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

He Zhizhang stood at the door of his study, watching Li Bai's figure disappear at the end of the bamboo path. The autumn wind ruffled his gray hair and beard, carrying the acrid smell of burning straw from the distant fields. He stood there for a long time, until the old servant softly reminded him that it was getting dark, before slowly turning back into the house. The map on the desk was still open, the Taoist temples circled in vermilion ink like blood-red eyes staring at Chang'an. He Zhizhang reached out and slowly rolled up the map, his movements slow and heavy. The oil lamp was lit, its dim yellow light flickering in the study, casting his long shadow on the bookshelf like a lonely, hunched silhouette. He sat down, picked up his pen, wanting to write something, but couldn't put down a single word for a long time. Finally, he just sighed, blew out the lamp, and let the darkness swallow everything.

***

When Li Bai left He Zhizhang's manor, it was already completely dark.

There was no moon, only a few sparse stars twinkling through gaps in the thick clouds. The wind was strong, rustling the withered grass by the roadside like countless tiny, mournful cries. He walked back along the path he had come from, his steps steady and firm, each step firmly planted, as if using this deliberate stability to suppress the surging, uncontrollable forces within him.

"I know what I'm doing."

When I said those four words in the study just now, they were so calm and so resolute.

But now, walking in the dark wilderness, those four words are like four blunt knives, scraping at his heart again and again.

What's the point?

What limits?

Faced with a historical wheel that has been turning for a thousand years, faced with a court conspiracy large enough to devour everything, faced with powerful ministers who wield power and treat human lives and emotions as pawns, faced with an emperor sitting on the dragon throne whose word can decide the fate of countless people—

What sense of propriety could a commoner who had just returned to Chang'an and had nothing but a reputation for poetry and swordsmanship have?

The golden elixir spun wildly in his dantian.

It wasn't the orderly flow of cultivation, but a runaway, violent rotation. Each rotation brought forth surging spiritual energy, impacting the meridians, the sea of ​​consciousness, and every inch of flesh and blood. The emotional perception of a Golden Core cultivator is already ten or a hundred times more acute than that of an ordinary person; at this moment, this acute perception became a form of torture.

pain.

It's not physical pain.

It's the kind of pain that you watch helplessly, foresee, yet feel powerless to change.

It's the kind of pain that comes from being born twice, experiencing two different relationships, and feeling the same helplessness all overlapping.

It's that kind of pain where you clearly possess power—the cultivation of the Golden Core stage, the inheritance of the Shu Mountain Sword Immortals, the sharpness of the Azure Lotus Sword—yet you seem to have nowhere to unleash it and nowhere to go.

Yang Yuhuan.

Yang Xiaohuan.

Two faces appeared alternately in the darkness.

Fifteen-year-old Yang Yuhuan, in the spring of Chengdu, turned her head and smiled, her eyes sparkling and clear as mountain spring water. She wore a pale yellow ruqun (a type of traditional Chinese dress), and a small crabapple blossom was tucked in her hair, its petals still glistening with dew. She called him "Young Master Li," her voice soft and sweet, carrying the unique charm of Sichuan.

Thirty-year-old Yang Xiaohuan, on the streets of Chengdu in 2003, wore a cheap red dress and heavy makeup, yet it couldn't hide the weariness and despair in her eyes. She was sandwiched between two tattooed men, like a bird with broken wings. She looked at him, tears welling in her eyes, but gritted her teeth and uttered the most cutting words to drive him away: "Li Bai, stop bothering me! Even if you really were the great poet of the Tang Dynasty, I wouldn't like you! Besides, you're just a geologist who spends his days breaking rocks in remote mountain valleys! I only like money, and you, you poor wretch, get lost!"

Past and Present.

The same face, the same sorrow, the same helplessness.

And what about him?

In his past life, he was a geological engineer who was powerless and could only watch helplessly as a dagger pierced his chest, feeling his life slowly slip away.

