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

By the time the sky was fully bright, Li Bai and Wu Zhinan had finished packing and left the mountain inn.

The gate towers of Jianmen Pass appeared and disappeared in the morning mist, like a giant beast crouching at the entrance of the canyon. The walls, made of rammed earth and brick, were weathered and mottled, yet still majestic. The gates were wide open, guarded by soldiers who checked the documents of passing travelers. When it was Li Bai's turn, the young soldier took the document he handed over, examined it carefully in the morning light, and then looked him up and down—his dark blue coarse cloth short trousers were faded and worn at the edges, and his face under his straw hat looked slightly tired, but his eyes were clear.

"What are you going to Chengdu for?" the soldier asked routinely.

"Visiting a friend," Li Bai said calmly.

The soldier nodded, handed the document back, and waved for them to leave.

As Li Bai passed through the deep, dark city gate, he felt a strange sense of disorientation. The cave was dimly lit, the air damp and chilly, and his footsteps echoed on the stone walls. When he emerged from the other end, the view suddenly opened up before him—

We've arrived in Shu (Sichuan).

In stark contrast to the rugged desolation of the northern foothills of the Qinling Mountains, a vast, gently sloping plain stretched before us. The morning mist had not yet dissipated, shrouding the land like a thin veil. In the distance, fields crisscrossed like a giant, verdant chessboard. The rice seedlings in the paddy fields had just been planted, their tender green gleaming in the morning light. Further still, the white walls and black tiles of villages appeared and disappeared in the mist, wisps of smoke rising straight into the windless morning sky.

The air was humid, carrying the earthy smell of soil, the scent of grass, and the faint fragrance of osmanthus blossoms drifting from afar—at this time of year, the osmanthus flowers in Sichuan were still in bloom.

Wu Zhinan took a deep breath, a look of rapture on his face: "What a wonderful place! No wonder it's called the Land of Abundance!"

Li Bai did not speak. He simply stood there, gazing at the land before him.

In his past life, he lived here for over twenty years. From university to work, every street, every bridge, and every scent of Chengdu in every season was etched into his memory. But now, the scene before him was both familiar and strange—no skyscrapers, no bustling traffic, only endless farmland, low-lying villages, and winding dirt roads.

But the moist air, carrying the fragrance of osmanthus, is exactly the same as it was more than a thousand years later.

His heart skipped a beat in his chest.

"Let's go," he said softly, taking the first step.

***

The official road became much flatter and wider after entering Sichuan. The road surface was paved with gravel, and tall alder trees were planted on both sides, their canopies intertwining overhead to form a green corridor. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the branches and leaves, casting dappled, shimmering spots of light on the ground.

The villages along the way were noticeably more densely packed than those in Guanzhong. The houses were mostly bamboo and wood structures, with white walls, black tiles, and upturned eaves—a typical Sichuan style. There were often ponds at the village entrances, with willow trees planted along the banks, their branches drooping to the water's surface and swaying gently in the breeze. Several white geese floated on the water, leisurely paddling and honking.

The streets were bustling with people. There were peddlers carrying loads on shoulder poles, with bamboo boxes hanging from both ends, creaking as they walked; there were farmers driving oxcarts, with copper bells hanging from the necks of the oxen, jingling and clanging; and there were groups of two or three women carrying bamboo baskets to the market, the baskets filled with fresh vegetables and eggs, covered with blue cloth.

Wu Zhinan was in high spirits, occasionally stopping passersby for a chat. The Shu dialect was soft and melodious, unlike the strong accent of Guanzhong, and Li Bai could understand most of it—after all, he had lived here for many years in his previous life. From the casual conversations of the passersby, he learned that it was still two days' journey to Chengdu, and Mianzhou was not far ahead, where he could rest.

Around noon, the two stopped to rest at a roadside tea stall.

The tea stall was set up under several large banyan trees, their canopies providing ample shade. A few rough wooden tables and stools sat on the floor, with coarse pottery teacups on them. The stall owner was an elderly man in his fifties, with dark skin and a face full of wrinkles, but a simple, honest smile.

"Would you two like a bowl of tea?" the old man greeted them in the Sichuan dialect.

"Two bowls," Wu Zhinan replied, sitting down on the wooden stool and letting out a long sigh. "The roads in Sichuan are quite comfortable to walk on."

Li Bai also sat down, took off his bamboo hat and placed it on the table. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and he raised his hand to wipe it away, his palm damp.

The old man brought over two bowls of tea. The tea was brownish, steaming, and the rims of the bowls were chipped. Li Bai picked up a bowl, blew on it, and carefully sipped. The tea tasted bitter, but had a faint sweet aftertaste; it was a common coarse tea in Sichuan.

