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

Duan Qiniang noticed the change in his aura; the somber mood that enveloped him seemed to have been pierced by something harder. Although she didn't understand why, she felt a little relieved, assuming that the lively atmosphere of the marketplace had dispelled some of her sorrow.

"Li Lang, there's a tavern run by a foreigner up ahead. Their wine is very rich and flavorful. Why don't we go and have a seat?" she suggested, hoping to help him relax a bit more.

Li Bai shook his head, his gaze sweeping across the bustling market before finally settling on the faintly visible, majestic, and continuous outline of the distant mountains at the far end of the western market.

"No, Seventh Sister." His voice was much calmer, yet it carried a weighty tone that Duan Seventh Sister had never heard before. "Let's go back. I... am a little tired."

There are also some things that I need to think about carefully.

About poetry, about wine, about this era.

About the sword.

***

It was already afternoon when I returned to "Tingxue Xiaozhu" in Pingkangfang. Sunlight streamed through the carved wooden windows, casting dappled shadows on the blue brick floor. A faint scent of incense and ink mingled with the occasional sounds of string and wind instruments drifting in from outside.

Duan Qiniang personally poured Li Bai a cup of warm tea, with ginger slices and salt added, a popular way to drink it at the time. She gently pushed the white porcelain teacup in front of him, watching his slightly trembling fingers as he picked it up.

"Li Lang," she began cautiously, "there is a small gathering tomorrow afternoon at the residence of Imperial Censor Cui in Chongren Ward, east of the city. Imperial Censor Cui is fond of poetry and literature and often invites scholars to engage in refined conversation and compose poems. I... have some dealings with the women of the Cui family and have received two invitations."

Li Bai raised his eyes, the teacup resting at his lips. The steam from the tea enveloped his features.

"A poetry gathering?" he asked.

"Indeed." Duan Qiniang nodded, her eyes filled with anticipation. "Although Imperial Censor Cui's official position is not prominent, he has a wide circle of friends and enjoys a high reputation among scholars. His garden is said to be modeled after the landscapes of Jiangnan, with extremely beautiful scenery. Li Lang, you are very talented, and you should go to such an occasion to let more people see your talent."

Exceptionally talented?

Li Bai smiled bitterly to himself. All he possessed were vague memories of the brilliant poems behind the name "Li Bai," and the soul of a modern geological engineer. He had never truly experienced the "poetic talent" that belonged to this body.

But Duan Qiniang is right. He needs fame, connections, and the capital to establish himself in this era. Poetry is Li Bai's sharpest weapon in this era, and also the only weapon he might currently possess.

"Okay." He put down his teacup, the porcelain clinking lightly against the wooden table. "I'll go."

Duan Qiniang's face blossomed into a bright smile, like spring flowers in full bloom: "Then I will prepare clothes for you early tomorrow. Li Lang, your previous robes... are a bit old, you can't lose face tomorrow."

***

The following day, at the Cui residence in Chongrenfang.

In stark contrast to the bustling West Market, Chongren Ward was mostly comprised of officials' residences, with towering walls and clean, quiet streets. The Cui residence's lintel was unassuming, with gleaming brass rings on the black lacquered gate and two silent stone lions crouching at the entrance.

Today, Duan Qiniang wore a light purple high-waisted ruqun (a type of traditional Chinese dress), with a moon-white half-sleeved outer garment. Her hair was neatly styled and adorned with only a simple jade hairpin, making her appear dignified yet graceful. Beside her, Li Bai had changed into a brand-new light blue round-necked, narrow-sleeved robe, tied at the waist with a leather belt, and black leather boots. The clothes had been hastily made overnight by a tailor Duan Qiniang knew. Although the materials weren't top-grade, the fit was perfect, accentuating his tall and upright figure, and making his refined and confident air even more apparent.

After presenting the invitation, the doorman respectfully led the two into the mansion.

Passing through a screen wall, the view suddenly opened up. Just as Duan Qiniang had said, the back garden of the Cui residence was ingeniously designed, with flowing water forming a winding pond, stacked rocks creating artificial hills, and pavilions and towers arranged in a harmonious and orderly manner. Although located in the city of Chang'an where land was extremely valuable, it created a touch of the graceful and elegant atmosphere of a Jiangnan garden. It was springtime, and the peach and plum blossoms in the garden were just beginning to bloom, the willow branches were newly green, and the air was filled with the fragrance of flowers and the moist scent of earth.

Inside the "Floating Wine Cup Pavilion" by the winding pond, more than ten people were already sitting or standing. Most were scholars in their twenties or thirties, while a few were older, wearing turbans and casual clothes, exuding a composed demeanor. Several low tables were set up in the pavilion, on which were placed seasonal fruits, exquisite pastries, and wine pots and cups. Several maids in green robes stood at attention to the side.

As soon as Duan Qiniang and Li Bai appeared, they attracted several glances. Duan Qiniang was quite famous in Pingkangfang, and many people knew her. As for Li Bai, this handsome young man with a new face, he attracted even more scrutiny and whispered discussions.

