brazier.

Then he spoke.

The voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear, possessing a strange penetrating power, as if it didn't originate from the throat, but rather resonated directly from the chest cavity.

"Have you not seen the Yellow River's waters come from the sky, rushing to the sea never to return?"

Have you not seen the sorrow reflected in the bright mirror of the high hall, where white hair, once black as silk in the morning, has turned to snow by evening?

Life is full of joy, so that the gold is empty for the moon.

"Everyone has their own unique talents, and even if I spend all my money, it will come back again..."

The verses flowed like a rushing river, completed in one breath.

The first half retains the familiar style of Li Bai—bold, unrestrained, and majestic. But in the second half, the tone abruptly shifts, becoming desolate and sharp:

"...Bells and drums, delicacies and jade are not worth treasuring; I only wish to be drunk forever and never wake up."

In ancient times, the saints and sages were lonely, and only the drinkers kept their names.

In the old days, Wang Chen feasted and fought for peace and joy.

What is the master's word for less money, you have to sell to the king.

"A dappled horse, a thousand pieces of gold—call the boy to exchange them for fine wine, to dispel with you our age-old sorrows!"

The last sentence echoed among the beams and pillars of the hall.

Everyone was stunned.

It's not that the poem is bad—quite the opposite, it's so good it's breathtaking. The way it sees through the emptiness behind the glamour, the satire that directly criticizes the extravagance of the powerful, and the immense grief and resentment hidden within, are like a cold dagger, piercing the heart of every listener unexpectedly.

In particular, the line "Sages and worthies of the past are all lonely, only drinkers leave their names behind" subtly reveals a disdain and rebellion against the existing order and values.

The line "Together we dispel eternal sorrow" elevates personal grief to a level equal to time and history.

This is no longer just a poem about drinking.

This is a declaration.

It's a shout.

It is a kind of open-mindedness that is forged and sharpened after experiencing great pain and struggle.

The silence lasted for a full ten breaths.

Then, a deafening roar of cheers erupted.

"What a beautiful poem!"

"Incredible! Absolutely incredible!"

"Li Bai is still Li Bai! No, he's even more amazing than before!"

"Write it down quickly! Write it down quickly!"

The scholars were so excited their faces turned red, and the merchants, though they didn't understand poetry, also cheered loudly. The entire first floor of Zuixianlou was in an uproar, and the news spread like wildfire to the second and third floors, and even to the streets.

Li Bai sat calmly in the center of the commotion.

He poured himself another bowl of wine and drank it slowly.

His gaze, however, seemed to casually sweep across every corner of the lobby. He spotted several plainly dressed men with exceptionally sharp eyes, sitting in a corner, seemingly drinking, but their attention remained fixed on him. He also saw a waiter hurriedly leave through the back door, presumably to deliver a message.

well.

Everything was expected.

"Layman!" The thin scholar surnamed Zhang excitedly grabbed Li Bai's sleeve. "What is the title of this poem?"

"Let's call it 'Bring in the Wine'," Li Bai said casually.

"Bring in the Wine... Excellent, excellent! Let's raise a large cup!" The scholar surnamed Zhang snatched the wine jar, filling both himself and Li Bai's cups. "A toast to you, sir!"

Everyone raised their glasses.

Li Bai accepted all who came, drinking bowl after bowl.

The Drunken Immortal Brew was incredibly potent; an ordinary person would be knocked out after just three or five bowls. But Li Bai drank a whole jar, his face only slightly flushed, while his eyes grew brighter and brighter, as if two flames were burning deep within his pupils.

As the effects of the alcohol took hold, he suddenly stood up.

"Bring the wine!" he shouted.

The waiter quickly brought over another jar of new wine.

Li Bai broke the clay seal, and without even using a bowl, picked up the wine jar and drank it down in one gulp. The amber-colored wine dripped from the corner of his mouth, soaking the front of his blue robe. Only after about half the wine was gone did he put it down, wipe his mouth, and burst into laughter.

The laughter was clear and melodious, carrying three parts wildness and seven parts desolation.

"Excellent!" He looked around. "Such fine wine deserves a sword dance to enhance the festivities!"

Before anyone could react, Li Bai had already reached into the bamboo tube on the table and pulled out a bamboo chopstick.

The chopsticks are about seven inches long, made of ordinary bamboo, and slightly pointed at one end.

He held the chopsticks in his hand and flicked his wrist slightly.

hum-

A subtle yet clear tremor emanated from the bamboo chopsticks.

That's not the sound bamboo chopsticks should make.

The next moment, Li Bai moved.

There were no complicated footwork, no fancy moves. He simply stood in place, holding bamboo chopsticks, and casually drew a few arcs.

But this seemingly casual movement caused everyone within three zhang of him to feel a tightness in their skin, as if countless tiny needles were gently pricking them.

The air became sharp.

On the table closest to him, a large tallow candle burned in a candlestick. The candle flame had been burning quietly, its orange-yellow flame steady and warm.

Li Bai gently touched the candlelight with the bamboo chopsticks in his hand.

There was no sound of wind.

There was no sound of air being cut.

But suddenly the candle went out.

It wasn't blown out by the wind, nor was it blocked by anything. It simply went from burning to extinguished without warning, without even a wisp of smoke rising.

The candlestick itself, including the candle, was intact.

Even the candle wick showed no signs of charring.

It was as if that flame had never existed.

The lobby fell silent once again.

This silence was even more profound and eerie than the silence that followed after listening to the poem.

Everyone stared wide-eyed at the extinguished candle, then at the ordinary bamboo chopstick in Li Bai's hand.

The distance is at least ten feet.

The bamboo chopsticks gently touched it.

The candle went out.

What... what kind of method is this?

Martial arts skills? Magic tricks? Or...?