In this life, he became a poet immortal and a sword immortal, possessing power beyond the mortal realm.

But the result?

Yang Yuhuan still became the Princess Consort of Prince Shou.

She was still drawn into that huge, dirty conspiracy.

She was about to be "ordained as a female Taoist priest," then sent to that cannibalistic imperial palace to become Emperor Xuanzong's "confidante," and ultimately perished at Mawei Slope.

History is grinning as it approaches him.

It doesn't care whether he's a sword immortal, whether he has a golden core, or his memories and pain from two lifetimes. It simply rolls forward along its predetermined path, crushing anyone who tries to stop it to dust.

"ah--!"

A low growl, suppressed to the extreme, burst forth from Li Bai's throat.

It wasn't a roar, it wasn't a howl, but a shriek from someone driven to the brink of despair with nowhere to vent their frustration.

He suddenly stopped in his tracks.

All around was a dark wilderness, with scattered lights in the distance—those were villages. Further still, in the direction of Chang'an, a hazy halo enveloped the sky—thousands of lights, a prosperous and flourishing era, but also the lair of a colossal beast that would devour his lover.

We can't go back.

I can't go back to that secluded mansion.

It was too quiet, too lonely there. The quiet and loneliness amplified the pain, allowing those images, those sounds, that sense of powerlessness to overwhelm him like a tide.

He needs a voice.

We need noise.

We need strong liquor.

We need something that can temporarily numb the nerves and stop the brain from thinking.

Li Bai turned around and started running towards Chang'an.

He wasn't using light-footed skills or agility; it was just the most primal, all-out running. The wind whistled in his ears, withered grass snapped under his feet, and the scent of earth mingled with the damp chill of the night dew, filling his nostrils. He ran incredibly fast, like a black lightning bolt streaking across the wilderness.

He wanted to run into that city.

Run into that noisiest, most bustling, and most forgettable place.

***

West Market.

Even at night, it is never truly quiet here.

The shops of the foreign merchants were still lit, the flickering oil in their glass lamps illuminating the oddly shaped utensils and brightly colored fabrics. The tavern signs swayed in the night breeze, beckoning the last of their customers. The ovens selling flatbreads still steamed, their aroma mingling with the pungent smell of mutton, filling the air. Further away, a foreign woman played the pipa, her melody strange yet passionate, mingling with the rough laughter and cheers of the men.

This is Chang'an's land of desire, a place where money, beauty, alcohol, and noise converge.

It's also the place where you can most easily forget who you are.

Li Bai rushed into the largest restaurant in the West Market – "Zui Xian Lou".

The three-story wooden building, with its upturned eaves and bracket sets, was adorned with red lanterns on each floor, illuminating the entire street. Inside, the place was bustling with noise—the sounds of drinking games, laughter, shouting, singing girls, and the clinking of cups and plates blended into a cacophony.

Li Bai, dressed in a blue robe, travel-worn and with bloodshot eyes, rushed into the hall, attracting a brief moment of attention.

But soon, people's attention returned to their own drinking tables.

Here, you'll find all sorts of people. Disillusioned scholars, chivalrous wanderers, down-on-their-luck merchants, pleasure-seeking nobles... It wouldn't be surprising to find one more guest who seems a bit eccentric.

"Sir, how many are in your party?" The waiter greeted them with a professional smile.

Li Bai did not look at him.

His gaze swept across the lobby, over the drunken crowd, and over the faces that had found temporary relief in alcohol.

Then he spoke.

His voice was hoarse, yet carried an undeniable coldness.

"The top floor, all booked."

The waiter paused for a moment, then said, "Sir, the top floor has private rooms, the price..."

"Bang!"

A gold ingot was smashed onto the counter.

It weighed a good ten ounces and gleamed with an alluring, heavy luster under the oil lamp.

