Chu Xiyue tugged on Ye Mingzhi's sleeve. "Come on, let's go spy on your mysterious innkeepers. They seem... interesting."
He raised an eyebrow, but followed without protest.
They slipped through the quiet halls until they reached the wine cellar. There, tucked among dust-covered casks, lay a sword—one he hadn't seen since the days of harsh training.
His fingers brushed the hilt.
Memories surged: Lao Xuan's booming laughter, the burn of strong wine on cracked lips, and a voice like thunder:
> "Swordsmanship isn't about perfection. It's about resolve. Wine is your truth—drink it, wield it, become it!"
Xiyue glanced at him, sensing his stillness. "This place... does it mean something to you?"
He nodded, gaze distant. "More than I remembered."