Miragliano, the jewel standing on the Tilean coast, greeted Li Yiming with a rough, yet vibrant energy. Completely unlike the ordered, rigidly hierarchical atmosphere of Haichai in Cathay, everything here seemed casual, boisterous, even chaotic, yet it was strangely held together in a dynamic equilibrium.
The main city was built into the hillside, its narrow cobblestone streets winding like a spiderweb between buildings of varying heights. Houses were mostly a mix of stone and timber, their walls mottled by sea-air erosion. Many outer walls were plastered with haphazard advertisements soliciting mercenaries, vulgar graffiti left by sailors, or the crude holy emblems of long-forgotten deities. The air was filled with a complex scent: the saltiness of seawater, the fishy tang of drying fish, the sour rot of cheap ale, the peculiar smell of leather and metal, occasionally punctuated by the sweet fragrance of spices wafting from a wealthy merchant's courtyard.
The shouts of vendors, the hammering from the blacksmiths, the drunken singing spilling from taverns, and curses and haggling in various accents merged into an unceasing urban symphony. The streets were crowded with all manner of people: mercenary captains in shining armour and longswords, followed by a fierce-looking group of "dogs of war"; shrewd merchants in wide-brimmed hats, haggling fiercely with dock workers over cargo fees; scantily-clad, bold-eyed prostitutes batting their lashes at passing sailors; and adventurers from every corner of the Old World, their eyes alight with the hunger for wealth and glory. Dwarfs, Elves (though few in number and mostly in a hurry), and occasionally even the figures of Arabians from the hot southern deserts could be glimpsed.
Li Yiming spent his first few days hungry and on high alert. The few copper scraps he possessed were almost gone after paying the entry tax. He slept in the corner of a derelict warehouse in the dock district, wrapped in scavenged sacking, enduring the cold nights and the harassment of rats. During the day, he wandered the city, searching for any possible work.
He tried to find work as a porter at the docks, but the burly men who earned their living there eyed him—this thin, foreign "Eastern Elf-boy"—with hostility. No one was willing to share a slice of the pie. He also approached a few small shops to ask about work as a helper, but was refused either because of his Elven features and foreign accent (despite his attempts to speak the poor Tilean dialect he had picked up from passing merchants and his rescuers) or because he couldn't provide any reliable recommendations.
Despair, like cold seawater, gradually submerged his hope. Just as he was about to resort to using the repeater crossbow hidden deep within his ragged satchel to perform some highly undesirable deed in exchange for food, a tavern sign caught his eye: Vanguard Vintner.
The tavern was located beside a relatively wide street, not far from the dock area, yet it avoided the most chaotic section. Its façade was not grand; a polished oak sign was carved with the image of a smiling server holding a wine cup. Unlike many taverns that left their doors wide open, Vanguard Vintner's door was ajar, suggesting a more reserved atmosphere.
Li Yiming hesitated at the entrance. While in Haichai, he had spent several months assisting at a restaurant owned by an old friend of his adoptive father, Li Dehai. That restaurant also served alcohol, and through observation and his own curiosity, Li Yiming had picked up a bit about mixing drinks, especially some unique Cathayan beverages. Although his knowledge was superficial, it was now his only lifeline.
He took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy wooden door.
The light inside the tavern was dim, but not oppressive. The air was filled with a complex aroma of ale, wine, and a faint mix of certain herbs, much more pleasant than the smells outside. The bar was constructed of heavy, dark wood and polished to a sheen. Behind it, rows of various bottles were displayed, ranging from common local earthenware jugs of ale to glass bottles with unfamiliar labels, clearly foreign vintages. A few rough wooden tables and chairs were scattered throughout the tavern. There were few patrons at the moment, only small groups of mercenaries and sailors talking in low voices or drinking alone.
A slightly plump, white-haired, but meticulously groomed old man stood behind the bar, wiping a glass. He wore a clean white apron, his expression focused and serious, contrasting with the slightly noisy environment.
Li Yiming walked up to the bar and spoke in the clearest Tilean he could manage: "Good day, sir. Are you looking for a helping hand here?"