The shopkeeper's eyes lit up immediately. He grabbed the gold, bit it with his teeth, and beamed, "Honored guest! Please come upstairs! The top floor is quiet, with a great view, perfect for a solitary drink!"

Li Bai stopped talking and walked straight towards the stairs.

His footsteps were heavy, thumping softly on the wooden stairs. With each floor he climbed, the noise below lessened a little, but the underlying din still lingered in his ears like background noise.

The top floor was indeed quiet.

The room was a large, separate space with windows on three sides, offering a panoramic view of most of the West Market at night. The furnishings were simple: a large folding chair, a low table, and a few cushions. A faint scent of sandalwood permeated the air, attempting to mask the stench of wine and meat wafting from downstairs.

"Sir, what would you like some food and drinks?" the waiter asked solicitously as he approached.

"Wine," Li Bai said, his voice hoarse. "Just wine."

"What kind of wine? We have excellent Jiannan Shaochun, Sanlejiang, and fine grape wine..."

"The strongest," Li Bai interrupted him, "ten jars."

The waiter paused for a moment.

Ten jars? Or the strongest one? For one person?

But when he glanced at Li Bai's bloodshot eyes, he saw something in them that sent chills down his spine. He dared not ask further and quickly nodded, "Yes, yes, I'll be right there!"

The waiter has left.

Li Bai was left alone in the room.

He walked to the window and pushed it open.

A sudden gust of night wind swept in, carrying the unique, mingled smells of the West Market—the aroma of wine, meat, cosmetics, and sweat, along with the stench of manure wafting from the distant stables. Downstairs, the lantern lights formed a sea of ​​red, with figures flickering within it like a group of soulless ghosts. Further away, the outline of Chang'an City stretched out, dark and menacing, like a colossal beast crouching in the shadows.

Quiet.

A terrifying silence.

Despite the continued noise downstairs, in this secluded space, that noise only served as a backdrop, making the inner turmoil even more palpable.

The golden elixir spun even faster.

The sword intent surged and surged through the meridians, like a trapped wild beast trying to break free.

Those images began to churn in my mind again.

He Zhizhang's aged and worried face.

Those blood-red circles on the map.

"Becoming a female Taoist priest"...

"Sent to the palace"...

"The Flower That Understands Words"...

Yang Yuhuan, dressed in a bright red wedding gown, sat in a bridal sedan chair.

Yang Xiaohuan, wearing a red dress, stands on a street in Chengdu.

The two faces overlapped.

"Li Bai, stop bothering me!"

"Young Master Li..."

"Get out!"

"..."

Footsteps sounded.

The waiter and two other waiters carried up ten wine jars.

The wine jars were made of coarse pottery, each about half a person's height, and covered with red cloth. They lined up the wine jars in a row next to the low table, and then placed several large bowls on top of them.

"Sir, your wine is here. This is our Zuixianlou's strongest 'Heartbreak Wine,' which would knock out an ordinary person after just one bowl, but you..." The waiter wanted to say something more.

"Get out," Li Bai said.

His voice was calm, eerily calm.

The waiter swallowed hard, dared not say another word, and led his men away, gently closing the door behind them.

The room returned to silence.

Only ten jars of wine stood there silently.

Li Bai walked to the low table and sat down cross-legged.

He reached out and slapped open the clay seal on the first wine jar.

A soft "pop" sound.

An extremely strong and pungent smell of alcohol suddenly burst out, instantly filling the entire room. The smell was like a knife, piercing the nasal cavity, the throat, and the lungs.

Heartbreaking burns.

True to its name.

Li Bai picked up the large bowl and scooped up a full bowl.

The wine was cloudy and dark yellow, and as it swished in the bowl, it reflected the red glow of the lanterns outside the window.

Without hesitation, he tilted his head back and drank it all in one gulp.

"Plop—!"

