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

Wang Laowu gently pushed open the door, his clothes damp with morning dew. "Young Master Li, it's almost time, the caravan will be here soon." Li Bai stood up, stuffed the last of his dry rations into his robes, and looked out the window. The sky was turning a pale white, the outline of the reeds appearing and disappearing in the morning mist. The rumble of wheels rolling over a dirt road grew closer in the distance. He glanced back at Xiao Lian, who was curled up asleep in the corner of the bed, and gently nudged her awake. "It's time to go." Xiao Lian sat up, rubbing her sleepy eyes, her face still weary, but her eyes were clear. Li Bai handed her a coarse cloth garment: "Change into this." He himself put on an old linen garment that Wang Laowu had prepared, wrapped his hair in a cloth, and covered most of his face. The person in the mirror was no longer the poetic and carefree Li Bai, but more like a weathered porter. Outside the door, the sounds of carriages and horses ceased.

Wang Laowu lifted the curtain, glanced outside, and said in a low voice, "They've arrived, three vegetable trucks. Young Master Li, Miss Xiaolian, I'm sorry to have troubled you."

Three dilapidated oxcarts were parked outside, piled high with bamboo baskets of vegetables and radishes, still smelling of earth. An old driver with a weathered face squatted beside one of the carts, smoking a pipe. When he saw Wang Laowu come out, he simply nodded without saying a word. Wang Laowu walked to the middle cart, lifted a few bamboo baskets, revealing two empty vegetable baskets—lined with dry straw, just enough space for a person to curl up.

"Young Master Li, please take this one." Old Wang pointed to the slightly larger basket on the left. "Miss Xiao Lian, please take the one on the right. I'll cover it with fresh vegetables so it won't be too stuffy. If the guards ask when we leave the city, just say it's offering vegetables to a temple outside the city. The driver has a travel permit."

Li Bai took a deep breath and patted Xiao Lian on the shoulder: "Don't be afraid."

Xiao Lian nodded vigorously and climbed into the vegetable basket first, curling up to lie down. Wang Laowu covered her with a layer of dry grass, then laid out some fresh greens, and finally weighed it down with two bamboo baskets full of radishes. Li Bai also crawled into his own basket, a mixture of earthy and vegetable smells wafting towards him, the rough bamboo slats of the basket digging into his back. The light in front of them was blocked by Wang Laowu layering greens, until only a faint morning light peeked through the gaps.

As darkness fell, Li Bai heard the hushed conversation between Wang Laowu and the driver, followed by the creaking of the oxcart starting up. The cart lurched, the vegetable baskets swaying from side to side with the wheels. Li Bai could feel the dry hay rubbing against him, smell the fresh scent of vegetables mixed with the stench of cow dung, and hear the occasional crack of the driver's whip and the ox's heavy breathing.

The Golden Gate in the west of Chang'an City opened precisely at 3:45 AM.

As the caravan slowly approached the city gate, Li Bai peeked through the gaps in the vegetable baskets and saw that it was already broad daylight outside. Below the gate, two squads of armored guards were conducting routine checks. One guard lazily lifted the vegetable basket from the first cart, poked it with his halberd, and then waved for it to pass. When it came to the second cart, Li Bai's, guards seemed to give it a few more glances.

"Where are they being shipped to?" a rough, hoarse voice asked.

"Sir, these are vegetables offered by the Great Ci'en Temple outside the city," the driver said with a fawning smile. "The temple is holding a Buddhist ceremony today and needs fresh vegetables."

"Lift it up and take a look."

A few handfuls of vegetables were lifted from the basket, letting in a blinding beam of light. Li Bai held his breath, burying his face in the hay, only the back of his head showing. He could feel the guard's gaze sweeping over the basket, lingering for a moment. Time seemed to freeze, each breath becoming endless. Xiao Lian must have undergone the same check, but there were no gasps or unusual sounds from her.

"Alright, let's go." The guard's voice finally rang out.

The greens were put back on, and the light was blocked again. The oxcart started moving again, its wheels rolling dully over the bluestone slabs of the city gate. Li Bai could hear the footsteps of the city gate guards fading into the distance, the noise of other pedestrians and carriages, and the earthy scent of the fields outside the city.