A middle-aged man with a slender face and a long beard, dressed in an ochre-colored round-necked robe, approached to greet them. This was none other than the host, Imperial Censor Cui. He first gave a slight nod to Duan Qiniang: "Master Duan has arrived." His gaze then fell on Li Bai, scrutinizing him. "And this is…?"

"Master Cui," Duan Qiniang said with a curtsy, her voice clear and melodious, "this is Li Taibai of Shu, Li Langjun. Taibai's poetic talent is quick and agile, and I have always admired him. Today, I have specially brought him here to meet with you gentlemen."

"Oh? Li Bai of Shu?" Imperial Censor Cui stroked his beard, a hint of interest flashing in his eyes. "Is that the Li Bai who was famous for his poetry in Shu, the one who wrote 'Visiting the Taoist Priest of Mount Dai but Not Finding Him'?"

Li Bai felt a slight chill. "Visiting the Taoist Priest of Mount Dai, but Not Finding Him?" He quickly searched his memory; this seemed to be a work from his youth. He composed himself, cupped his hands, and said, "I dare not accept the title of 'Poet of Fame.' My humble work is unworthy of your acclaim. I am but a few clumsy pieces, which may be laughable. This junior, Li Bai, greets Master Cui."

His attitude was neither servile nor arrogant, and his demeanor was measured. Imperial Censor Cui nodded: "Since you're here, you're a guest. Please take a seat."

The seats in the pavilion were arranged roughly according to status and familiarity. Li Bai and Duan Qiniang were led to a seat near the edge of the pavilion, with a good view but not in the center. As soon as they sat down, Li Bai felt several gazes sweep over him, seemingly casually, with curiosity and a hint of barely perceptible disdain.

The poetry gathering soon began. It consisted of nothing more than appreciating the scenery, drinking wine, and composing impromptu poems. Initially, several scholars who were acquainted with Imperial Censor Cui or had some reputation arrived first. Some wrote about willows in spring, some praised peach blossoms, and some lamented the passing of time. Their verses were either well-structured or exquisite, drawing waves of agreement and commentary. After a few rounds of drinks, the atmosphere gradually warmed up.

A young scholar, with a fair complexion and bright eyes, sitting to the left of Imperial Censor Cui, suddenly turned his gaze to Li Bai and said with a smile, "I just heard Master Duan praise Brother Li's poetic talent, calling him 'quick-witted.' Today, with the bright spring sunshine and all the distinguished guests gathered here, Brother Li, having traveled a long way from Sichuan, must surely possess many brilliant ideas. Why not compose a poem as well, and broaden our horizons?"

The pavilion fell silent instantly. Many eyes turned to Li Bai.

Duan Qiniang's hands, resting on her lap, tightened slightly. She recognized the man; his name was Wang Chang, from a collateral branch of the Taiyuan Wang clan. He was mediocre at poetry, but he loved to make things difficult for newcomers at poetry gatherings to show off.

Li Bai could feel the pressure instantly focusing on him. He picked up the wine cup in front of him, the amber liquid swirling slightly. The aroma of the wine mingled with the fragrance of flowers drifting from outside the pavilion, filling his nostrils. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Nervous? Yes. But more than that, there's... a strange sense of anticipation.

When he opened his eyes again, his gaze had become calm. He put down his wine glass, stood up, walked to the pavilion, and looked at the scenery in the garden.

The artificial hills are rugged, and the streams meander gently. A pear tree in full bloom, its blossoms like snow, is in full bloom. In the distance, the outline of Chang'an city is faintly visible, appearing grand and silent under the pale golden light of spring.

Something belonging to "Li Bai" began to awaken deep within his soul in this gaze. It wasn't specific verses, but a magnificent spirit, a breadth of vision encompassing mountains and rivers, and a sensitivity to nature and time.

He spoke slowly, his voice not loud, yet clearly reaching everyone's ears:

"I once heard of the cuckoo in Shu, and now I see azaleas in Xuancheng."

The opening sentence is simple, pointing out the region and the season. Everyone nodded slightly, still anticipating what would follow.

Li Bai paused, his gaze sweeping past the pear blossoms and looking towards the distant sky, as if piercing through time and space:

"One cry, one heartbreak; three spring months, three months, I remember Sanba."

As soon as the second line was uttered, several soft gasps echoed in the pavilion. The use of reduplication is ingenious and natural; "one cry, one return" and "three springs, three months" layer upon layer, building up the poignant cry of the cuckoo and the sorrow of homesickness in springtime, instantly filling the imagery and emotion with vividness. Heartbreaking thoughts leap off the page.

But that wasn't all. Li Bai turned around, facing the crowd in the pavilion, his eyes clear and bright, his tone suddenly rising, carrying a sense of open-mindedness and untamed spirit that transcended a thousand years:

"If only the host can make the guest drunk, then he will not know where his hometown is!"

The last two lines, like a sudden, unexpected peak, sweep away the melancholy of the preceding lines, transforming it into a bold and unrestrained spirit. As long as the host is hospitable, the wine is plentiful, and one is content in a state of blissful intoxication, that is the place of peace of mind; why cling to one's hometown or a foreign land?