The scalding, spicy liquid, like a line of fire, burned from my throat all the way to my stomach. Wherever it passed, the mucous membranes felt as if they were being burned, bringing a sharp, stinging pain. Immediately afterwards, a violent heat exploded, rushing to every part of my body, to the top of my head.

"ha--!"

He exhaled a hot breath.

Her eyes became even redder.

But this is not enough.

Far from enough.

He didn't want a light buzz, he didn't want to feel lightheaded. He wanted complete numbness, to stop his brain from thinking, to make all those images, those sounds, those heart-wrenching premonitions disappear.

The second bowl.

The third bowl.

The fourth bowl...

He stopped using a bowl to scoop the wine and instead picked up the wine jar and drank it down the throat.

The cloudy liquor trickled down his chin, soaking his clothes. The strong stench of alcohol enveloped him, each breath a burning, pungent odor. His stomach felt like it was on fire, his internal organs churning. His head began to spin, and the scenery before his eyes started to sway and overlap.

it is good.

That's it.

carry on.

The jar of wine was quickly emptied.

He threw away the empty jar and picked up the second one.

Break the mud seal and continue drinking wildly.

The alcohol begins to take effect.

Those clear pains began to blur. Those sharp images began to become hazy. Yang Yuhuan's face, Yang Xiaohuan's face, gradually merged in the drunken eyes, becoming a warm yet sorrowful halo. He Zhizhang's voice, Li Linfu's name, the palace intrigue... these words began to lose their concrete meaning, becoming some noisy, distant background noise.

However, the body at the Golden Core stage has a much higher capacity to metabolize alcohol than ordinary people.

That numbness comes and goes quickly.

Whenever the intoxication subsided, the pain would retaliate with even greater ferocity and clarity, like the tide crashing against a crumbling dam time and time again.

"Not enough...not enough..."

Li Bai muttered to himself, his voice already indistinct.

He picked up the third jar of wine.

This time, he didn't drink it directly.

He held the wine jar, stood up unsteadily, and walked to the window.

A night breeze brushed against my burning face, bringing a touch of coolness. Downstairs, the bustling West Market continued as before, the Hu woman's pipa playing a more urgent tune, the men's cheers rising in waves. In the distance, the night watchman struck his clapper.

"Dry weather—be careful with fire—"

The long, drawn-out shouts drifted in the night breeze.

Li Bai looked down at the crowd of people living a life of debauchery.

Why are they so happy?

Why can I forget my troubles so easily?

Is it because they are ignorant?

Is it because they...resigned themselves to their fate?

"Accept your fate..." he scoffed, his voice hoarse. "I, Li Bai... have lived two lives... and I never accept my fate!"

He raised the wine jar, pointed it out the window, at the dark, somber city of Chang'an that had swallowed his lover, and roared hoarsely:

"But... what good will it do if I don't accept my fate?!"

The sound drifted away in the night wind, instantly swallowed up by the noise downstairs.

No one heard it.

No one responded.

Only the night wind blew coldly.

He slumped down, put down the wine jar, staggered back a few steps, and collapsed onto the couch.

The intoxication surged up again.

This time, it was even more intense.

The scenery before my eyes began to spin. The windows swayed, the lantern light flickered, even my own hands swayed. My stomach churned, my throat tightened, and a strong urge to vomit surged up.

He forcefully suppressed it.

You can't vomit.

If you vomit, the alcohol was wasted, and the pain will return.

He needs to get even more drunk.

So drunk he was unconscious.

So drunk that I couldn't even dream.

He struggled and crawled toward the fourth jar of wine.

My hands were trembling, and it took several attempts to break the clay seal.

The smell of alcohol filled the air once again.

But this time, there seemed to be something else mixed in with the smell of alcohol.

Some... black, viscous, cold stuff.

They sprouted from the deepest part of the heart, slowly climbing along the meridians and blood. They entwined the golden core, eroded the sword intent, and permeated every thought.

That's... an inner demon.