The old man looked up, his sharp grey eyes scrutinizing him. The gaze was assessing, but without obvious distaste. Li Yiming noticed a pair of small, brass-rimmed spectacles resting on his nose, adding a touch of shrewdness.
"What can you do?" the old man's voice was a bit gravelly, but robust.
"I... I've done odd jobs. I'm quick and reliable," Li Yiming tried to sound humble and trustworthy. "And, I worked in a tavern in my homeland, so I know a little about drinks and can mix a few beverages."
The old man raised an eyebrow, seemingly intrigued by the last point. "Oh? Your homeland? Your accent is neither local Tilean, nor from The Empire or Estalia. And your features look much like a Dark Elf."
"I am from the distant East, Cathay," Li Yiming answered truthfully, knowing that hiding his exotic background would only invite more suspicion.
"Cathay..." the old man repeated, a flicker of something subtle crossing his eyes. "I hear it is a wealthy and mysterious kingdom, producing silks, teas, and fine porcelain. Do your people also enjoy drink?"
"Yes, sir. We have rice wine, fruit wine, and some strong spirits brewed from special grains," Li Yiming recalled. "I also learned a few methods for mixing drinks using different wines and ingredients."
The old man was silent for a moment, then placed the cleaned glass on the shelf. He took an empty cup and a few bottles of various coloured liquids from beneath the bar and pushed them toward Li Yiming. "Then mix me a drink now. Anything you are good at, as long as it offers some novelty."
This was a test. Li Yiming's heart quickened. He knew this might be his only chance. He composed himself and carefully examined the bottles before him. Most were common local wines and some inferior brandy, plus one bottle that appeared to be a fruit wine from Bretonnia. Ingredients were few, consisting only of shrivelled lemon slices and a small jar of honey.
He remembered attempting to mix a drink called "Clear Wind Dew" in Haichai, based on an ancient record. It was made with rice wine, plum juice, and a touch of mint, resulting in a clean, lingering taste. He didn't have rice wine or plum juice here, but he could try to improvise with the available ingredients.
He first took the Bretonnian fruit wine, pouring about one-third into the cup. Then, he picked up a bottle of local cheap white wine, carefully controlling the flow, allowing the liquid to slowly layer against the cup's side, creating a beautiful separation. Finally, he squeezed in a few drops of lemon juice and used a small spoon to lightly dab a tiny bit of honey on the rim.
His movements were fluid and focused throughout the process, without any wasted motion. This was thanks to the fine motor control he had developed while learning boxing in Cathay.
"Here you are, sir," he gently pushed the mixed drink toward the old man. The drink displayed a gradient colour, white on top and red below. The honey at the rim shimmered in the dim light, and the refreshing aroma of lemon mixed with the sweetness of the fruit wine was quite appealing.
The old man picked up the glass, first smelling it, then taking a small sip. He closed his eyes, savouring it for a moment, his facial expression largely unchanged.
Li Yiming's heart was in his throat.
"What do you call it?" the old man asked, opening his eyes, his tone still flat.
"My name is Li Yiming."
"The drink," the old man clarified, pointing to the cup.
Li Yiming thought for a moment and replied: "In my homeland, a similar style is called 'Coloured Cloud Chasing the Moon.' But since the ingredients are different, this cup... let's call it 'Mist Harbour,' sir." He used a quick flash of inspiration, combining Cathayan imagery with the local setting.
The old man grunted noncommittally. He took another sip, then put the cup down. "The craft is passable, at least better than my two fool nephews who only know how to pour wine into a cup. You're Li Yiming, yes? I'm Basso, Old Basso. That's what everyone calls me here."
"Mr. Basso," Li Yiming addressed him respectfully.
"I do need a helper to do odd jobs and look after the bar sometimes," Old Basso stroked his chin. "But I can't pay much. Three-day trial period, ten copper pieces a day, and one dinner meal included. If you're still acceptable after three days, it'll be fifteen copper pieces a day, plus two meals. Do you want the job?"
Ten copper pieces were only enough for a few loaves of black bread and some poor-quality cheese. But for Li Yiming, who was penniless, it was a godsend. More importantly, he had found a place to stay.