"Old man, I have a question for you." Li Bai put down his teacup and asked in as natural a tone as possible, "In Chengdu, is there a family surnamed Yang? And whose head of household is named Yang Xuangui?"

The old man, who was wiping another table, stopped what he was doing upon hearing this and turned around: "Yang Xuangui? Are you referring to... that Military Advisor Yang who works in the Shu Prefecture government?"

Li Bai's heart skipped a beat: "Exactly."

"Oh, I know, I know." The old man nodded, draped the rag over his shoulder, walked over and sat down on the stool next to him. "Yang Canjun's home is in Chengdu, by the Huanhua Stream. The house isn't big, but it's quite elegantly decorated. He has an older brother who is an official in Luoyang, and a younger brother... what was his name again, Yang Xuanjiao, who is a military advisor in Henan Prefecture."

This information matches Li Bai's memory—Yang Yuhuan's father, Yang Xuanzhen, died early, and she was raised by her uncle, Yang Xuangui, from a young age.

"Is there anyone... special in Yang Canjun's household?" Li Bai asked cautiously.

The old man thought for a moment: "A special person? He has a niece who is quite famous."

Li Bai's fingers tightened unconsciously, gripping the rough edge of the teacup.

"That girl's name was Yuhuan," the old man continued, a look of reminiscence on his face. "I saw her once last spring when I was delivering vegetables to the Yang family. She was only fourteen years old then, I think. She came out of the courtyard carrying a pipa. Oh my, she looked like she stepped out of a painting. Her skin was as white as a freshly peeled egg, her eyes were big and bright, and her hair was jet black. Her voice was also very pleasant, soft and sweet."

Wu Zhinan became interested: "So beautiful?"

"More than just pretty." The old man lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret, "I heard that the girl is not only beautiful, but also incredibly intelligent. She's proficient in all the arts, especially the pipa—she's absolutely amazing. Last year on the Double Ninth Festival, several wealthy families in Chengdu held a poetry gathering and invited her to play a piece. Everyone in the audience was mesmerized."

Li Bai listened quietly, the steam rising from the teacup blurring his vision.

"However," the old man changed the subject and sighed, "such a good girl, I'm afraid we won't be able to keep her."

"What do you mean?" Wu Zhinan asked.

"A few days ago, I heard from Old Wang, who delivers vegetables, that a few officials came to the Yang residence. Judging from their attire, they seemed to be from Chang'an. They stayed at the residence for most of the day, and when they left, Military Advisor Yang personally saw them off at the door, with a very respectful attitude. Old Wang secretly inquired and found out that they were people from the palace who came to see Miss Yang."

The tea stall suddenly fell silent.

In the distance came the sound of oxcart wheels and peddler's cries, but these sounds seemed muffled, as if separated by a layer of water. Li Bai felt his throat dry. He picked up his teacup and took another sip. The tea had gone cold, and a bitter taste spread across his tongue.

"The palace..." Wu Zhinan murmured, "Could it be a talent show?"

The old man shook his head: "I don't know about that. But with Miss Yang's looks and talent, it wouldn't be surprising if she were chosen to enter the palace. It's just a pity that such a beautiful girl would be wasted in that deep palace..."

He didn't say anything more, but his meaning was already quite clear.

Li Bai put down his teacup, the bottom of which tapped softly on the wooden table. He stood up, took a few copper coins from his satchel, and placed them on the table: "Thank you, sir."

"You're too kind, sir." The old man put away the copper coins and added, "If you're going to Chengdu to find Military Advisor Yang, you'd better hurry. I heard that Miss Yang might be going to Chang'an next month."

next month.

Li Bai's heart felt as if it were being gripped tightly by an invisible hand.

***

Li Bai walked even faster on the rest of the journey.

Wu Zhinan was able to keep up at first, but gradually struggled and asked breathlessly, "Brother Li, why are you walking so fast? It's not like you're in a hurry to be reborn."

Li Bai did not answer. He just kept walking, one step after another, his feet making a monotonous rustling sound on the gravel path. Sweat soaked his back, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to his skin. But he did not stop.

As evening fell, the two arrived in Mianzhou City.

Mianzhou City was small with low walls, but it was quite prosperous. Shops lined both sides of the street, their wine flags fluttering in the breeze. It was evening, and the streets were bustling with people, the sounds of vendors hawking their wares, haggling over prices, and children's laughter mingling together, creating a lively and festive atmosphere.

The two found an inn to stay in. The inn was located on the street, and there was a guest room on the second floor with a view of the street scene. Li Bai stood by the window, gazing at the bustling crowd below, his eyes vacant.

Wu Zhinan washed his face and leaned closer: "Brother Li, you haven't said a word the whole way. What's wrong? Is it... related to that Miss Yang?"

