Chapter Nineteen: The Tidewatch Inn

The next afternoon, when business at the inn had quieted somewhat, Manager Qian instructed him to clean out a few guest rooms that had been vacant for several days and to change the bedding in preparation for new arrivals.

Lu Chenyuan, with a clean cloth in hand, pushed open the door to the third room of the celestial suite, which had stood empty for three days.

The door creaked open, releasing a heavy, musty air tinged with dust and the absence of an owner. Lu Chenyuan frowned slightly and looked around. In one corner, a guest’s suitcase and trunk sat untouched, with a visible layer of dust settled upon them.

He felt a flicker of surprise. Turning his gaze to the bed, he saw that the bedding was folded neatly, perfectly smooth, as if its owner had just left the night before.

Such a scene was truly strange!

An uneasy chill ran through him, and a thought flashed like lightning through his mind.

It suddenly occurred to him that over the past half month, a few familiar faces seemed to have vanished from the inn.

First there was Wang, the ginseng merchant from the south, who disappeared after seven or eight days’ stay; then Li, the horse trader heading west, likewise vanished without a trace.

As the saying goes, inns are iron, travelers are running water—coming and going is nothing unusual.

Yet thinking carefully, before these two disappeared, their luggage too had been left untouched in their rooms!

Clearly, something untoward had happened to them, so suddenly they hadn’t even had time to pack.

But this Tidewatcher Inn was a place where news traveled fast, with all sorts mingling together. If a guest had died or gone missing, how could there not even be a whisper of rumor?

Everything about this was shrouded in mystery.

Lu Chenyuan kept silent, tidied the room, replaced the bedding, and softly closed the door as he stepped out.

He stood in the corridor, lost in thought. Suddenly, a clear voice sounded behind him:

“Brother Lu, you seem preoccupied. Have you stumbled upon another curious affair?”

Lu Chenyuan turned. There stood Shangguan Chuci, graceful in moon-white robes, holding a white jade folding fan, smiling at him with a glint of mischief.

He hadn’t intended to say much, but reconsidered. Though this person was shrewd, her insight was extraordinary, and the two already shared certain confidences. Perhaps an outsider’s perspective would shed light on the matter. He decided not to hide it, and recounted in detail what he had found and the suspicions that plagued him.

Shangguan Chuci listened, the playful smile on her lips fading a little. After a moment’s contemplation, she asked, “How many days has this person been missing?”

“Three days now,” Lu Chenyuan replied.

“And before they vanished, did they have anything in common with others?” she pressed.

He shook his head. “I hadn’t noticed anything.”

She continued, “And what does Manager Qian say about these vacant rooms?”

“He only said the guests left early, room fees all settled, and told us to wait a few days before cleaning, lest we disturb the flow of fortune,” Lu Chenyuan answered.

Seeing how closely she questioned him, he couldn’t help but ask, “Do you also think they... died?”

And then, thinking out loud, he added, “But if they really died, and three in a row, how could it be so silent, without the slightest commotion?”

At this, Shangguan Chuci suddenly smiled. Leaning in so close that her breath, fragrant and cool, brushed his ear, she lowered her voice, a touch of chill beneath her words:

“Brother Lu, aren’t you curious about Manager Qian’s celadon vase? Is it really just for flowers, or perhaps... for something else?”

Lu Chenyuan’s heart jolted. “You suspect—”

But Shangguan Chuci straightened, placed a finger to her lips in a playful hush, winked, and said with a laugh:

“I haven’t said a thing. Enough talk! I’m famished and off to find some food.”

With that, she twirled her fan and sauntered downstairs.

Lu Chenyuan stood rooted, emotions churning, silent for a long while.

He was indeed curious about the vase’s secret. But when he thought of Manager Qian’s worldly yet warm face, and those gruff yet caring words—“Boy, stop gnawing on that stale bun”—he was reluctant to believe such wickedness could be his doing.

Besides, who in this world is without secrets?

He himself bore a curse, his master’s origins a mystery—wasn’t he the same?

To pry into another’s secrets without cause was no act of a gentleman.

Yet that vase was undeniably suspicious. Even now, recalling the eerie laughter of a little girl he’d once heard, he felt his skin crawl.

Could it truly be Manager Qian’s doing?

He remembered the savvy advice Manager Qian had given in a crisis, and his familiarity with the murkier paths of the world—far from what ordinary merchants would know.

For now, good and evil blurred in his mind, and the Tidewatcher Inn seemed a den of dragons and tigers.

Carrying these heavy thoughts, he descended to the main hall, just as four burly strangers—clearly wandering cultivators of no mean skill—strode into the inn, travel-worn and swaggering.

The leader, voice booming, complained as soon as he entered:

“Damn it, there are more people than fish in this Watch-Sea Tide! All the inns near the coast are packed to the rafters. We barely snagged a room, and before we could settle, some big shot chased us out! What rotten luck!”

Having spent over half a month in Zhenhai Chuan, Lu Chenyuan now understood the arrangements for the Watch-Sea Tide festival.

The viewing areas were divided into three: the Divine Viewing Platform atop the inner sea, the Tidal Listening Pavilion by the near sea, and the Commoners’ Beach along the shore.

Only the world’s most powerful factions or peerless talents could ascend the Divine Viewing Platform.

The Tidal Listening Pavilion was reserved for elite disciples of first-rate sects, scions of great clans, and merchants of immense wealth. Though they could not reach the highest platform, here they could still witness the majesty of the tides, forge alliances, and lay foundations for their sects or futures.

As for the majority—wandering cultivators like these four—they could only watch from the Commoners’ Beach, jostling in the crowds to feel the leftover surge of spiritual energy or listen to tales of the Divine Viewing Platform and Tidal Listening Pavilion.

Manager Qian, hearing the commotion, rushed over with a broad, ingratiating smile and bowed, “Gentlemen, what can I do for you? A meal or a room?”

“Rooms!” boomed the leader. “Manager, do you still have vacancies?”

“Indeed, indeed!” Qian replied, beaming. “A few fine rooms have just become available. You’ve come at just the right time! Please, come in, this way!”

Watching from the side, Lu Chenyuan noted that these men, though skilled, seemed guileless, and hearing how they’d been bullied out of their lodgings, he felt a pang of pity.

Without a word, he stepped back and waited until Manager Qian led them upstairs. Then he hurried after them to take over as their guide.

Once Manager Qian was out of earshot, Lu Chenyuan leaned close to the four and said in a low voice:

“Gentlemen, our place is fine, but the beds... well, they’re as hard as coffin boards. And the bedding’s damp—you might catch a chill at night.”

“Just so you know, if you can’t sleep, the inn across the street just got new bedding—soft as clouds.”

The four exchanged glances, then burst out laughing. The leader clapped Lu Chenyuan on the shoulder and said, “You’re an honest lad. Never mind us—we’re used to roughing it on the road. We take what comes!”

Lu Chenyuan could only sigh inwardly and said no more, silently reciting:

“So be it. My warning’s given. Blessing or misfortune, each to his fate.”

He returned downstairs, his gaze drifting once more to the celadon vase standing quietly by the counter. He drew a deep breath.

“This inn is indeed shrouded in mystery. For my master’s sake, and my own, I must get to the bottom of it.”

But if he was to investigate, where should he begin?

Should he go straight for Manager Qian’s vase?

No... that would not do.

Lu Chenyuan shook his head.

Manager Qian was rarely away from that vase—a direct approach would not be easy.

A secret investigation was risky; it could alert him, or worse, it could all be a misunderstanding.

For now, he could only ponder his next move.