"Yes! I'll take it, Mr. Basso!" he accepted immediately, afraid Old Basso might change his mind.
"Hmm." Old Basso nodded, tossing a stiff, laundered old apron from under the bar. "Go clean up the storage room in the back first, then move those empty kegs to the back alley. Be quick about it."
"Yes, Mr. Basso!" Li Yiming took the apron, quickly tied it around his waist, and headed toward the back kitchen. He knew he had to prove his worth as quickly as possible.
The storage room was piled high with junk and empty bottles, and a musty smell assailed him. Li Yiming had no complaints. He rolled up his sleeves and began to clean systematically. He sorted the empty bottles, swept up the scattered sawdust and rubbish, and wiped down the dusty shelves with a wet rag. His movements were efficient and meticulous, a habit he had developed while with the caravan, where any disorder of supplies could lead to losses.
In less than an hour, the previously messy storage room was neat and orderly. Old Basso came to inspect it without a word. A flicker of approval crossed his eyes, but he kept silent.
Next came moving the empty kegs. Those oak barrels were heavy, and although Li Yiming was not physically huge, years of travelling and basic martial arts training had given him decent stamina. He moved the barrels one by one to the designated spot in the back alley. Fine beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, but his breathing remained steady.
In the early evening, the tavern began to fill up. Old Basso mainly served the regulars and those ordering expensive wines, while Li Yiming was placed in a corner of the bar, responsible for pouring ale or cheap wine for ordinary patrons and washing glasses.
This was an excellent opportunity to observe and learn. While working quickly, Li Yiming kept his ears open, listening to the patrons' conversations, silently noting the words he understood and the local Miragliano slang. He saw all kinds of people: mercenaries, loud and drunk, boasting of their battle exploits; merchants, speaking in hushed, secretive tones about some "deal"; and a few taciturn loners, drinking by themselves, their eyes sharp and vigilant, clearly experienced adventurers.
Li Yiming discovered that Old Basso was not just a shrewd tavern owner, but also an excellent information broker. He could always extract useful information from patrons with a few casual words, or, at the right moment, drop some vague intelligence in exchange for an expensive drink or a few silver pennies as a tip.
"Hey, kid, move it! That Dwarf gentleman at the table wants his third bloody Bugman's!" a gruff mercenary yelled, pounding the bar.
Li Yiming immediately filled a large stein with foamy Dwarf Ale from the keg and carried it over steadily. The Dwarf, with a massive, braided beard still damp with ale, took the stein and chugged down more than half of it, then let out a satisfied burp and tossed down a copper coin.
Li Yiming noted that although the Dwarf was crude, his tips were more generous than those of some well-dressed Human merchants. He silently filed this information away.
In Cathay, his adoptive father, Li Dehai, had taught him that the most important thing for survival in complex environments was to "read expressions and be cautious with words and actions." Now, these teachings became incredibly clear in his mind. He kept a low profile, speaking little, simply doing his work quietly, observing everything around him with his deep-set eyes.
Occasionally, when Old Basso was too busy, or when a patron was dissatisfied with the regular drinks, Old Basso would signal Li Yiming to try his hand. Li Yiming would then use the limited ingredients available to mix one or two unique drinks with an Eastern flair and a special flavour. For instance, he used the local poor-quality brandy mixed with a small amount of honey, lemon juice, and a dash of ground ginger (which he found in the back kitchen) to create a spicy, warming "Chilling-Dispeller," which was unexpectedly popular with sailors just returned from the sea.
His mixing skills were not top-tier, but they were cleverly conceived, often turning humble ingredients into something special. Furthermore, he never sought the spotlight, always attributing the success to Old Basso's "excellent guidance" or the tavern's "superior ingredients." This modesty and tact made Old Basso even more satisfied with him.
The three-day trial period quickly passed. Old Basso didn't say much, but on the third evening, he gave Li Yiming five extra copper pieces and instructed the kitchen to prepare him a dinner that included meat and vegetables, instead of the black bread and thin soup of the previous two days.
Li Yiming knew he had finally secured a foothold.
