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

The oil lamp had long since gone out, plunging the room into darkness. Li Bai sat at his desk, without lighting a lamp. Moonlight streamed in through the cracks in the window, casting flickering shadows on his face. The secret letter lay open on the desk; its eight characters, even in the dim light, were still glaringly obvious.

He stretched out his finger and gently stroked the four characters "宜充掖庭".

The rough texture of the paper is felt at my fingertips, the ink marks are slightly raised, carrying the pressure of the writer's strokes.

The sound of the watchman striking his clapper came from outside the window; it was already past midnight.

Chang'an City slumbers.

But some people and some things are quietly stirring in the darkness.

Li Bai closed his eyes, and the image of Yang Yuhuan at fifteen years old appeared in his mind. She was exceptionally beautiful, with a bright light in her eyes, and when she smiled, the curve of her lips was exactly the same as Yang Xiaohuan's.

Then, that smile gradually blurred, hidden behind the curtains of the deep palace, and covered by the dust of history.

He opened his eyes.

There was no confusion in his eyes, only a cold clarity.

"Then let's go."

He spoke in a low voice, his voice clear as the ringing of a sword in the silent room.

***

The next morning, Li Bai pushed open the door.

The autumn sun was cool and bright, shining on the bluestone slabs in the courtyard. The traces of last night's rain had dried completely, leaving only a few dark water stains. Most of the sycamore leaves had turned yellow, rustling in the morning breeze. The air was filled with the aroma of wood shavings from the carpenter's workshop next door, and the smell of cooking smoke from a distant chimney.

Li Bai changed into a brand-new moon-white long robe, with a jade belt around his waist, and his hair was tied up with a simple wooden hairpin. He straightened his clothes in front of the bronze mirror. The man in the mirror had a handsome face, sharp eyes, and a faint smile on his lips.

That smile contained three parts wildness, three parts unruliness, and four parts cold sharpness.

He pushed open the door and went straight to Zuixianlou.

***

Li Bai sat alone at a table by the window on the second floor of Zuixianlou.

On the table sat a pot of Jiannanchun liquor and several small dishes—salted peanuts, braised beef, and a cold salad of shredded vegetables. The rich aroma of the liquor, mingled with the salty fragrance of peanut shells and the savory flavor of the beef, filled the air. Outside the window was the bustling street scene of Chang'an's East Market, a cacophony of carriages and people, the cries of vendors, the rumble of wheels on the stone pavement, and the laughter of children—all blending together into a vibrant symphony.

Li Bai picked up his wine cup and drank it all in one gulp.

The scalding liquor slid down my throat, igniting a fire in my stomach.

"Excellent wine!"

He laughed loudly, his clear voice drawing the attention of guests at several nearby tables.

Several men who looked like scholars were sitting at the next table, discussing something in hushed tones. One of them glanced at Li Bai and lowered his voice, saying, "See him? That's Li Bai, who's become quite famous lately. I heard that Prime Minister Li even came to see him in person a few days ago."

"Is it the one who wrote 'Moonlight before my bed'?"

"More than that! Yesterday in Pingkangfang, he composed three poems on the spot, each one a masterpiece of talent, and Duan Qiniang personally accompanied him on the zither."

"I heard he's also skilled in swordsmanship?"

"He knows more than just swordsmanship! The other night, a bully was harassing merchants in the West Market. A masked swordsman stepped in and broke the bully's weapon in three moves. He left behind eight words: 'When you see injustice, draw your sword to help,' and then disappeared. Someone saw the swordsman's back, and it looked exactly like Li Bai."

Although the whispers were low, every word reached Li Bai's ears.

His smile deepened.

This is exactly the effect I wanted.

Li Linfu's warning? Of course he remembered. But he knew even better that in Chang'an, sometimes the more flamboyant you were, the safer you were. Between a madman who only knew how to write poetry and drink wine, and a peculiar man who was skilled in both poetry and swordsmanship and whose whereabouts were unpredictable, the latter was more daunting.

Because it is unknown, there is fear.

Because of its mystery, people dare not act rashly.

Li Bai poured himself another cup of wine and looked out the window.

Sunlight shone on the signboard of the silk shop across the street, making the three gilded characters "Jinxiu Pavilion" gleam. Several elegantly dressed women were walking out of the shop, followed by shop assistants carrying bolts of cloth. Further away, a caravan of merchants from Central Asia led their camels slowly by, the camel bells jingling, bringing with them an exotic atmosphere.

This is Chang'an.

Prosperous, open, and inclusive, yet turbulent undercurrents lurk beneath the surface.

Li Bai put down his wine cup and took out a brush, a stick of ink, and a few sheets of paper from his bosom.

