Jianghu Demolition Squad

Savoring Life’s Hundred Flavors (Part Three)

The courtyard was alive with the incessant chirping of birds. The door stood open, revealing a room furnished with simple, antique pieces..

Since regaining consciousness, Qing Jiu had been sitting listlessly on her bed, devoid of any energy.

Footsteps approached the doorway, and Qing Jiu glanced sideways. A young girl, dressed in a summery green robe, peeked in hesitantly.

She remembered the valley master might have called her Mo Qingyan, or was it just Qingyan? At this point, it hardly mattered.

Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Qing Jiu withdrew her gaze and said, “Leave.”

She had no desire to see anyone’s face right now.

Mo Qingyan approached with medicine in hand and said, “It’s time for your medicine.”

“Leave!” Qing Jiu snapped, her mouth twitching from the force of her words.

“You don’t like taking medicine? It’s too bitter, right? I have candied fruits here…”

Mo Qingyan held the bowl in one hand, fumbling in her pocket with the other.

At those words, Qing Jiu’s pupils contracted, her eyes suddenly burning with unshed tears.

She lifted her hand and knocked the medicine bowl from Mo Qingyan’s hand, splattering the contents all over her.

“Get out!”

Her thunderous command left Mo Qingyan stunned.

Bai Sang walked in, pulled Mo Qing Yan behind her, and said sternly, “If you’re upset, don’t take it out on others. This child doesn’t owe you anything. Does everyone have to coddle you just to get you to take your medicine?”

Bai Sang’s words struck a nerve in Qing Jiu, causing her heart to spasm with pain.

A tear flashed in her eyes, and tears began rolling down her cheeks.

She pushed herself off the bed and, ignoring her bare feet, stumbled towards a pearwood cabinet. On its surface sat a gray urn containing Lin Qingchao’s ashes.

Qing Jiu clutched the urn to her chest and walked out of the room.

Outside the courtyard, Xuan Shen was conversing with Daoist Yiye and Venerable Kuyuan. He had invited these two sages to remove the iron collar from Mo Qingyan’s neck.

Mo Qingyan had grown up, and if the collar was not removed soon, it would dig into her flesh, causing pain and injury. But removing the hardened metal wouldn’t be easy, especially without harming Mo Qingyan in the process.

Unable to find a divine weapon, Xuan Shen had sought those with profound internal energy and exquisite sword skills, hence the arrival of Venerable Kuyuan and Daoist Yiye.

Both were about to retire but had finally found the time to come. They had learned about Lin Qingchao and Qing Jiu’s plight and knew a bit about the Lin family’s massacre.

Seeing Qing Jiu approach, Xuan Shen stopped her, asking softly, “Where are you going?” Lin Qingchao had entrusted Qing Jiu to him with her dying breath, and he intended to honor that promise.

“It’s none of your business!”

Bai Sang and Mo Qingyan followed her. Xuan Shen, having heard some of the earlier commotion, said, “Qingyan has been raised in the valley and doesn’t understand worldly manners. Don’t blame her. . Bai Sang raised her as her own and can’t bear to see her wronged, so her reaction was a bit strong. Don’t take it to heart.”

Qing Jiu moved to sidestep him.

But Xuan Shen moved like a phantom. With each step she took, he seemed to shift effortlessly, remaining in her path.

“Move!”

“You haven’t fully recovered yet.”

“I don’t need your treatment anymore!”

Xuan Shen smiled kindly, refusing to budge.

Stepping back, Qing Jiu picked up three stones and aimed at Xuan Shen’s dantian, right eye, and chest, attempting to block his right side to create an opening for her to escape on the left.

But it was as if three impassable mountains stood before her. The Daoist lightly flicked his whisk, deflecting the stones, while the monk clasped his hands together. Qing Jiu didn’t see how he moved, but found herself suddenly sprawling on the ground, unable to get up.

The Daoist stroked his long silver beard and said, “Little one, a few smacks on the bottom should teach you not to be naughty.”

Qing Jiu struggled desperately, realizing she was being subdued by the monk’s internal energy. She summoned her own energy in an attempt to resist.

But the monk’s internal energy was as immovable as a mountain, and beneath his feet, she was no more than a pebble, unable to withstand him. Nonetheless, she fought recklessly, her neck and face flushing an unhealthy red, blood starting to seep from her ears and nose.

The monk’s face showed alarm as he saw her injured and quickly released his grip, exclaiming, “Why? Why do this to yourself?”

Ignoring the consequences, Qing Jiu’s meridians were already damaged. As soon as the monk let go, she collapsed and coughed up blood.

She wiped her face and, with a groan, struggled to her feet, determined to continue her escape.

Xuan Shen, with a look of compassion, walked up to her and crouched down, asking, “Where do you want to go? I’m not stopping you from leaving, but I promised your aunt to take good care of you. If you have a safe place to go, tell me so I can be at ease.”

Qing Jiu’s face showed a moment of confusion.

Where could she go? She had nowhere to go.

Tears mixed with blood streamed down her cheeks as she cried out, “I don’t want to be here! I want to go back! I want to go home!”

