Rain falls upon the tiles, echoing softly as it slips away.

The red sun slanted over the horizon, its lingering rays no longer so fierce or dazzling. They poured down from the crest of the waterfall, casting golden ripples across the water’s surface. The valley lay in silent repose, and the two figures nearby exchanged knowing glances without a word. A handful of yellowed leaves, stirred by a gentle breeze, drifted from the trees and danced down to the water, landing like tiny skiffs that floated downstream, carrying with them the mountain’s autumnal scenery.

The sound of flowing water gradually returned to Zhang Ling’s ears, and the intense aura that had been released now settled into tranquility. He opened his eyes, a feeling of clarity and ease washing over him. Rising to his feet, he flexed his arms and legs, sensing in himself a rare insight akin to drinking Hundred Flowers Wine and listening to the melodies of the Hundred Flowers Manor—though he had only glimpsed the threshold, he had not yet reached the realm of true enlightenment.

He looked up at the sky and, cupping his hands respectfully, said to Lü Qingci, “Master of the cave, it’s getting late today. I’ll take my leave now.”

Lü Qingci nodded, and Zhang Ling turned to descend toward the Falling Sunset Cave at the foot of the mountain.

Watching Zhang Ling’s departing figure, Lü Qingci murmured to himself, “He shouldn’t have noticed anything, right?”

Just as Lü Qingci turned to go, someone dropped down from the cliff above. A series of shadowy figures followed, like a soaring dragon descending slowly. The one who landed before Lü Qingci was a masked man dressed in black.

Lü Qingci bowed respectfully. “Master Healer, as you instructed, I have taught him the Mirror of the Mind technique. Please, you mustn’t dismantle my Jade Void Cave again.”

The Master Healer gazed steadily in the direction of Zhang Ling’s descent, lost in thought. A brief, knowing smile appeared, startling Lü Qingci. Before meeting the Silver Needle, Lü Qingci had always imagined the legendary Master Healer to be gentle and amiable. But after witnessing the chaos wrought by the Silver Needle in his own cave, he no longer put faith in rumors.

At first, he hadn’t realized that this was the famed Master Healer, but the moment they met, the man demanded Lü Qingci hand over his prized technique. Even if he was revered by all, was this not the behavior of a bandit? Could they not negotiate amicably?

Age inevitably brings ailments that defy treatment. The Master Healer saw immediately the internal injury caused by the clash of Lü Qingci’s yin and yang meridians. After a beating, the healer at least offered a remedy: teach the Qi Cultivation technique to Zhang Ling, and the Master Healer would resolve the issue of the conflicting meridians.

With a wave of his hand, several Silver Needles flew from the healer’s sleeve, piercing Lü Qingci’s acupuncture points. The dams in his meridians instantly cleared, and his vital energy flowed freely, the oppressive feeling vanishing entirely. Lü Qingci cupped his hands in gratitude. “Thank you, Master Healer.”

The Master Healer chuckled. “Your Mirror of the Mind is even more peculiar than the Qi Cultivation techniques of the great sects.”

Lü Qingci asked cautiously, “Master Healer, there’s something I wish to ask, though I’m not sure if it’s appropriate.”

The Master Healer replied coldly, “If it’s inappropriate, don’t ask.”

Lü Qingci fell silent immediately, intimidated. He wanted to ask who Zhang Ling truly was, to warrant such special treatment from the Master Healer. Clearly, it was not a question he should pursue, so he wisely said nothing further. With nothing else to discuss, the Master Healer took a few steps and vanished without a trace. Lü Qingci did not dwell on it—now that the healer was gone, he could finally be on his way.

Zhang Ling found Song Linjie, and together they returned to the Yu Residence. By the time they arrived, it was already late at night. Fortunately, Jade City was a bustling place, and every household kept lanterns lit—there was no curfew; otherwise, they might have found themselves in trouble.

On the way, Zhang Ling noticed Song Linjie carrying the Heaven-Forging Blade, looking somewhat fatigued, and asked, “You’ve been fighting again.”

Song Linjie yawned, his eyelids drooping. “I was wandering in the Falling Sunset Cave and stumbled upon a martial arena. Lots of people were sparring, but it was all show and no substance. I went up myself and fought all day. They say Jade City is half the martial world of Chen Kingdom, but it’s all just an empty reputation.”

Zhang Ling shook his head, laughing. “The younger generation, whether martial prodigies or administrative talents, are either in the imperial court or studying on Sky Jade Mountain. If you’re looking for true experts in this city, you’ll only find them among the retainers of the great families.”

Song Linjie suddenly remembered, grinning, “Zhang Ling, you said back at Clear Wind Village that you’d treat me to a drink. Now that we’re in Jade City, don’t go back on your word!”

Zhang Ling sighed helplessly. “You still remember that?”

Song Linjie chuckled. “I’ve asked around—there’s a famous tavern in the eastern part of the city called the Tile Listening Pavilion. I just don’t understand why it has such a strange name.”

Zhang Ling patted the silver notes in his sleeve, smiling bitterly. “Rain falling on tiles, the sound lingering gently; in drunken spring haze, all worries are eased. A wandering poet once left those lines here, and since then the wine has sold for a fortune. You really know how to pick a place!”

Song Linjie laughed. “After hearing that, all the more reason to try it.”

When they reached the Yu Residence, a servant waited to open the door for them, though he seemed to have been sleeping. Not wanting to disturb anyone, the two climbed over the wall into the estate, where they found the elderly Gu Pinghou had set up a table, with cold tea and a lantern, waiting at the gate.

Zhang Ling smiled. “You’re still awake, elder?”

The old man rose from his stool, stretched his back, and joked, “Age has caught up with me—my endurance just isn’t what it used to be. Now that you’re back, go get some rest.”

The next morning, Song Linjie dragged Zhang Ling off to the Tile Listening Pavilion at dawn. Zhang Ling protested that drinking on an empty stomach would harm their health, so they bought two scallion pancakes from a street vendor and ate as they walked.

Arriving at the tavern, Zhang Ling saw its plain, unadorned exterior and thought the rumors must be exaggerated, that it was just another ordinary inn. He felt relieved for his wallet, but upon entering, he discovered that the modest front was only a facade. Beyond lay a vast courtyard, with water imported from elsewhere, trickling down from a height like the sound of rain. Zhang Ling instinctively gripped the silver notes in his pocket, realizing he might soon part with them.

A servant led them to one of the tavern’s buildings. The interior was sparsely populated, but every guest was clearly wealthy or noble. The two ascended to the second floor and took a seat at an empty table. The decor was understated, but anyone with taste could tell the tables and chairs were crafted from the finest rosewood—just furnishing the tavern must have cost tens of thousands of silver.

Around them were four other tables. Three were occupied by burly men, obviously rich merchants or officials. The fourth was taken by two young gentlemen: one composed and steady, the other lively and unruly, sprawled across the table as he poured himself wine, paying no heed to propriety.

Then, a middle-aged man in elegant attire approached their table and asked courteously, “Gentlemen, what would you like to drink?”

Song Linjie was about to reply when Zhang Ling interrupted, “Bring us the cheapest wine.”

At this, the three tables of burly men glanced over with disdain, while at the table of young gentlemen, the composed one merely smiled and continued drinking. The unruly one sprayed wine from his mouth after hearing Zhang Ling’s words.

The middle-aged man remained polite. “Our cheapest wine, Snow Comfort, is thirty taels a jug. Would you care for anything else?”

Zhang Ling instantly swallowed hard—just as he suspected, this place was a money pit. He asked offhandedly, “Do you have Hundred Flowers Wine?”