He dipped his brush in ink, picked up his pen, and began to write on the paper.

The brushstrokes flowed like dragons and snakes, the ink dripping freely.

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

The verses flowed forth like a torrent, each word resounding and each line bold and unrestrained. The surrounding chatter gradually subsided, and everyone held their breath, watching the white-clad man write on the paper. At the turns and twists of his brushstrokes, it seemed as if sword energy crisscrossed; between the shades of ink, it seemed to depict the grandeur of mountains and rivers.

When the last word was written, Li Bai threw down his pen.

With a soft "snap," the pen bounced twice on the table and rolled to the edge.

The room was completely silent.

Then, a burst of enthusiastic cheers erupted.

"Beautiful poem! Beautiful calligraphy!"

"This poem deserves a hearty toast!"

"Brother Li is truly a banished immortal!"

Li Bai smiled, cupped his hands in greeting, picked up his wine cup, and drank it all in one gulp. A drop of wine slid down his chin, staining his pale white robe and spreading a small, dark patch. He paid no heed, instead bursting into loud laughter, a clear, resonant sound that pierced the clamor of the Drunken Immortal Pavilion and carried far.

From that day on, Li Bai's fame spread throughout Chang'an at an even faster pace.

He was no longer just that eccentric poet.

He was the immortal poet.

He was also a sword immortal.

***

Seven days later, at Qujiang Pool.

Qujiang in autumn has a unique charm. The pond water is emerald green, reflecting the weeping willows and pavilions on the banks. The willow leaves have turned yellow, swaying in the autumn wind, with a few occasionally falling and creating tiny ripples on the water. The air is filled with the moisture of the water vapor, the faint fragrance of chrysanthemums, and the aroma of roasted lamb wafting from a distant restaurant.

Today, a gathering of literati is taking place here.

The event was hosted by a student of He Zhizhang, the Secretary of the Imperial Secretariat, and invited more than thirty famous literati and scions of prominent families from Chang'an. A dozen tables were set up among the pavilions and waterside terraces, displaying fine wines, delicacies, and writing implements. The melodious sounds of string and wind instruments drifted over, as musicians from the Imperial Music Bureau played "Spring River Flower Moon Night."

When Li Bai arrived, the gathering had already begun.

He made no attempt to be ostentatious, dressed simply in a blue robe, and quietly walked to an empty table in the corner and sat down. On the table were a pot of wine, a cup, and several plates of snacks. He poured himself a cup, sipped it slowly, and glanced at everyone present.

Some I knew, and some I didn't.

Most of the people I knew were scholars, whom I had met once at the Drunken Immortal Pavilion. Those I didn't know were dressed in fine clothes and had an extraordinary air about them; they were clearly scions of prominent families or students of officials. Everyone was engaged in lively conversation, reciting poems, composing couplets, or commenting on calligraphy and paintings; the atmosphere was both lively and refined.

Li Bai sat quietly, like a deep pool of water.

Until someone mentioned his name.

"I heard that the poet Li Bai will be here today?"

"He's here, he's here. I just saw him sitting over there."

"Oh? You mean that sword immortal who's known as 'killing one person in ten steps'?"

"Shut up! How can you talk about such things like that?"

The discussions were tinged with curiosity, envy, and a barely perceptible sense of apprehension.

Li Bai smiled, picked up his wine cup, and walked towards the center of the crowd.

There, several elderly scholars were appraising a landscape painting. It depicted the Zhongnan Mountains; the brushstrokes were vigorous, the ink rich and flowing—truly a masterpiece. Seeing Li Bai approach, one of them smiled and said, "Brother Li, you've come at the perfect time! What do you think of this painting?"

Li Bai glanced at the painting and said calmly, "It's a good painting, but it lacks a bit of vitality."

"Oh? What do you mean?"

"Zhongnan Mountain is a sacred place of Taoism, shrouded in clouds and mist, exuding an ethereal aura. Although the brushwork in this painting is skillful, it is too realistic and lacks that ethereal and otherworldly feeling." Li Bai said, pointing to a mountain stream in the painting, "If a few strokes of light ink were added here to represent clouds and mist, the artistic conception would be completely different."

Everyone looked closely and nodded in agreement.

The old man painting stroked his beard and smiled, "Brother Li, your insight is profound! I have learned a great deal."

The atmosphere immediately became harmonious.

Someone suggested, "How can we have such an elegant gathering today without poetry? Why don't we ask Brother Li to compose a poem on the spot to enhance the atmosphere?"

Everyone echoed in agreement.

Li Bai did not refuse and walked to the table.