Her voice was filled with despair, like a lost child, terrified and desperate to find their way back.

Xuan Shen felt her pain but could offer no comfort. “Your aunt went through so much to bring you here, to heal your sense of taste and the Gu poison that plagues you. She entrusted you to me. It was her dying wish. Won’t you help her fulfill it?”

Qing Jiu sobbed quietly without speaking.

Xuan Shen patted her shoulder and said, “Once your sense of taste is restored and I’ve found a way to suppress the Gu poison, I’ll give you your freedom. Just stay here a while longer, okay?”

Suddenly, Venerable Kuyuan spoke up, “Little Benefactor,” he said, his voice deep and resonant, “when a person dies, their soul lingers in the place where they passed, for a time, before moving on. Wouldn’t you like to stay here a while longer, to keep your aunt company?”

Qing Jiu looked at the speaking monk. The large-eared monk, head slightly bowed, had a bald head marked with nine monastic scars. His eyebrows conveyed kindness, and his voice was warm and gentle.

She wasn’t a believer in gods or Buddhas, but perhaps she wanted to believe, needed to believe. She accepted Venerable Kuyuan’s words and agreed to stay longer in the Xuhuai Valley.

During this time, Xuan Shen dedicated himself to restoring her sense of taste, but Qing Jiu remained detached, her spirit withdrawn.

Since that day, other disciples had been bringing her medicine, but she could always see that girl, either peeking in at the door or perched on the courtyard wall.

Qing Jiu paid her little attention, until one day, when Xuan Shen was administering acupuncture, she finally asked about her.

Xuan Shen smiled and said, “Qingyan has never left the Valley. She’s only ever interacted with the disciples here. You’re the first outsider she’s met, and a girl her own age at that. It’s only natural she’s curious about you. I hope she hasn’t offended you.”

Qing Jiu said nothing.

That day after Xuan Shen finished the acupuncture, she felt something different.

He offered her some herbs to test her taste. She put them in her mouth, and after an initial sweetness, a bitter tang spread across her tongue.

These were flavors she had never experienced before. She chewed slowly, savoring the sensations before swallowing.

Xuan Shen’s medical skills were truly remarkable. Her parents had struggled with her condition for years, yet he had cured it in just a month.

“How does it taste?” Xuan Shen asked.

“I… I don’t know how to describe it,” she admitted.

Xuan Shen laughed, “As long as you can taste the difference, that’s all that matters. Try different foods, and you’ll learn how to describe them. Are you hungry? Would you like to try some snacks?”

Qing Jiu paused, “No need, thank you.” Despite Xuan Shen’s reassurance, she felt unusually dejected, as if curing her condition had somehow made it worse.

Xuan Shen knew she was burdened by inner turmoil, which made her even more gloomy.

Though his medical expertise was profound, he realized that he could heal the body, but not the heart.

He shook his head, advised her to rest well, and then left.

At night, Xuan Shen sent medicine again, saying it was to strengthen her body.

Qing Jiu sat on the corridor, wearing thin, light clothes, her feet bare, revealing her slender, pale ankles.

She noticed a familiar figure hesitating by the courtyard gate, debating whether to come in.

“You can come in,” she called out.

The figure flinched, revealing only a pair of eyes that watched her intently for a long while before finally stepping forward.

Qing Jiu figured she must have frightened her that day with her outburst. The girl seemed terrified of her.

Qing Jiu was holding a bowl of medicine in her hands and looked at her, “I apologize for the other day. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

The girl’s expression remained impassive. If Qing Jiu hadn’t heard from other disciples that this girl was unusually expressionless, she might have thought the girl was still angry, holding the incident against her.

“Do you need something from me?”

The girl stared at her for a while, as if processing her words, before shaking her head.

A long silence stretched between them, the only sound the incessant chirping of cicadas under the silvery moonlight.

Qing Jiu patted the space beside her. “Come sit,” she offered. “It must be tiring to look up at me all the time.”

The girl moved over and sat beside her.

“Your name is Qingyan?”

“Mo Qingyan.”

“My name is… Qing Jiu.”

“I know.” Mo Qingyan nodded, her nervousness evident as she fidgeted with the hem of her robe. If Bai Sang were here, she would have noticed.

The people in the valley generally kept their distance from Mo Qingyan. While they didn’t reject her outright, they weren’t particularly warm or welcoming either.

Despite Bai Sang and Xuan Shen’s efforts, the age gap between them and Mo Qingyan was too great.

Before Qing Jiu’s arrival, Xuan Shen had received a letter informing Mo Wen about a girl around her age who was coming to the Valley for treatment. The letter mentioned that the girl was easygoing and might become Mo Wen’s friend.

Mo Qingyan had been excited, nervous, and filled with anticipation. She thought about how to befriend the girl, planning to take her to the flower fields, the Secret Archives, the back mountains, anywhere interesting or unusual in Xuhuai Valley. She had meticulously planned every detail, eagerly awaiting Qing Jiu’s arrival.

“When did you become a disciple of Valley Master Xuan Shen?”

Mo Qingyan thought for a moment, “A long time ago.”