It is the dark side that is bred by extreme pain, powerlessness, anger and obsession, catalyzed by alcohol.

A voice began to resonate in my mind.

Low-pitched, seductive, and full of malice.

"Li Bai... what are you waiting for?"

"You possess the cultivation of the Golden Core stage, you inherit the legacy of the Shu Mountain Sword Immortals, you wield the Azure Lotus Sword... You can kill one person in ten steps, leaving no trace for a thousand miles... Who can stop you?"

"Charge in."

"Break into Prince Shou's mansion and take Yang Yuhuan away."

"Charge into the palace and kill that old bastard Li Longji."

"What history? What world? What common people? None of your business!"

"You've suffered so much in your two lifetimes, wasn't it all for her?"

"She's right there, waiting for you to rescue her."

"Go ahead!"

"Pick up your sword!"

"kill!"

"Kill everyone who stands in our way!"

"Let this city of Chang'an flow with rivers of blood!"

To hell with this history!

The sound grew louder and clearer, like countless steel needles piercing into the sea of ​​consciousness.

Li Bai's eyes turned completely crimson.

That wasn't the red of intoxication, but a red of madness, violence, and murderous intent.

Within his body, the golden core spun wildly, almost breaking free from the dantian's restraints. The Azure Lotus Sword hummed and vibrated within the storage artifact, emitting a cry that yearned to drink blood. An incomparably sharp sword intent uncontrollably overflowed from every pore of his body.

"laugh--!"

An invisible sword aura swept past the low table.

A deep crack silently appeared on the sturdy wooden low table.

"Snap!"

A vase by the window suddenly shattered, scattering shards everywhere.

The temperature in the room suddenly dropped.

It wasn't a physical coldness, but a sharp, murderous chill.

"Sir? Sir, are you alright?" A waiter's cautious voice, tinged with fear, came from outside the door.

The commotion had clearly alerted him.

Li Bai suddenly turned his head, his bloodshot eyes looking at the door.

In that instant, the waiter outside the door seemed to be stared at by some ferocious beast. His hair stood on end, and a chill ran from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. He was so frightened that he retreated repeatedly, almost tumbling down the stairs. He dared not utter another sound and scrambled downstairs.

Inside the room, Li Bai was panting heavily.

The voice of the inner demon continued, growing louder and more alluring.

"Do you see? How fragile and insignificant mortals are."

"You possess power, why don't you use it?"

"Do you intend to just watch helplessly as I die, like in my past life?"

"Get started!"

"The sword is in your hand!"

"The power is within you!"

"kill--!"

"kill--!!"

"kill--!!!"

"ah--!!!"

Li Bai clutched his head and let out a roar of extreme pain.

Reason and inner demons are locked in a fierce battle.

On one hand, there is the calmness of a geological engineer, and on the other hand, there is the compassion of a poet, and the unbearable thought that all living beings might suffer because of him.

On the other hand, there is the pain accumulated over two lifetimes, the anger at the fate of the loved ones, the frustration of having power but nowhere to use it, and the mad desire to destroy and take back everything, born from inner demons.

Alcohol made the battle even more brutal and chaotic.

He couldn't distinguish which voice was his own and which was the voice of his inner demons.

All he knew was pain.

Boundless suffering.

It felt like they wanted to tear him apart.

He suddenly grabbed the fourth jar of wine, tilted his head back, and drank it down.

The liquor poured down his throat, burning his esophagus, but it did nothing to extinguish the fire in his heart; instead, it seemed to add fuel to the flames.

"Bang!"

He smashed the empty wine jar to the ground, shattering it into pieces.

Pottery shards splashed everywhere, and wine spilled across the surface.

He stood up unsteadily and walked toward the fifth jar of wine.

His steps were unsteady, his eyes unfocused, yet the sword intent emanating from him grew increasingly sharp, cutting through the air with a soft hissing sound. The cups and plates on the table began to tremble slightly, emitting a buzzing resonance. The calligraphy and paintings on the wall moved without wind, fluttering and rustling.