Li Bai remained silent for a long time before slowly speaking: "Brother Wu, have you ever had... someone you absolutely must see?"

Wu Zhinan paused for a moment, then scratched his head: "Is it absolutely necessary to see them? Do my parents count? But they're doing well at home, and I'm traveling, so I'm not in a hurry to see them."

"Not that kind of person." Li Bai's voice was very soft, as if he were talking to himself, "It's the kind of person... someone whose life would be wasted if I didn't see them."

Wu Zhinan opened his mouth, but couldn't say anything.

Outside the window, the afterglow of the setting sun bathed the streets in a warm golden hue. In the distance, the long, deep sound of temple bells echoed through the twilight.

"I understand," Wu Zhinan suddenly said, patting Li Bai on the shoulder. "Let's set off early tomorrow and try to get to Chengdu before dark."

***

On the second day of his journey, Li Bai continued to walk very fast.

The roads in the Sichuan plains are flat, with endless rice paddies on both sides of the official road. By the end of May, the early rice had already sprouted ears of grain, the heavy ears swaying in the wind, creating golden waves. The air was filled with the fragrance of rice blossoms, as well as the unique, slightly fishy smell of the paddy fields.

The villages along the way became increasingly dense, and the houses became more and more exquisite. White walls, black tiles, upturned eaves, and some large houses even had stone lions standing in front of their gates, making them very imposing.

In the afternoon, a light rain began to fall.

The fine rain, like a thin veil, enveloped the world. Distant mountains appeared and disappeared in the rain and mist, their verdant color glistening after being washed by the rain. The alder leaves by the roadside, wet with rain, shimmered with an oily sheen. Raindrops dripped from the tips of the leaves, splashing into puddles on the ground, creating tiny ripples.

Li Bai did not stop. The drizzle soaked his straw hat and shoulders, and the fabric gradually became heavy. But he just kept walking, step by step.

Wu Zhinan followed behind him, muttering, "This rain is pouring down... Brother Li, shall we find somewhere to take shelter from the rain?"

"We're almost there," Li Bai said, his voice muffled by the sound of rain.

We're almost there.

On the horizon ahead, the outline of a city could already be seen—not a small town like Mianzhou, but a vast, sprawling city. The city walls were tall, the gate towers majestic, and even in the rain and mist, one could feel its imposing grandeur.

Chengdu.

Chengdu, the capital of Sichuan.

Li Bai stopped and stood in the rain, gazing at the city.

Rain dripped from the edge of his straw hat, forming a curtain of water before his eyes. Through this curtain, the city seemed to sway and distort, overlapping with an image from his memory—skyscrapers, flashing neon lights, and a constant flow of traffic…

Then, they separated again.

Before me was only the city of Chengdu from the Tang Dynasty, with its gray city walls, fluttering flags, and crowds of people coming and going at the city gate.

"We've finally arrived." Wu Zhinan breathed a sigh of relief and wiped the rain off his face. "Let's go into town."

***

The prosperity of Chengdu exceeded Li Bai's imagination.

Passing through the tall city gate, a wide street came into view, paved with bluestone slabs, washed clean and shiny by the rain. Shops lined both sides of the street, their colorful signs swaying slightly in the drizzle. Silk shops, medicine shops, restaurants, teahouses, pawnshops, silver shops... one after another, a dazzling array of goods.

The streets were bustling with people. There were wealthy merchants in brocade robes, peddlers carrying loads on shoulder poles, women with baskets, and scholars in Confucian robes. The rain did not deter people; on the contrary, it made the streets even more vibrant—oil-paper umbrellas bloomed like moving flowers in the rain; the sound of wooden clogs on the stone slabs was crisp and melodious; and the vendors' cries pierced through the rain, carrying the soft and gentle accent unique to Sichuan.

The air was filled with a mixture of smells—the aroma of freshly baked bread, the smell of alcohol wafting from the restaurant, the scent of herbs from the herbal medicine shop, and the freshness of the earth brought by the rain.

Wu Zhinan was dazzled by the sights and exclaimed in surprise from time to time, "My goodness, Chengdu is no less beautiful than Chang'an!"

Li Bai didn't reply. He simply walked, his gaze sweeping over the shop signs on both sides of the street, lingering on the faces of passersby, and peering into every alleyway. He was searching for familiar traces—in his previous life, he had lived in this city for over twenty years, and every street and alley was etched into his memory.

But now, everything is different.

There is no Chunxi Road, no Tianfu Square, no Kuanzhai Alley. There is only this unfamiliar, Tang Dynasty street, these unfamiliar, Tang Dynasty buildings, and these unfamiliar, Tang Dynasty faces.

