"Hss—"
The lead rider jerked sharply on the reins, halting his horse outside the tavern. His eyes swept left and right.
"Innkeeper. Cut twenty jin of your best beef."
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unpleasant, grating resonance. The man had a square jaw, a bristling beard, and piercing, hawk-like eyes. Though dressed like a civilian, his crisp movements gave away a military background. His Dongyi warhorse stood tall and powerful; the riders behind him all carried blades.
The tavern fell instantly silent.
Scholar Chen glanced toward the entrance twice, stiffened, then lowered his head abruptly.
Wang Er was completely baffled. This scholar normally seized any chance to chat with wealthy travelers, yet now acted as though he didn't see them.
"Scholar Chen," Wang Er whispered, tugging his sleeve, "why not ask which noble family they're from? Look at those horses—just one would cost me years of savings! And those two youngsters in the middle… they're prettier than the girls at Yichun Lodge."
But the scholar turned away coldly.
"You and I are not acquainted. Do not address me so."
The lead rider seemed to catch even that muttered remark, glancing sideways. Scholar Chen froze, bowing his head instantly.
Most guests resumed eating quietly, not daring to raise their eyes.
The old innkeeper hurried out with an ingratiating smile.
"Honored Sir, forgive us. Our cold spiced meats won't be ready until midday—they're still being prepared at my home. It's cold outside. If you noble guests don't mind, please rest inside. I'll send someone to hurry them along."
"No need," the rider said after a brief pause. "Tend to your business. Don't delay our schedule."
He swept a final look across the tavern before turning away.
The moment he left, conversation gradually resumed—quiet and cautious.
"Baolu!" the innkeeper snapped.
The servant boy stood frozen in the doorway, staring blankly.
"Are you waiting for me to run home and check?"
"A-ah! Going now!" Baolu yelped and dashed out—still holding the bowl he was supposed to put away.
"The bowl! The bowl!"
The innkeeper stormed forward, snatched it from his hands, and gave him a kick.
"Move! When the meat's ready, don't cool it in the well—wrap it and bring it straight here!"
He exhaled shakily and turned back to the patrons.
"Everyone, please—don't stare at our noble guests. And for heaven's sake, do not speak nonsense."
He shot a meaningful glance at Wang Er, then noticed someone else still watching the riders.
Daoist Xu Zhixing.
The innkeeper walked over anxiously.
"Daoist… Daoist Qingxu, don't look anymore. You might offend them."
"It's fine. I know my limits," Xu Zhixing said with a faint smile.
The innkeeper sighed and shuffled away, muttering, "Truly… each generation is worse than the last…"
Outside, the dozen riders dismounted in perfect unison. A handsome youth stepped forward to assist someone down.
Xu Zhixing smiled subconsciously.
The person dismounting was a young girl, not yet of hair-pinning age, dressed awkwardly in men's attire—slender, petite, and visibly nervous after her first long ride.
Her maid hurried to her side, whispering something while glaring toward the tavern.
But Xu Zhixing's gaze was drawn to the last person still on horseback.
Another "youth" in men's clothes—except this one was unmistakably a woman beneath the disguise. Sword-like brows, star-bright eyes, dignified yet spirited. Her cheek was flushed from the ride.
She placed one hand behind the saddle, swung her right leg forward over the horse's neck, and landed lightly on the ground. Her fist tightened slightly in satisfaction, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Handsome, Xu Zhixing thought.
Within the time of an incense stick, the group had cleared a flat area and produced tables and stools from their packhorses with astonishing efficiency.
Xu Zhixing considered approaching but their aloofness discouraged him. He quietly ate his buns while thinking about the little he'd learned in this unfamiliar world.
He was still pondering a trip to the county seat when Scholar Chen suddenly gasped.
A disdainful young attendant stood before his table.
Xu Zhixing looked around. The innkeeper and patrons wore anxious expressions—certain he was about to be beaten for staring too boldly.
Ignoring their schadenfreude, Xu Zhixing asked calmly:
"What is it?"
"My master summons you."
The attendant turned and left without waiting for a reply.
Xu Zhixing sighed inwardly. Rude.
Still, he had wanted to meet them anyway.
As he approached, someone called, nervous,
"Wei Brother, where is the Daoist? Why did you return alone?"
"Don't fret, Little Sister Chan. The Daoist is right behind me."
Xu Zhixing cupped his fists politely.
"Gentlemen, for what matter have you summoned me?"
The lead rider stepped forward.
"Greetings, Daoist. May we know your name and temple? My young master has a few questions. Please wait while I announce you."
Xu Zhixing returned the courtesy.
"This humble Daoist is Xu Zhixing, Daoist title Qingxu, of Hunyuan Temple in Xishan Hollow. Earlier I merely admired your horses and disciplined bearing."
"Think nothing of it," the rider replied. "Daoist, do you also appraise horses?"
Xu Zhixing suppressed a sigh. Even a few steps required formalities.
"I merely know a little," he said.
"Then please share your judgment of these steeds."
He repeated everything he remembered—coat gloss, limb proportion, cannon bone length, hooves, chest capacity, musculature, eyes.
The rider grew more excited with each detail.
"The Daoist is truly learned! I am Duanmu Cheng. We frontier soldiers know horses, but not as thoroughly as you describe. This is knowledge usually kept by horse-appraising families. I thank you for your instruction."
"Merely empty theory," Xu Zhixing replied modestly.
"Haha! Daoist, you must come to Luzhou Prefecture. Ask for Chef Dong at Fuhui Inn—tell him you seek Duanmu Cheng. I will host you myself."
Xu Zhixing warmed to the man's sincerity.
"There are many matters I wish to ask."
"Speak freely."
They discussed geography and customs—the vastness of Great Yan, the thirty-six prefectures, the dangers of traveling alone.
"Without traveling ten thousand li," Xu Zhixing said, "how can one know heaven and earth?"
Duanmu Cheng was stunned. The Daoist's words rekindled a youthful fire he had long forgotten.
Just then, Little Sister Chan approached, annoyed to see them getting along.
"Daoist, come with me. The young master summons you. Answer carefully—and do not repeat your earlier rudeness."
"Go, Daoist," Duanmu Cheng said.
"If you truly wish to see the world… come to Luzhou. I have a Dongyi steed you may take."
Such generosity startled Xu Zhixing.
He bowed. "Then I shall thank you in advance."
The surrounding riders rose and formed a silent screen.
As Xu Zhixing approached the disguised young woman again, he felt the same jolt of admiration.
Zhao Qingran saw his expression and greeted him with a faint, knowing smile.
"Daoist."
"Humph!" Little Sister Chan snorted beside her.
Xu Zhixing hurriedly bowed.
"Greetings, young… M—"
He caught himself just in time, almost blurting young lady.
"…Master."
Zhao Qingran laughed.
"'Master' is enough. Why add 'young'?"
Seeing he looked flustered, she let it go.
"You needn't mind my attire. It is only for convenience on the road. Since you saw through it, there's no need for pretense."
She gestured to the maid.
"This is Chan'er. She means no ill."
"I apologize for my earlier discourtesy," Xu Zhixing said openly. "Miss, please forgive me."
Zhao Qingran nodded, then said,
"I heard you speaking with Uncle Duanmu. That horse of his was a treasured gift, yet your explanation impressed him greatly. Perfect, then—there is a question I wish to ask."
Her bright eyes fixed on him.
"Daoist—
have you ever seen a monster?"