Walking over the paving of blue stone slabs, a young man of imposing bearing arrived at the southern end of the marketplace.
He was peerlessly handsome, his chiseled features sharply defined, his angular face strikingly beautiful. He appeared carefree and unrestrained, yet the keen gleam that occasionally escaped his eyes warned others not to underestimate him. Beneath thick black hair and sword-like brows lay eyes as deep as the stars, capable of drawing anyone into their depths unawares. Below his high, straight nose, red lips neither too thin nor too full perpetually bore a dazzling smile.
White robes and black hair drifted freely, neither bound nor tied, fluttering gently around his hovering figure like a god descending to earth. A faint luster flowed over his skin, and a thousand shades of colored glass shimmered in his eyes. His beauty was like a painting, too exquisite to belong to a real person. Such looks and bearing surpassed all human beauty. He wore only a simple white robe, yet even an angel could surely have been no more beautiful. His beauty transcended men and women, transcended the mundane world, until words could no longer describe it.
Passing through the closely packed shops, Yang Ming unwittingly approached a teahouse in the marketplace. From far away, he caught a faint, clean, bitter fragrance. There were many teahouses amid this forest of storefronts, but this one alone left a lasting impression.
The teahouse stood on a street corner, facing the sun and open in every direction, with expansive grounds. Blue stone slabs along the curb formed a broad, level triangle before it, planted with three or four glossy green parasol trees. Whenever the wind breathed across them, their leaves rustled. Occasionally, a leaf drifted lazily down into a cup of tea, sending soft, shimmering ripples