A profound sense of loneliness washed over him like a tidal wave, almost overwhelming him.

"Brother Li, shall we find a place to stay first?" Wu Zhinan suggested.

Li Bai nodded.

The two wandered around the city for a while, finally finding an inn near Huanhua Creek, close to the west of the city. The inn wasn't large, but it was clean and tidy, and you could see Huanhua Creek from the back window. The creek was babbling, and weeping willows lined both banks, their branches almost touching the water. The rain had stopped, and the setting sun peeked through the gaps in the clouds, turning the creek a golden-red hue.

After settling in, Wu Zhinan suggested going out for a stroll, but Li Bai declined.

"I want to be alone for a while," he said.

Wu Zhinan glanced at him, said nothing more, and left on his own.

The room fell silent. Li Bai stood by the window, gazing at the Huanhua Stream outside. The stream shimmered in the setting sun, and several egrets foraged on the shallows, their long, slender legs and graceful postures adding to the scene. In the distance, a woman squatted by the stream washing clothes, the rhythmic sound of a wooden mallet striking the fabric drifting in—thump, thump, thump.

His gaze followed the stream upstream.

If the old man is right, Yang Xuangui's residence is right by the Huanhua Stream. Then it should be not far upstream.

He took a deep breath, turned around, and left the room.

***

The streets of Chengdu are even more bustling at dusk than during the day.

The din of drinking games echoed from the restaurants, while the rhythmic narration of storytellers drifted from the teahouses. Red lanterns were already hung outside the brothels, and women leaned against the doors, coquettishly beckoning customers.

Li Bai ignored all of this. He simply walked, heading upstream along the Huanhua Stream.

The further upstream you go, the quieter the streets become, and the fewer houses there are. Gradually, large bamboo groves appear on both sides, their leaves rustling in the evening breeze. The stream bends here, forming a wide expanse of water, with a few lotus leaves floating on the surface, and early-blooming lotus flowers already in bloom, their pink petals appearing especially delicate in the twilight.

There are several houses by the stream, with white walls and black tiles, and high courtyard walls. The gates are tightly closed, and stone drums stand at the entrances, indicating the status of the owners.

Li Bai slowed his pace, his gaze sweeping over the plaques on the gates of each house.

Finally, he stopped in front of the third house.

The plaque above the gate reads: Yang Mansion.

The characters are neat and upright, the paint is somewhat faded, but still clear. The courtyard wall is made of blue bricks, and vines climb all over it, blooming with small purple flowers. Inside the wall, one can vaguely see upturned eaves and several tall trees, their canopies peeking over the wall and casting deep shadows in the twilight.

Li Bai stood there, motionless.

right here.

Yang Yuhuan was behind this wall.

In her past life, Yang Xiaohuan waited for him to come home in a rented room in Chengdu; in this life, Yang Yuhuan plays the pipa in this very courtyard. Separated by more than a thousand years, by a wall, and by an insurmountable fate.

His hands trembled slightly.

Just then, a burst of music suddenly came from inside the courtyard.

It is a pipa (a Chinese lute).

At first, there were only a few scattered notes, like tentative explorations, like hesitation. Then, the melody gradually became coherent, clear and melancholic, like the murmuring of a stream, like the sobbing of the night wind. There was an indescribable sadness in the tune, as if it were telling some unspeakable secret.

Li Bai held his breath.

He had heard this piece before. In her past life, Yang Xiaohuan could also play the pipa, and her favorite piece was "Autumn Moon over the Han Palace." She said that this piece tells the story of a woman who waited her whole life in the deep palace, waiting until her hair turned white and her face aged, only to be met with loneliness in the end.

The sound of the pipa continued from inside the wall.

Every note was like a needle, piercing Li Bai's heart. He seemed to see—he saw Yang Xiaohuan sitting by the window of her rented room, holding a pipa, her fingers sliding across the strings; he saw Yang Yuhuan sitting in the courtyard of the Yang family mansion, holding a pipa, her eyes gazing blankly into the distance.

The two images overlapped, making it impossible to distinguish one from the other.

Suddenly, the pipa music stopped.

After a brief silence, a soft sigh came from inside the wall. It was so soft that it was almost inaudible, but Li Bai heard it.

Then, he saw—

A figure flashed past under the tall osmanthus tree inside the wall.

It was the figure of a young girl, dressed in a light-colored dress, holding a pipa in her arms. She merely walked past the tree, her figure appearing and disappearing among the branches and leaves for a fleeting moment. The twilight was too thick, and the distance too great; Li Bai could not make out her face.

But in that instant, his heart felt as if it had been violently struck by something.

He recognized the figure.

Even if it's separated by more than a thousand years, even if it's separated by a wall, even if it's just a blurry outline.

He recognized him.