"Sword energy..." In a corner, a middle-aged man in tight-fitting clothes, with a sword at his waist, who had been silently drinking, murmured in a very low voice, "Condensed but not released, striking objects through the air... This is the external release of sword energy... At least at the Innate Realm..."

His voice was very soft, but it was still heard by several people nearby in the quiet hall.

"Sword energy?"

"The Innate Realm?"

"Li Bai... knew martial arts?"

Discussions resumed, but this time, the voices carried a hint of awe and disbelief.

Li Bai seemed not to hear these comments. He casually tossed the bamboo chopsticks back into the bamboo tube, making a soft "snap" sound.

Then, he picked up the wine jar and took another big gulp.

The wine dripped down his chin, but he didn't wipe it away, letting it soak his clothes. His eyes were somewhat unfocused, as if he were truly drunk, but the smile on his lips was frighteningly clear-headed.

"Life is full of disappointments, tomorrow I'll let my hair down and drift away in a small boat..." he murmured, his voice filled with weariness, yet also hinting at a certain indomitable spirit.

After saying that, he swayed back into his chair, slumped onto the table, and seemed to fall asleep.

The lobby was quiet for a moment.

Then, various voices rose again, even more enthusiastic and excited than before.

"Li Bai is back!"

"Not only has his poetic talent surpassed his former self, but he has also mastered unparalleled swordsmanship!"

"Did you guys see that just now? Extinguishing the candle from a distance! That was incredible skill!"

"A master of both poetry and swordsmanship! This is the true immortal poet!"

The news spread at an astonishing speed.

For the next few days, Li Bai appeared at Zuixianlou almost every afternoon. He always sat by the window, and always ordered a jar of Zuixian wine and a few side dishes. Sometimes he would talk loudly and recite poems; sometimes he would drink alone in silence, gazing out the window in a daze; sometimes, when he was in high spirits, he would casually demonstrate a few moves of "swordsmanship"—either extinguishing a candle with bamboo chopsticks or knocking dust off the beams with peanuts, which always drew cheers from the room.

His poems flowed out one after another.

There is the unrestrained and wild poem "The Road to Shu is Hard": "A golden goblet of fine wine costs ten thousand coins, a jade plate of delicacies is worth ten thousand more. I stop drinking and eating, I draw my sword and look around, my heart filled with confusion..."

There is a poem titled "Questions and Answers in the Mountains," which is full of thoughts of reclusion: "You ask me why I dwell in the green mountains, I smile but do not answer, my heart is at ease. Peach blossoms drift away on flowing water, a world apart from the human realm."

There are even more satirical and directly addressing current affairs in ancient-style poems: "Large carts raise flying dust, at midday the fields are darkened. Eunuchs possess vast amounts of gold, their mansions stretching to the clouds..."

Each poem was quickly copied and circulated among the literati of Chang'an, and each poem sparked heated discussions.

Li Bai's fame, more dazzling and complex than ever before, resounded once again throughout Chang'an.

People talked about his poetry, his drinking capacity, and even more so about his mysterious "swordsmanship." Some said he was taught by a mysterious master, while others said he was originally a swordsman and writing poetry was just a side job. Various speculations and rumors circulated, becoming increasingly fantastical.

Li Bai, however, always maintained that half-drunk, half-awake, unrestrained and wild demeanor.

He seemed completely absorbed in the wine, oblivious to everything around him. But only he knew that every hazy glance he made was a way of gathering information; every seemingly casual laugh was a test of the wind.

He saw the literary circle's welcome and enthusiasm for his return.

He saw the curiosity and fear that people in the martial arts world had towards him.

He also spotted the sharp-eyed, disciplined spies hidden among the ordinary drinkers—from different factions.

Everything is going according to plan.

Until the afternoon of the fifth day.

The autumn sun shone warmly through the windowpane, bathing Li Bai in its light. He was chatting and laughing with several scholars who had come to admire him, a wine bowl in his hand, and a perfectly pleasant hint of intoxication on his face.

The light at the entrance of Zuixianlou dimmed for a moment.

This time, it wasn't just one person who came in, but a group of people.

The leader was a middle-aged scholar, about fifty years old, with a fair complexion and a neatly trimmed short beard. He wore a dark purple brocade robe, a jade belt around his waist, and a black gauze turban. His attire was not particularly extravagant, but the materials were exquisite and the workmanship meticulous, exuding an air of dignified composure befitting someone who had long held a high position. He wore a kind smile, his eyes slightly narrowed, his gaze gentle, as if he looked at everyone with a touch of goodwill.

He was followed by four attendants, all dressed in blue robes and small hats, with lowered eyes and meek demeanor, but their steps were steady and their aura restrained, clearly indicating that they were well-trained and skilled.

As soon as the group entered, the noise in the lobby unconsciously subsided.

Many patrons recognized the newcomer, their expressions changed slightly, and they lowered their heads, no longer daring to look.

The middle-aged scholar seemed oblivious to all this, his gaze sweeping across the hall before finally settling on the man in the blue robe surrounded by a crowd by the window.

His smile deepened, and he stepped over.

His attendants silently parted the crowd to clear a path for him.

The scholars who were talking with Li Bai turned pale the moment they saw the newcomer. They quickly stood up, bowed, and stepped aside, not daring to even breathe loudly.

Li Bai seemed to only then notice someone approaching.

He raised his head, his eyes blurry with drunkenness, and looked at the middle-aged scholar standing in front of the table.

Eyes facing each other.

The middle-aged scholar bowed, his voice gentle and clear, carrying just the right amount of enthusiasm and respect.

"Could it be Li Bai, the Qinglian Hermit, in person?"

He bowed slightly, adopting a very humble posture:

"My name is Li Linfu. I have long admired the great poet Li Bai and have come here today to meet you."