They left the city.

The caravan traveled along the official road for about half an hour, gradually slowing down. The driver called out, and the oxcart stopped beside a secluded grove of trees by the roadside. Wang Laowu's voice rang out from outside: "Young Master Li, you may come out now."

The vegetables on the basket were lifted, letting in a rush of fresh air. Li Bai climbed out of the basket and stretched his stiff limbs. Morning light filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows in the woods. Xiao Lian also emerged from another basket, her face pale, but her eyes remained resolute.

Wang Laowu pointed into the depths of the woods: "The people Miss Duan arranged are waiting over there. They will take you to the next safe house. I'll leave you here."

Li Bai cupped his hands in thanks: "Brother Wang, I will forever remember your life-saving grace."

Wang Laowu waved his hands repeatedly: "Young Master Li, you flatter me. Miss Duan has been kind to my family, this is nothing. But..." He paused, lowered his voice, "Young Master Li, news of last night has spread. This morning I went into the city to investigate and heard that 'Ghost Blade' Liu Meng is seriously injured and unconscious. The Li family is furious and has ordered a city-wide search. Please be careful."

Li Bai felt a chill run down his spine and nodded.

After bidding farewell to Wang Laowu, Li Bai and Xiao Lian followed a man in blue robes who had been waiting in the woods. They walked along a forest path for about half an hour until they arrived at a secluded mountain hollow. In the hollow was a simple thatched hut with a clear spring behind it, surrounded by wild bamboo.

The man in blue stopped outside the house. "Young Master Li, it's very safe here. There are no houses within five miles. There's dry food and water inside. Please rest. I'll keep watch nearby. Just call if you need anything." With that, he bowed and retreated, quickly disappearing into the depths of the bamboo forest.

Although the thatched hut was simple, it was very clean. There was a wooden bed, a table, two chairs, and some firewood piled in the corner. On the table was an oil lamp, a pot of water, and a few coarse flatbreads. Li Bai told Xiao Lian to rest first, and then went to sit down at the table.

Outside the window, the sun was high in the sky, and the birdsong in the woods was crisp and melodious. But Li Bai's heart was heavy. He took out the letter, stained with the marks of danger, from his pocket—the paper was wrinkled, and the edges were still stained with last night's blood and dirt. He carefully laid the letter flat on the table, the glow of the oil lamp illuminating the delicate handwriting.

Yang Yuhuan's courtesy name.

Li Bai's fingers gently traced the letter paper, as if he could feel the warmth and tremor of the writer's hand as he put pen to paper. The letter began without a salutation, with only one line:

"Seeing this letter is like seeing you in person."

The handwriting was neat, but the ink had smudged at the last stroke of the character "晤" (wù), as if it had been wet with tears. Li Bai could imagine that fifteen-year-old girl, on a certain night in the deep palace, secretly lighting a lamp, spreading out the letter paper, but not knowing how to begin writing.

He continued reading.

"More than three months have passed since we parted. Chang'an is a vast city with high palace walls, so high that one cannot see the mountains of Shu or hear the waters of the Jinjiang River. Every morning when I rise to do my hair and look in the mirror, I find the person in the mirror to be quite unfamiliar—is she still the Yang Yuhuan who picked mulberry leaves on the outskirts of Chengdu? Or has she become the 'Yang family woman' that others talk about, a stepping stone for her family's advancement, a canary in this deep palace cage?"

The helplessness and sorrow conveyed between the lines pierced Li Bai's heart like fine needles. He seemed to see Yang Guifei sitting by the window, looking at the square sky outside, holding a pen in her hand, tears silently streaming down her face.

"The elders in the clan said that this was an immense blessing, a fortune accumulated by the Yang family over generations. They said that entering the palace meant becoming a person of high status, enjoying endless wealth and glory. But they didn't know that Yu Huan would rather not have this wealth and glory, and would rather still be in that small courtyard in Shu, picking mulberry leaves in spring, enjoying the cool in summer, picking fruit in autumn, and sitting around the stove in winter. Even if it was poor, even if it was ordinary, at least... at least she was free."