Intoxication, pain, inner demons, sword intent...

Everything, mixed together, pushed him to the brink of collapse.

He broke the clay seal on the fifth jar of wine, picked it up, and drank it all down again.

Half of the wine went into his mouth, and the other half spilled onto his chest, soaking through his blue robe, cold and sticky.

He stopped abruptly halfway through his drink.

He stood there, holding the wine jar, lost in thought.

Through his drunken haze, he seemed to see it again.

I saw Yang Yuhuan.

Not what I remember, but... what the future will look like.

She wore a Taoist robe, her black hair tied up with a wooden hairpin, and knelt on a prayer mat in the Taoist temple, silently chanting scriptures before the statues of the Three Pure Ones. Outside the window, towering palace walls blocked out the sky. Her figure was slender and lonely, like the last leaf in the autumn wind.

Then, the scene changes.

She changed into her magnificent palace attire, yet her face remained expressionless, like an exquisite jade sculpture, seated in the opulent palace. Surrounding her were palace maids and eunuchs, music and dance, and delicacies. But her eyes held no light, only a lifeless pool of water.

And then...

Mawei Slope.

White silk.

Her life was cut short.

"No...no...no!!!"

Li Bai roared and slammed the wine jar in his hand against the wall.

"boom--!"

The wine jar shattered, scattering murky wine and pottery shards everywhere, leaving a conspicuous stain on the wall.

He staggered backward and fell to the ground.

My head is splitting with pain.

My stomach is churning.

The voices of his inner demons and the images of pain intertwined, almost bursting his consciousness.

The numbing effect of the alcohol finally reached its peak, and consciousness began to blur, sinking into the abyss of darkness.

He lay prone on the cold floor, his fingers unconsciously digging into the cracks in the ground.

ended……

That's it...

Drunk...

Don't think about anything...

I know nothing...

Just moments before his consciousness was about to completely sink into darkness.

A voice rang out.

It wasn't the voice of an inner demon.

It wasn't the voice I remembered.

It is a real, clear, and intimate voice.

cool.

Like ice springs striking stones.

Like cold jade colliding.

It carries no trace of worldly warmth, yet possesses a chilling quality that penetrates the soul.

"Such a waste of your Golden Core cultivation and the inheritance of a Sword Immortal, if the High Priest of the Western Mausoleum Divine Kingdom knew, he would probably regret giving you the jade talisman."

Li Bai was startled.

The voice forcefully pulled my consciousness back from the brink of collapse.

The effects of the alcohol instantly dissipated by a third.

He suddenly raised his head.

His bloodshot eyes looked in the direction from which the sound came.

window.

Suddenly, a person appeared.

a woman.

She wore a plain white Taoist robe, the fabric of which seemed ordinary, yet under the glow of the lanterns outside the window, it shimmered with a faint, moonlit sheen. The robe was loose, but it couldn't conceal her slender and graceful figure. A thin veil covered her face, as thin as a cicada's wing, obscuring most of her features, revealing only her eyes.

Those eyes...

Li Bai only glanced at it before feeling a chill rise from the bottom of his heart.

Those were not ordinary eyes.

Clear, deep, and cold.

Like a frozen pool that never melts, it reflects no emotions, yet seems to see through all the secrets, struggles, and filth in the deepest recesses of the human heart.

She stood quietly by the window, the night breeze ruffling the hem of her robe and her veil, but unable to dispel the aloof and detached aura emanating from her.

It was as if she wasn't standing on the top floor of a restaurant, but on the summit of a snow-capped mountain, above the clouds.

She looked at Li Bai.

Looking at this man slumped on the ground, reeking of alcohol, with bloodshot eyes, looking utterly disheveled.

There was no pity, no curiosity, no disgust in his eyes.

There is only one kind of pure, cold... scrutiny.