"This is how it transpired…"
The voice that cut through the murk of morning stillness belonged to Ge Dao, a young man of sharp features and weary posture. His boots tracked fine dust across the wooden planks of the floor as he entered the humble yet orderly abode of Teng Wu, the former Chief Adviser of the Crescent Moon City Council.
The bain was larger than most and bore the scent of old incense, aged wood, and faintly, the metallic tang of ancient ink. Shelves lined with scrolls curved along one side of the chamber, while paintings hung solemnly upon the fabric walls like silent sentinels of bygone days.
Ge Dao moved across the room with respect but urgency, his voice low and direct. "It happened at the eastern wall, between Yuan Cai and Wei Dong. At first, I wished to go myself and sever the head of that witless guard, but instead I came here to inform you first, Master."
A soft clink echoed as Teng Wu—Master Wu to his disciples—set down his porcelain cup with care. The fragrance of plum wine still clung to the rim, despite his earlier indulgence. He leaned back in his cushioned chair, one leg crossed over the other, and began to stroke his snow-white beard with slow, thoughtful passes.
"I have taught you well, Ge Dao," he said after a long silence, his voice steady as old stone. "To resist the fire of vengeance and first seek counsel—that is the discipline of true power. Well done."
Despite the flush on his cheeks, Master Wu's enunciation remained crisp. It was evident he had long since mastered the art of silencing liquor's sway with his cultivation. His eyes, deep brown and impossibly alert, glimmered with youthful sharpness beneath furrowed brows.
Ge Dao gave a faint nod, his chest swelling with a restrained sense of pride. The praise had not been lavish, but it was sincere, and in the company of his mentor, that was reward enough.
Teng Wu stood, his robes rustling softly as he moved. Though well past his sixth decade, his form bore the vigor of a man half his age. The muscles beneath his silk robe flexed as he reached for a long-necked liquor jar and began walking toward a smaller, adjoining chamber.
"Ge Dao…" he said, his back now to his pupil. "Tell me—what is the name of the man who refused Wei Dong entry?"
"He did not share it," Ge Dao replied, his voice carrying a tinge of restrained anger. "But from what Wei Dong described, he seems to be a senior officer—one with some measure of authority and arrogance."
"I see," Master Wu murmured. "That shall suffice."
He vanished into the next chamber, the door flap closing behind him with a faint flutter~
Ge Dao tilted his head. "Master Wu?" he called out, but received no immediate answer.
"Give me a moment," came the elder's distant voice, casual and unaffected. "I need to fetch something."
Ge Dao's brow furrowed. Perhaps he's retrieving another jar of liquor, he mused, trying to stop his growing restlessness. Minutes ticked by, and silence stretched like taut silk.
The longer he waited, the more his gaze wandered. Soon, his feet moved of their own accord. He won't mind if I look around. Just to pass the time.
His eyes fell upon a painting half-hidden in the corner of the main room. Dust veiled its corners, but the brushstrokes were anything but dull.
"What is this…" he murmured. "I haven't seen this before."
He drew closer. The woman in the painting sat beneath a decaying pavilion, her black robe billowing in the wind. A straw hat shielded part of her face, yet her hazy eyes seemed to pierce through time. Her delicate fingers plucked the strings of a guqin with such lifelike elegance, it stirred emotion from even the sternest heart.
"Beautiful," Ge Dao whispered, unable to tear his gaze away. His hand drifted toward the canvas—
"Ge Dao, what in the world are you doing?!"
The voice exploded behind him, thunderous and sharp.
"I was just… ah—!" Ge Dao reeled back instinctively, nearly toppling over. But before he hit the ground, a hand caught his shoulder.
"Master Wu!" he exclaimed, eyes wide.
"I asked you to stand still," Master Wu said, sighing with the weight of age and patience. "I didn't expect stillness to be such a difficult task."
He held a liquor jar in one hand, the other still bracing his startled disciple.
"I apologize, Master," Ge Dao bowed low. "The painting entranced me. I lost myself for a moment."
Master Wu turned to the artwork, the fire in his tone cooling into solemnity. "Do you know who that woman is?"
"No, Master," Ge Dao said softly. "Is she someone I've met?"
"No," came the reply, quiet and heavy. "And likely… you never shall."
He moved to the scroll table and laid out a fresh parchment. With a dip of his brush, he began drawing swift, precise lines, his hand steady despite the liquor's aroma clinging to him.
"Tell me more of the man who barred Wei Dong," he commanded.
Ge Dao hesitated. "Would it not be better to question Wei Dong directly?"
"No," Master Wu snapped, not lifting his eyes from the scroll. "That boy's spine would liquefy under my scrutiny. I need clarity—not stammering apologies."
The sharpness of the statement stunned Ge Dao. Though hard to swallow, it was true. Wei Dong was dependable, but not strong. Not yet.
"I understand. I apologize for my shortsightedness."
"Don't apologize. Just speak."
Ge Dao began describing the man: his uniform's cut, the way he held himself, the faint scar over his lip, the cold indifference in his tone. Master Wu worked silently, translating words into ink until a complete likeness emerged.
"This is him?" he asked.
Ge Dao studied the image. "It matches the account Wei Dong gave me."
With no further comment, Master Wu tied the scroll with a red ribbon and extended it toward Ge Dao.
"You know who must receive this."
"Yes, Master," Ge Dao said hesitantly. "But… is this truly the best approach?"
Master Wu's gaze sharpened. "Are you questioning me?"
"I… wouldn't dare."
"Then take the scroll."
Ge Dao reached out and accepted the rolled parchment.
"Deliver it to Li Zhao," Master Wu said. "And remain with him when he enters the city. I trust him little, and fate less."
Ge Dao bowed. "I shall not fail you."
Master Wu walked him to the entrance of the tent, murmuring final cautions. Ge Dao's silhouette disappeared toward the western fringe of the camp, where a lonely tent stood like an abandoned shrine.
And when he was alone once more, Master Wu's voice fell to a whisper meant for the winds alone:
"Li Zhao… If you bring harm to my disciple, I swear upon the bones of my ancestors, I shall visit upon you a death so slow, the gods themselves shall beg me to cease."
"You have my word."