Beacon Fire Plays the Lords
The innkeeper was an old hand at jianghu ways. Business was good, but not so good that he had only one room left. The green-robed man roaming the jianghu with a sword on his back looked agreeable enough: neat clothes, an amiable manner, and no sign of being a troublemaker. The old man figured he would lend a hand, though not for free. He asked for a few extra taels of silver. Afraid his good intentions might be mistaken for a donkey's liver and lungs and earn him a scolding, he first cast the man a look to see if he understood. To his surprise, the man immediately returned it. Everything was understood without a word. Well, well. He hadn't looked it, but he knew the ropes.
The innkeeper accepted a few bits of Great Li Official Silver, which circulated throughout the continent. After weighing them, he clipped off the excess and returned the scraps to the man. Then he took their two Passage Documents and picked up his brush to make a record. The authorities checked the ledgers and registers; any discrepancy could land him in court. He glanced at the man and sighed inwardly. Ten thousand gold pieces could buy rank and office, but where could anyone buy youth? Being young was wonderful. Some things would not leave you willing but unable.
An old saying held that beauty wore young men down. Yet this green-robed man did not look all that young—around thirty, perhaps? Why did he still seem like a greenhorn? Had he come from some little-known jianghu sect and spent all his time honing his strength and martial skills, with none left to find a wife?
According to their travel documents, the man and woman, who seemed to be traveling far