After drinking for half the night, He An rode his sword away in a streak of light just as dawn began to break. Beneath the old locust tree at the village entrance, a figure in robes whiter than snow had appeared at some unknown moment.
A middle-aged scholar stood beneath the tree, wearing plain white Confucian robes with subtle patterns of drifting clouds embroidered in gold thread at the cuffs. A bone flute was tucked diagonally behind his collar. Hands clasped behind his back, he gazed at the sword trail gradually fading across the horizon, his eyes slightly narrowed and an inscrutable smile curling his lips.
With a sweep of his sleeve, he turned and strolled into the village.
Outsiders rarely visited this remote little village, and his ethereal, immortal-like appearance should have drawn every eye. Strangely, however, the villagers along the way treated him as though he were invisible. An old man hoeing his field remained bent over his work, while the women chatting nearby continued laughing and talking, as if he were nothing but air.
All mortals whose divine sense has yet to awaken. How could a dignified Great Luo Golden Immortal bear to stay in a place like this?
He walked leisurely along the bluestone path, his bamboo sandals making no sound, and headed straight into the shop with the greasy wine banner hanging outside.
"Shopkeeper, a bowl of wine."
Fan Youfu was gnawing on a braised chicken foot, his hands slick with grease. Without looking up, he said, "Ten taels a bowl."
The white-robed scholar drew a small breath and asked in surprise, "That precious, is it? Why don't you just rob people?"
"Drink it or don't. If you don't, get lost!"
Fan Youfu spat out a bone as he snapped the words.
"Heh..." The scholar