The letter paper was even more crumpled here, the ink had smudged in large patches, making the words almost illegible. Li Bai could imagine the scene of her tears breaking free as she wrote this, dripping onto the letter. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then continued reading.

"That day at the Xingqing Palace banquet, I saw you present a poem. You stood in the hall, dressed in white, as white as snow, and recited it aloud, astonishing everyone present. I sat behind the curtain, watching your figure through the beaded veil, my heart filled with both joy and sorrow. I was joyful because your talent had finally been appreciated by the Emperor, and you would surely become famous throughout the world one day; I was sorrowful because... I was sorrowful because I knew that from that day on, there would be a barrier between us, separated by the nine layers of palace, by the etiquette between ruler and subject, and by an insurmountable chasm."

Li Bai's fingers trembled slightly.

He remembered that banquet at Xingqing Palace. Emperor Xuanzong ordered him to compose a poem on the spot, and he wrote three poems in the "Qingping Tune." While writing, he didn't know that Yang Yuhuan was behind the curtain. He simply wrote them in one go, driven by his yearning for beauty and praise for the prosperous era. Now, thinking back, every word and line of those three poems seemed to be written for her.

"Clouds remind me of her clothes, flowers of her face; the spring breeze caresses the balustrade, the dew is heavy."

It turned out she had heard it.

"If we don't meet on the summit of Mount Qunyu, we'll meet under the moon on the Jade Terrace."

She understood.

The letter continues:

"You may not know, but after the banquet that day, Yu Huan secretly sent a maid to find you, hoping to say a few words to you. But the maid returned saying that you had already passed out drunk and had been helped to rest by He Jian. Yu Huan waited in the palace until late at night, but in the end, you did not come. Later, she heard that you left Chang'an the next day to travel around the world. Yu Huan felt a sense of loss, but she was also secretly relieved—relieved that you had left, gone far away, away from this place of trouble, away from this cannibalistic palace."

"But you've come back."

"Yu Huan did not know why the Emperor had returned, but she felt uneasy. There were many eyes and ears in the palace, and even though Yu Huan was deep in the palace, she had heard some rumors. Some said that the Emperor's movements in Chang'an were mysterious, some said that the Emperor had close ties with certain court officials, and some even said... that the Emperor had come for Yu Huan."

At this point, the handwriting suddenly became hurried and the strokes became messy:

"If that is truly the case, I beg you, my lord, not to risk your life for me any longer! This palace is like a tiger's den; once you enter, you can never leave. His Majesty still favors me... and although I am not free here, at least I have no worries about food and clothing, and my life is safe. But if you offend the Emperor and break the law because of me, I will be condemned to death!"

"Forget about Yang Guifei."

"Let's just consider that encounter on the outskirts of Chengdu as a dream. Let's just consider that poem 'Qingping Diao' as being written only for this prosperous age, for this land, for all the beautiful things in the world—but not for Yang Guifei."

"You possess extraordinary talent; you should repay your friends with poetry and wine, and depict the landscape with your pen and sword. Do not ruin your future and your life for a woman in the inner palace."

"I, Yu Huan, send my best wishes to you from afar."

The main body of the letter ends here.

But below that are a few lines of smaller print, which are copied lines of poetry:

"My hair just covered my forehead, and I played with flowers in front of the gate."

Lang rides a bamboo horse to get around the bed to get green plums.

They lived together in Changgan Lane, and the two children had no suspicions of each other.

At fourteen, she became a wife, yet her face remained shy and unsmiling.

I bow my head to the dark wall, and no matter how many times I call out, I do not respond.

At fifteen, I finally smiled and wished to be among the dust and ashes of the world.

"I will always hold fast to my faith in the pillar, and never climb the Waiting-for-Husband Terrace..."

This is "Changgan Xing," written by Li Bai during his early travels to Jinling. He recalled that when he first met Yang Yuhuan on the outskirts of Chengdu, she blushed and said that she loved the lines "My love rode a bamboo horse, playing with green plums around the bed" from this poem the most. She said that although she didn't have a childhood sweetheart, she always felt that the poem described the most beautiful emotions in the world.