The brush, ink, paper, and inkstone were already prepared. He picked up the brush, dipped it in ink, hesitated for a moment, and then the brush fell to the ground.

"Have you not seen the Yellow River's waters come from the sky—"

The moment the first sentence was written, the entire room fell silent.

Everyone held their breath, watching the pen glide across the paper. The ink flowed like dragons and snakes, each word like a sword, each sentence like thunder. The aroma of wine, ink, and chrysanthemums mingled together, flowing with the verses, as if a mighty river were surging between pavilions, and boundless passion was surging within their hearts.

When the last word of "Let us together dispel the sorrows of ages past" was written, Li Bai threw down his pen.

Ink from the brush tip splashed and spread into several ink flowers on the rice paper.

A deathly silence.

Then, thunderous cheers erupted.

"Excellent! What a wonderful 'Drinking Alone Under the Moon'!"

"This poem is unparalleled throughout history!"

"Brother Li is truly a genius!"

Amid the cheers, a discordant voice rang out.

"The poem is well-written, but I wonder if his swordsmanship is as formidable as the rumors suggest?"

The speaker was a young man in brocade robes, around twenty years old, with a handsome face but a somewhat arrogant look in his eyes. Behind him stood two burly guards, clearly of high status.

The atmosphere in the pavilion suddenly became subtle.

Someone recognized the young man as the son of the Vice Minister of War, surnamed Cui, with the given name Jun. He was fond of martial arts and mostly associated with sons of soldiers. He had come to the gathering today simply to join in the fun, but seeing Li Bai stealing the spotlight, he felt resentful and made a provocative remark.

Li Bai glanced at Cui Jun and smiled.

"Young Master Cui wishes to witness my swordsmanship?"

"Indeed," Cui Jun said, raising his head. "I've long heard of Brother Li's unparalleled skill in both poetry and swordsmanship. Now that you have poetry, how can you be without swordsmanship? Why not demonstrate it on the spot and broaden our horizons?"

These words were spoken politely, but their tone was provocative.

The surrounding people quieted down, their gazes shifting back and forth between Li Bai and Cui Jun. Some were worried about a potential conflict, while others were simply there to watch the spectacle.

Li Bai did not answer immediately.

He walked to the pavilion and broke off a willow branch.

The willow branch was about three feet long and as thick as a thumb, its leaves already half-yellow, trembling slightly in the autumn wind. Li Bai held the willow branch and walked to the open space in front of the pavilion.

"The way of swordsmanship lies not in the sharpness of the weapon, but in the harmony of mind and intention," he said calmly. "Today, I will use this willow branch as my sword and ask Young Master Cui for guidance."

Cui Jun was taken aback, then angrily retorted, "Brother Li, are you looking down on me?"

"No," Li Bai shook his head. "A real sword is sharp and might damage our harmony. A willow branch has no sharp edge, which is perfect for friendly sparring."

Cui Jun snorted coldly and said to one of his guards behind him, "Ahu, go and experience Brother Li's skills."

The guard stepped forward at the call. He was eight feet tall, broad-shouldered and burly, with a thick-backed cleaver at his waist. He walked up to Li Bai, clasped his hands in greeting, and said, "Young Master Li, please forgive me."

Having said that, he drew his sword.

The blade gleamed, reflecting a blinding light under the autumn sun.

Li Bai stood quietly, holding a willow branch in his hand.

The wind blew, and the yellow leaves on the willow branches rustled.

The guard gave a low shout, stepped forward, and slashed down with his sword!

The strike was powerful and heavy, accompanied by the sound of wind cutting through the air, aimed directly at Li Bai's face. Several gasps of surprise rang out from the surrounding area, and some people even closed their eyes.

Li Bai made a move.

He simply turned slightly to the side.

The blade grazed his clothes, striking empty air.

The guard was taken aback, then drew his sword and slashed again. This time it was a horizontal slash, the blade flashing like a bolt of lightning, sweeping across Li Bai's waist.

Li Bai, instead of retreating, advances, lightly touching the willow branches.

A soft "snap" sound.

The willow branch was applied to the acupoints on the wrist.

The guard felt a sudden numbness in his wrist, and the cleaver flew out of his hand, landing on the ground with a clatter. He staggered back, clutching his wrist, his face filled with horror.

The audience was silent.

Everyone was stunned.

A willow branch, with a casual tap, defeated a burly man wielding a knife?

What exquisite swordsmanship!

Cui Jun's face turned extremely ugly. He gritted his teeth and said to another guard, "Ah Bao, you go too!"

The two guards exchanged a glance and simultaneously drew their swords.

The blades flashed and attacked Li Bai from both sides.

Li Bai remained standing in the same spot.