“What about your parents?”

Mo Qingyan shook her head, “I don’t remember them.”

Qing Jiu took a sip of her medicine and grimaced, “It’s so bitter.”

“That’s how medicine is.”

Qing Jiu ran her thumb along the rim of the bowl, falling silent.

The full moon hung high in the sky, perfect and unblemished.

Qing Jiu gazed at the moon’s reflection in the dark liquid of her medicine bowl, her voice distant as she spoke. “My family had over a hundred people. I’m going to forget them too. It’s been so long.”

“How can there be so many? That’s even more than the disciples here in Xuhuai Valley,” Mo Qingyan remarked, obviously surprised.

Qing Jiu turned to her, a faint smile curving her lips.

It was a beautiful smile, yet tinged with sorrow.

Mo Qingyan stared at her, unable to decipher its meaning.

By the time she thought to ask, Qing Jiu had already quietly left the Xuhuai Valley that night.

From then on, rumors spread throughout the southeast region, originating from the Xuhuai Valley. A young assassin, specializing in eliminating bandits and corrupt officials, was leaving a trail of carnage. The brutality of their methods shocked even the most hardened individuals.

As autumn set into Yunmeng Marsh, it often rained, fog swirling around, bringing autumn coolness and a mysterious, melancholy air.

Qing Jiu sat on the steps of a house, wearing straw sandals and coarse cloth garments. A jar hung from her back, and a sword lay beside her. She gazed at the eaves, watching as droplets of water collected and fell with a steady rhythm – drip, drop, drip, drop.

Her face was pale, her lips chapped, her eyes vacant and lost in thought.

Four men approached, their menacing figures accentuated by the swords hanging from their waists.

Nearby, a street vendor hastily retreated, wishing he could disappear into the wall.

Across the street, a man in black slept, leaning against a wall, his face hidden under a straw hat, a long staff resting beside him. He appeared to be a traveler who couldn’t find an inn.

Four men surrounded Qing Jiu, scrutinizing her from head to toe.

One of them spat on the ground, “Little Fourth, you damn well messed up! This is clearly a girl! How could she be the punk who killed Fifth and Sixth?”

Another man drew his sword, his voice sharp, “Boss, there’s no way I could mistake that face. Even if I did, I’d recognize that sword. It’s her!”

“Hey, little girl, who are you?”

Qing Jiu raised her eyelids, her voice laced with indifference. “Are you all together?”

“Our boss is asking you a question!”

“Little Fourth couldn’t have been wrong,” another man growled. “This little brat is way too arrogant. Let’s break her limbs first, then we can ask questions.”

“I’m telling you, boss, take a good look, this girl is quite pretty. Maybe we could—”

Before he could finish his sentence, a sharp pain shot through his chin. He looked down to see a flash of cold steel heading for his throat. He scrambled back, stumbling and landing awkwardly on the ground.

Only then did he realize that the girl had drawn her sword. The other three quickly drew their blades and attacked her.

The streets were mostly empty after the rain, and the few pedestrians who witnessed the confrontation quickly scattered. The clang of swords clashing echoed through the deserted street.

Branches from a nearby courtyard stretched over the wall, their leaves laden with rainwater. Fat, glistening droplets clung to the tips of the leaves, trembling with each tremor of the fight, until a particularly strong impact sent them plummeting to the ground.

Qing Jiu pulled the sword from her shoulder, the blade embedded deep in her flesh. She casually tossed it among the four corpses at her feet, then bent down and wiped the blood from her hands on one of the dead men’s robes. She rifled through their pockets, finding a pouch of silver coins.

She approached a nearby vendor and tapped on his stall, “Old man, one order of roasted chestnuts, please.”

The vendor, trembling, wrapped up a serving of chestnuts and placed it on the counter. Qing Jiu offered him the silver, but he hesitated, afraid to take it.

Suddenly, two hands reached out from behind her. One snatched the chestnuts, the other took the silver from Qing Jiu’s hand and tossed it into the vendor’s lap. “Take it, old man,” a voice said. “This is honest money, earned through hard work, not ill-gotten gains. There’s no shame in accepting it.”

Qing Jiu turned to look, seeing a man in a black long robe standing behind her, with grayish hair and bright, spirited eyes. His face looked remarkably youthful, making him appear young, but Qing Jiu guessed he was probably over fifty.

He had been sleeping across the street earlier. She hadn’t noticed when he woke up, hadn’t even sensed his approach.

He tossed the chestnuts from one hand to the other, smiling as he asked, “Little friend, how can someone so greedy, with such a serious injury, still have the leisure to buy chestnuts?”

Qing Jiu reached for the chestnuts, “What does it have to do with you?”

The man tossed them back to his other hand. “Well, you’ve got a point,” he chuckled. “But I have a good feeling about you, little friend. I hate to see you throwing your life away like this.”

Qing Jiu asked, “Who are you?”

He stroked his beard, pondering, “Those in the jianghu call me Wine Ghost. My old friends call me Old Ghost. What would you like to call me?”

Qing Jiu was stunned. Was this Jue Mingzi, the Wine Ghost?