She copied the entire poem word for word.

At the end of the poem, she added a line:

"This love can only be cherished in memory, for at the time it was already a regret."

The ink is fresh; it must have been written last. The handwriting is light, the strokes somewhat limp, as if all the strength had been used to write this final line. This is not a poem by Li Bai, but a line by Li Shangyin from a later era. Yet, written by Yang Guifei, it feels like a dull knife, slowly cutting open Li Bai's heart.

This love can only be cherished in memory.

But at the time, it was all in vain.

She had known all along that this relationship was destined to become nothing more than a memory. She had understood all along that from the moment she stepped into Chang'an, from the moment she was chosen to enter the palace, it was already too late.

Li Bai remained silent for a long time.

The glow of the oil lamp danced on the letter paper, casting the delicate handwriting on and off. The thatched hut was quiet; the only sounds were the rustling of bamboo leaves in the wind outside the window, the murmuring of a mountain spring in the distance, and the heavy thumping of one's own heart.

My heart is breaking.

But more than anything, it was a resolute determination.

He understood Yu Huan's feelings. She wasn't heartless, nor did she crave wealth and status, nor had she forgotten their past love. She was simply trapped by circumstances, bound by her family, by social norms, and by the high walls of the palace. In her letter, she pleaded with him to forget her and live a good life—but this only proved that she couldn't forget him.

She copied down "Changgan Xing" and wrote "This love can only be cherished in memory," all to tell him: I remember, I remember everything. I remember our meeting on the outskirts of Chengdu, I remember the poem you gave me, I remember those brief but beautiful times. But I have no choice; I can only bury all of this in my heart and let it become a memory.

The more she acted this way, the less Li Bai could give up.

If she were truly heartless, truly vain, truly content to be a caged bird, then perhaps he would give up and turn away. But she wasn't. She was terrified in the deep palace, she wept in her letters, she begged him to forget her—all of this showed that she needed him.

Someone needs to rescue her from this cage.

She needs someone to tell her: You don't have to sacrifice for your family, you don't have to be confined to the palace for the sake of so-called "blessings". You can have your own choices and live the life you want.

Li Bai carefully folded the letter, placed it back in his bosom, and pressed it against his heart. The letter still carried his warmth, as if in sync with his heartbeat. He stood up, walked to the window, and opened it. The afternoon sun flooded in, illuminating the dust swirling in the thatched hut. In the distance, the green mountains were like ink paintings, and white clouds drifted lazily by.

His gaze hardened.

However, just as he was about to turn away, a detail from the letter suddenly came to mind—it was a passage in the middle of the letter where Yang Yuhuan described her journey to the palace:

"Among the eunuchs who escorted Yu Huan to the capital, there was a taciturn attendant, about thirty years old, with an ordinary face but cold eyes. He rarely spoke and always followed at the back of the procession, but Yu Huan always felt that his gaze often fell on her, making her feel inexplicably uneasy. On the day she entered the palace, Yu Huan turned around and looked at him, and her eyes met his eyes—those eyes did not seem like those of a living person, but rather like...like a poisoned sword."

A taciturn follower.

His eyes were cold.

Like a sword coated with poison.

Li Bai's heart sank suddenly.

Last night in the reeds, the black-clad swordsman who had been hiding in the shadows until the very end—the tall, thin man wielding the sword, the companion of Sun Wuchang, the owner of the Judge's Pen—had this look in his eyes.

Cold, deathly still, devoid of any warmth of the living.

Like a sword coated with poison.

Is it...

Li Bai pressed his hand against the window frame, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. Could the attendant who escorted Yang Yuhuan to the capital be the black-clad swordsman from last night? Had Li Linfu been watching Yang Yuhuan all along, planting spies around her? Was all of this a setup from the very beginning?

Outside the window, the wind rustles through the bamboo grove, causing the bamboo leaves to undulate like waves. Sunlight filters through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The distant mountain spring still flows with its clear, melodious sound, and the birdsong remains as pleasant as ever.

But Li Bai knew that beneath the calm surface of the mountains and forests, undercurrents were surging.