In the days that followed, Li Yiming immersed himself completely in his work at the Vanguard Vintner. He woke early every day to clean the tavern, organize the cellar, and ensure the bar and glassware were pristine. During the day, he assisted Old Basso with patrons, often working late into the night.
His mixing technique steadily improved with practice. He began experimenting by combining Cathayan concepts with local ingredients. He discovered that a type of local bitter herb, when dried and ground into a powder, added a unique freshness when mixed in small amounts with ale, counteracting the ale's sweetness. He named this improved ale "Emerald Wilds," and although the name was somewhat literary, it unexpectedly found favour with some sophisticated mercenaries and impoverished nobles.
He also learned to distinguish between the preferences of different patrons. Crude mercenaries favoured strong, cheap drinks; shrewd merchants preferred expensive wines from distant lands that showcased their status; and lonely adventurers often opted for unique custom-mixed drinks that could help them temporarily forget their troubles.
Li Yiming never actively engaged in conversation with the patrons, but he was an excellent listener. Under the influence of alcohol, many people unwittingly poured out their hearts, complaining about life's hardships, boasting of past glories, or revealing overheard secrets. Li Yiming listened quietly, filing away useful information, and gaining a deeper understanding of the world's complexity and brutality.
He learned to remain calm during a drunken patron's harassment, using clever words to defuse potential conflicts. Once, an inebriated Estalian mercenary, having lost all his money gambling, took his anger out on Li Yiming, pulling a dagger. Li Yiming did not panic. He simply looked at the man calmly and said, in a non-subservient but respectful tone: "Sir, your bravery is famed across the seas. Why bother with a humble vintner like me? Why not have a glass of the house specialty, the 'Spirit Reviver,' first? Perhaps it will bring you better luck." As he spoke, he quickly mixed a non-alcoholic drink loaded with mint and lemon. The mercenary was stunned by his composed attitude and flattering words. Fueled by the alcohol, he muddled through drinking the "Spirit Reviver," and soon passed out on the table. Old Basso, who had watched impassively, merely commented afterwards: "Kid, you've got some courage."
As time passed, Li Yiming's position at the Vanguard Vintner subtly changed. He was no longer just a helper; he had become Old Basso's indispensable assistant. His pay rose to twenty-five copper pieces a day, and he acquired a simple bed in a small storage room in the tavern's backyard. Although still poor, he no longer worried about his next meal or a place to sleep at night.
He began to save a little money. Unlike other mercenaries and sailors, he didn't waste his earnings on gambling or women. He carefully set it aside. He bought a set of fitted, durable dark linen clothes to replace his worn Cathayan jacket. He also purchased a secondhand short sword and a small round shield, which he hid under his bed. Although he still abhorred killing, he knew that in this chaotic world, lacking self-defence was akin to being a lamb for slaughter. He meticulously cleaned and maintained the repeater crossbow he had brought from Cathay, ensuring it was always ready for use.
He gradually integrated into the city of Miragliano, like a drop of water dissolving into the sea. He learned to navigate between different factions and deal with all manner of people. His Tilean became increasingly fluent, even incorporating some local accent. He was no longer the frightened, newly arrived foreigner, but a young, East-born vintner with a minor reputation at the Vanguard Vintner.
Even so, deep in the night, the bloody shadow of Har Ganeth, Hellebron's cold, mocking eyes, and the burning coast outside Barak Varr still occasionally intruded upon his dreams. He knew the peace was temporary, and his inner scars were far from healed. He yearned to break free from the past, but the past clung to him like a phantom.
Yet, at least under the Miragliano sun, in the air of the Vanguard Vintner mixed with the scent of ale and the flavours of a hundred lives, he had found a temporary harbour for respite. Like a tenacious weed growing in a crack in the rock, he struggled to absorb nourishment and gather strength, awaiting the next unknown twist of fate.
The Sailor's Rest Port not only offered shelter to drifting ships but also provided a temporary anchorage for Li Yiming, a soul from a distant, dark place. He had stabilized here, truly beginning to integrate into his new environment, even though, in his innermost heart, he still concealed secrets and pain unknown to others. But he knew life had to continue, and he had to become stronger.