The poem, though only four lines long, flows naturally from beginning to end. The emotions shift from poignant homesickness to carefree optimism, with a clever transition and a broad artistic conception. It not only fits the scene of the poetry gathering and banquet but also subtly expresses the feelings of a traveler far from home, and reveals a transcendent spirit.

The pavilion was completely silent.

Only the soft sound of the wind blowing through the pear trees, the petals falling gently, and the murmuring of the flowing water in the distant pond could be heard.

Imperial Censor Cui was the first to react, slapping his thigh in amazement: "Excellent! What a brilliant line, 'If only the host can make the guest drunk, then he will not know where his hometown is!' This line is broad-minded and insightful, reminiscent of the famous scholars of the Wei and Jin dynasties! Li Bai, indeed, lives up to his reputation!"

His cheer seemed to break the silence. Exclamations and murmurs immediately filled the air.

"The opening lines are simple, the following lines are poignant, yet the transition and conclusion are so bold and unrestrained—truly a masterpiece of craftsmanship!"

"The use of reduplication is brilliant! 'One cry, one heartbreak, one excruciating pain'—it's as if it's right beside my ear!"

"The last two lines are the finishing touch, transforming sorrow into magnanimity; only someone with a broad mind could do that!"

"Brother Li is truly talented! I admire him greatly!"

Duan Qiniang's heart finally settled. Looking at the man in the pavilion, dressed in a simple blue robe, receiving the admiring gazes of the crowd, her eyes shone brighter than the most beautiful flower in the garden. She quietly clenched the silk handkerchief in her sleeve, her fingertips slightly burning.

Wang Chang's face was somewhat stiff. He forced a smile and said a few words of flattery, but a shadowy look flashed deep in his eyes.

At the ensuing poetry gathering, Li Bai naturally became the focus. Imperial Censor Cui personally invited him to sit nearby, frequently urging him to drink and inquiring about the local customs and his educational experiences in Sichuan. Relying on his knowledge from his previous life and quick wit, Li Bai responded appropriately, occasionally discussing the mountains and rivers, and even offering some insights that surprised Imperial Censor Cui, further solidifying his reputation as "well-traveled and knowledgeable."

As the poetry gathering drew to a close, Imperial Censor Cui surprisingly ordered two bolts of fine silk and ten strings of Kaiyuan Tongbao coins to be brought as a "reward" for Li Bai's poems. This was considered an extremely generous gesture among literary circles at the time.

"Li Bai's poetic talent is worthy of this sentiment," Imperial Censor Cui stroked his beard and smiled. "If you have any new works in the future, I hope you will not hesitate to offer your guidance. The Cui residence in Chongren Ward welcomes Mr. Li to visit at any time."

Li Bai expressed his sincere gratitude. This financial assistance was undoubtedly a timely help for him.

As the sun set, the poetry gathering came to an end. People left in twos and threes.

Li Bai and Duan Qiniang were the last to arrive. Just as they exited the garden gate and were about to board the carriage arranged by Duan Qiniang, a voice came from behind them:

"Brother Li, please wait."

Looking back, he saw a scholar who was about twenty-five or twenty-six years old. He was handsome, well-dressed, and had a perfectly appropriate smile on his face. He was the one who had been sitting next to Wang Chang in the pavilion earlier and had rarely spoken.

"My name is Zhang Ji." The visitor bowed, his attitude humble. "Today, I have heard of Brother Li's excellent work, which is like drinking fine wine, leaving a lingering aftertaste. Brother Li's poetic talent is truly admirable."

"Brother Zhang, you flatter me," Li Bai returned the greeting, but a hint of wariness crept into his heart. Zhang Ji's smile was impeccable, but his eyes always held a subtle, appraising quality that made people uncomfortable.

"It's by no means an overstatement," Zhang Ji shook his head, his tone sincere. "Especially that line, 'I know not where my hometown is,' it perfectly expresses the feelings of those of us who travel for study and officialdom. Brother Li, are you new to Chang'an?"

"Exactly."

"No wonder." Zhang Ji nodded, then, as if remembering something, lowered his voice, "Brother Li, you come from Sichuan. Have you heard of a recent tale of virtue from Sichuan?"

"Oh? I'd like to hear more about it."

"I've heard that in Chengdu, Sichuan," Zhang Ji's gaze seemed to casually sweep over Li Bai's face, his tone carrying a hint of idle chatter, "a stunningly beautiful young woman has recently appeared, surnamed Yang, raised in the household of her uncle, Yang Xuangui. It's said that her beauty and charm are unparalleled in Sichuan, and she's also proficient in all the arts—music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. What a pity..."

He paused, then sighed, "Such a beauty will likely soon be selected for the palace. Once chosen, she will be confined to the inner palace, and outsiders will rarely see her again. It truly makes me feel pity for her."

Chengdu, the capital of Sichuan.

A stunningly beautiful girl.

His surname is Yang.

Selection within the palace.

These words, like cold needles, pierced Li Bai's ears unexpectedly, and then plunged deep into his heart.

The color drained from his face at a visible speed in the afterglow of the setting sun.

The knuckles of the hand holding the silk wrapping suddenly turned white.

Yang... Yuhuan?