Qingming Festival, the beginning of late spring.
The moon, like a mirror, cast a silvery glow. In the courtyard of the Xiaohun Inn, the green willows drooped, their shadows crisscrossing like algae and water chestnuts.
Xue Ling gazed at the full moon outside the window, calculated the time, and sighed, "Qingming Festival has arrived."
Qingming Festival often rains, but tonight there was no rain, yet Xue Ling's heart was particularly troubled.
Unable to fall asleep, she rose, dressed, and walked out of her room. Like Fang Bie, her room was a quiet side room, less than ten feet square, barely big enough for a bed, a table, and chairs. She struggled to fit any other luggage, making room for dressing difficult.
Fortunately, she didn't need to dress much anymore. She walked into the moonlit courtyard in her moon-white hemp shoes and saw Fang Bie, still dressed in black, his eyes covered with a cloth. He wielded a wooden sword, slashing, sheathing, and striking again in the moonlight.
His sword moves were clumsy, without any subtlety. The only thing that could be praised was that he swung the sword very steadily, with each strike landing in the exact right spot.
But is such a sword technique really useful against an enemy? Xue Ling looked at the young man in the moonlight. This was his Bee Stinger. They were about to work together to complete their first mission, and - this mission could be considered a novice-level task for training, both in terms of rewards and difficulty.
But Xue Ling felt that he could not see through this person.
At the beginning, he had effortlessly held her against the wall and interrogated her, as naturally as a teacher questioning a student.
But now that they were getting along, Xue Ling really felt that Fang Bie was so weak.
When he was a waiter and handyman at the inn, he served dishes accurately and quickly, keeping the huge inn immaculately clean. He treated every guest with a more than indifferent attitude, truly a highly capable waiter. Xue Ling's own chef, on the other hand, was far from up to par. Fortunately, the Xiaohun Inn was a small establishment, even in Luocheng, so no dignitaries would usually dine there. He could easily fool the common folk.
He looked weak in his backhand, unskilled in his forehand, his steps unsteady, his reflexes slow—how, with such appearances, had he managed to subdue her with a single blow?
Xue Ling couldn't figure it out.
"Are you still awake?" a voice called from behind her.
She turned to see He Ping, dressed in a loose green dress, her hair askew, holding a white porcelain wine glass behind her.
The girl shuddered.
"What's that?" She smelled the alcohol in He Ping's glass.
"Fenjiu," He Ping said with a faint smile. "It rains a lot during the Qingming Festival, doesn't it?" "May I ask where the tavern is?" The shepherd boy pointed to Xinghua Village in the distance.
"The pedestrians on the road are almost dead," Xue Ling replied. "Sister Ping, aren't you from here?"
"I've made the world my home. I really don't know where I'm from." He Ping reached out and took Xue Ling's hand. Xue Ling felt the cold, hard fingers of this big sister. Then she followed her around the main room, up the stairs, and in a flash, onto the roof of the inn.
A top the narrow roof sat a square table. On it sat a coarse brown porcelain wine jar, next to a delicate white porcelain wine glass. This combination of roughness and refinement left Xue Ling somewhat dazed.
Under the clear moonlight, the wine in the glass rippled slightly.
He Ping sat down at the side of the square table, facing the moonlight, raising her hand to drink the wine from her glass. Her hair was loose, and a glimpse of her snow-white ankles fell from her long skirt.
Xue Ling then realized that this nominal owner of the Xiaohun Inn, in reality a bee-attracting lady, was so breathtakingly beautiful that she couldn't help but feel inferior.
"Sit down," He Ping said.
Xue Ling had to sit down.
"Drink." He Ping pushed a glass of wine in front of her.
"I can't drink," Xue Ling said.
Not only did she not drink, but she was also very afraid of saying something wrong after drinking.
"How old are you this year?" He Ping asked.
Xue Ling bit her lip. This should be a question she knew the answer to but still answered: "Seventeen."
She still said honestly, both her real and nominal age were seventeen.
"That's not young anymore." He Ping said: "The year I became an assassin, I had just celebrated my sixteenth birthday."
Xue Ling glanced at the bright and radiant young lady in the moonlight. She didn't look any older now.
"How old are you now?" Xue Ling asked.
"Didn't that kid Fang Bie tell you?" He Ping asked back.
Xue Ling shook her head.
"Did he stop you from calling me boss lady?" He Ping continued to ask.
Xue Ling nodded.
He Ping laughed loudly, and the laughter answered in the night sky. This woman's laughter could not be described as heroic or gentle, but it just had a different flavor.
A few birds that had just returned from the south were startled in the night sky.
The young man in the courtyard was still practicing his sword.
"I'm twenty-nine this year." He Ping said.
It was cold and deserted.
Xue Ling shook his head: "You can't tell at all."
"If you practice martial arts, you will age slower." He Ping smiled and said: "But sometimes, people don't get old, but their hearts get old."
"I always feel that my heart is getting softer and softer now."
As she said this, He Ping lowered her eyes and looked at the glass in front of Xue Ling.
The glass was full of wine. It was the fine Xinghua Village Fenjiu. This wine was produced in Shanxi and was not a specialty of Luocheng.
"Drink it." He Ping said.
Xue Ling lifted the cup and downed it in one gulp. The Fenjiu had a soft, smooth texture and a sweet aftertaste, but being a genuine distilled baijiu, it still
left a sharp, pungent tinge in her stomach. She set the cup down and coughed softly, a blush forming on her pretty face.
He Ping reached across the table and ruffled Xue Ling's hair. "You're a good girl. I like you quite a bit."
"Ning Huaiyuan will pass by the Xiaohun Inn at noon tomorrow. It's the perfect opportunity to take action. Assist Fang Bie and follow his instructions."
"He's my apprentice, and a very reliable man."
"Yeah, sometimes more reliable than I thought."
Xue Ling bit her lip and nodded.
"As an assassin, you can die at any time. I'm one of the longest-lived assassins," He Ping said. "If you live long enough, you'll eventually retire. But I know too much, and even if I do, I can't leave the organization."
"Please live well."
Xue Ling didn't know why He Ping had told her so much tonight, but she could only nod and listen.
After all, the landlady at this moment was truly well-intentioned.
"Have a glass of wine, and you can have a good sleep." He Ping said lightly: "You can go back to sleep."
Xue Ling nodded and stood up, the alcohol rippling in her chest, making her a little dazed.
But it was no problem to walk down the roof. She walked away step by step. Suddenly He Ping called her: "Wait." Xue Ling turned around and looked at the assassin under the moon.
"When cooking in the future," He Ping said seriously: "Use less salt."
Xue Ling's face turned red, and she muttered: "Why tell me now?"
He Ping raised the glass and drank it all, and smiled: "Aren't you afraid that you will be shy?"
...
...
He Ping was still drinking under the moon, Fang Bie was practicing sword under the moon, and Xue Ling went back to the room to rest. After a glass of wine, she fell into a deep sleep.
Until the moon rose higher and Xue Ling gradually fell asleep, Fang Bie put away his sword, without a trace of sweat on his forehead.
He walked up to the roof, looked at He Ping under the moon, took out a white porcelain wine glass from his arms, filled it for himself, and then drank it all.
He Ping looked up at the black-clothed, black-haired teenager and said, "There's something wrong with this Lin Xue."
Fang Bie nodded expressionlessly, "I know."
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