He only moved when the twin blades were about to strike him.

The willow branches slithered like serpents, drawing two arcs in the air.

Two "snap" sounds.

The willow branches were placed on the elbows of the two guards.

Both men cried out in pain, and their machetes fell to the ground. They retreated, clutching their arms, cold sweat beading on their foreheads.

Li Bai put away the willow branch and said calmly, "You flatter me."

Three words, light and airy.

But it struck everyone's heart like a heavy hammer.

Cui Jun's face turned from red to white, then from white to green. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but couldn't utter a single word. Finally, he stomped his foot angrily and turned to leave with his guards.

Silence fell over the pavilion once again.

Then, even more enthusiastic cheers erupted.

"Incredible skill! Absolutely incredible skill!"

"A sword made of willow branch, yet it possesses such power!"

"Brother Li is truly a sword immortal!"

Amid the cheers, Li Bai frowned slightly.

Because he felt a gaze fixed intently on him.

It wasn't curiosity, envy, or fear.

That was...excitement.

An excitement that had been suppressed for a long time finally erupted.

Li Bai turned his head to look.

Among the crowd outside the pavilion stood an old man.

He was about sixty years old, with white hair and beard, a gaunt face, and dressed in a simple dark blue long gown. He stood there, his body trembling slightly, his eyes red-rimmed, and his lips quivering, as if he wanted to say something but could not utter a sound.

Eyes facing each other.

Time seemed to stand still.

The autumn wind swept across Qujiang Pool, creating ripples. Willow branches swayed, and yellow leaves fell. The distant sounds of string and wind instruments, and the nearby cheers, gradually faded and disappeared.

Only the old man's gaze remained.

Passionate, exciting, unbelievable.

Li Bai's heart skipped a beat.

He recognized him.

Although his face has aged and his hair and beard are all white, his eyebrows, his temperament, and the habit of slightly narrowing his eyes when looking at people...

"Congratulations...Congratulations on your appointment?"

Li Bai murmured.

The old man finally moved.

He pushed through the crowd and staggered forward. His steps were unsteady, and he almost fell, but he didn't care and walked straight toward Li Bai.

He stopped in front of Li Bai.

Trembling, she reached out and grabbed Li Bai's wrist.

It feels rough and warm to the touch, with a slight tremor characteristic of the elderly.

"Brother Taibai..."

He Zhizhang spoke, his voice hoarse and choked with emotion.

"Is it really you?"

Li Bai grasped his hand in return and nodded vigorously.

"it's me."

Two simple words, yet they carry immense weight.

He Zhizhang was overcome with emotion and tears streamed down his face.

He held Li Bai's hand tightly, as if if he let go, the person before him would disappear. Tears streamed down his wrinkled cheeks, dripping onto the backs of their hands, warm and damp.

"Ten years...a full ten years..." He Zhizhang choked up, "I thought...I thought I would never see you again..."

A complex mix of emotions welled up in Li Bai's heart.

Feeling moved, guilty, warm, and a touch of indescribable sadness.

He Zhizhang, courtesy name Jizhen, sobriquet Siming Kuangke.

Secretary of the Imperial Secretariat, Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince.

He was also one of Li Bai's few true friends in Chang'an.

Ten years ago, when he left Chang'an, He Zhizhang personally saw him off at Ba Bridge, presented him with a willow branch, and said, "Li Bai, who knows when we will meet again? Take care."

At that time, He Zhizhang had just turned fifty, and was in good spirits and full of vigor.

Now, he is an old man with white hair.

Time is merciless.

But the friendship remains.

Li Bai took a deep breath, suppressing the turmoil in his heart, and said softly, "Supervisor He, how have you been?"

He Zhizhang wiped away his tears, but they wouldn't stop. He looked Li Bai up and down, and said in a trembling voice, "I'm alright, I'm alright... But you, how come... how come you haven't changed at all?"

Li Bai smiled but offered no explanation.

He couldn't very well say that he had traveled through time, died and been resurrected, and even become a sword immortal.

He Zhizhang didn't press the matter, but simply held his hand tightly, as if to confirm that this wasn't a dream. Those around them watched this scene quietly, and although they didn't understand what was happening, they could feel the profound emotion of a reunion that transcended time.

After a long while, He Zhizhang finally calmed down a little.

He looked around and suddenly lowered his voice.

"This is not the place to talk."

The voice was very soft, yet it carried an unprecedented solemnity.

Li Bai felt a chill run down his spine.

He Zhizhang leaned close to his ear and said in a voice only the two of them could hear:

"Come with me."

"I have something important to tell you."

"It concerns...the Prince Shou's residence."