Chapter Four: White Hair

Lu Chenyuan had risen early. In the courtyard, the firewood beneath the half-old iron pot crackled and popped. Inside, the millet porridge had boiled to a soft consistency, bubbling with fragrant steam that filled the air with the simple scent of grain.

He pressed two sturdy, coarse flour cakes against the edge of the pot to bake. When the cakes turned golden and exuded a toasty aroma, he straightened up, dusted off his hands, and habitually glanced upward.

There, atop the moss- and crack-streaked roof, a figure in blue lay sleeping soundly, arms pillowed behind her head. Her ink-black hair splayed across the gray tiles, with a few fallen leaves, playful from the night wind, tangled in the strands.

One leg was carelessly draped over the roof's ridge, while beside her hand, a vermillion gourd of wine leaned precariously against an upturned tile, as if it might roll off at any moment.

Lu Chenyuan shook his head helplessly.

This was his master.

When in good spirits, she would sleep in her own bed; when drunk, she would collapse in some corner of the courtyard. If troubled, she always preferred to lie on the rooftop, wordlessly gazing at the moon until it set and the stars faded.

He was certain that last night, she had spent yet another sleepless vigil under the heavens.

Drawing a deep breath, he practiced the basic breathing technique she had taught him. With a light step, he pushed off the wall and landed on the roof as silently as a nimble cat.

He approached his master, first righting the wine gourd with care, then crouched down and gently nudged her shoulder.

“Master, it’s time to get up. The porridge is ready.”

She frowned, rolled away as if evading him, pillowing her exquisite face on her arm, and muttered something indistinct—whether sleep talk or delirium, he could not tell.

Lu Chenyuan, exasperated, nudged her again with a firmer voice: “Master, it’s daylight.”

At last, she stirred. With an impatient wave, as though shooing away a bothersome fly, she turned her back to him and spoke in a voice thick with slumber, “What’s all this noise…? If the sky falls, aren’t you the tall one to hold it up…? Let me sleep a while longer… In my dreams, the wine… the wine is free…”

And with that, she fell silent again.

Lu Chenyuan looked at her, torn between amusement and annoyance. Over the past ten years, this scene had played out too many times to count.

He knew that if he didn’t employ some trick, she might not budge from that spot even after he returned from work at the inn.

His eyes lit up with an idea. Clearing his throat and putting on a tone of regret, he said, “Well, since Master won’t get up, I suppose I’ll go alone. It’s a pity, though—yesterday I heard from Manager Qian at the Watching Tide Inn that today a wealthy patron from the Imperial City is coming, very generous, and specifically asked for someone to interpret dreams.”

“I was thinking, if I could serve him well and earn thirty or fifty coppers in reward, I might finally buy Master that jar of Autumn Dew White from Tai Bai Tavern that you’ve been yearning for…”

Before he finished, the figure beside him suddenly shifted.

A moment ago she’d been limp as mud, but now his master sat bolt upright. Her peach-blossom eyes, which should have been bleary with sleep, now shone with startling clarity—there was not a trace of drunkenness left.

“Autumn Dew White?”

She seized Lu Chenyuan’s sleeve and asked urgently, “Is that true? Did Qian Dahai really say so?”

Suppressing a smile, Lu Chenyuan nodded solemnly. “Absolutely true. But if Master still wishes to sleep…”

“Sleep? What sleep! To miss out on my wine—now that would be a catastrophe!”

She sprang up in one deft motion, with none of the sluggishness of the hungover.

She brushed the grass from her clothes, straightened her slightly disheveled blue robe, and urged, “Silly boy, what are you gawking at? Hurry up and fetch water. I must freshen up before I go meet this ‘distinguished guest’!”

Lu Chenyuan answered and went to the well.

When he returned carrying the bucket, he saw his master stretching languidly in the morning light.

Not even the loose blue robe could conceal her graceful curves; in the dawn, her silhouette was a breathtaking arc, half veiled, half revealed.

Sensing his gaze, she glanced back and smiled. That smile was like spring thawing frost and a hundred flowers blooming; even this dilapidated little courtyard seemed brighter for it.

Lu Chenyuan’s heart gave a sudden thump. He quickly lowered his head and poured the water into a basin.

She stepped to the basin, scooped up a handful of cold well water, and splashed it on her face. Droplets trailed down her smooth cheeks, a few clinging mischievously to her long lashes.

He handed her a worn cloth.

At that moment, his eyes fell, by chance, on her temples.

In the morning light, he saw it clearly—amid the ink-dark hair was a single, barely noticeable strand of frosty white.

It was no trick of the light, but a real, unmistakable white hair.

His heart clenched. Master looked no older than twenty—how could she have a strand of white?

His gaze drifted, unbidden, to her eyes.

Those peach-blossom eyes, always tinged with mischief and languor, were now lacking their usual spark, replaced instead by a fleeting weariness.

It was not the fatigue of a hangover, but something deeper—a tiredness born of a thousand journeys and countless trials.

This weariness stood in stark contradiction to her youthful, peerless beauty.

Lu Chenyuan’s chest tightened, and he blurted out, “Master, you…”

“Hmm?” She looked up, drying her face, the trace of fatigue already vanished, her expression once more lazy and carefree.

“What is it? Could it be that your master is even more beautiful today, and you can’t tear your eyes away?”

“No… it’s not that.” He hesitated, but could not help asking, “I just saw, Master, you have… you have a white hair.”

Her hand paused for an instant. Then she burst out laughing, and with the damp cloth, tapped his forehead lightly, scolding, “Silly boy, your eyes must be playing tricks! How could your master, in the prime of her youth and beauty, have something only old ladies do?”

She yawned and stretched indifferently, adding offhandedly, “And if I do, it’s from worrying over your strange dreams last night, staying up till dawn. You’d better be good to your master, or that white hair will be on your account.”

She said it lightly, but for some reason, the strange ache in Lu Chenyuan’s heart only grew stronger.

He was almost certain now—his master was hiding something from him.

…

From the top floor of Listening Tide Pavilion, one could take in the entirety of Zhenhai River’s splendor.

Beneath a vast blue sky, rows upon rows of flying eaves and upturned beams stretched out; stone-paved alleys thronged with crowds; at the harbor, thousands of sails vied for the waves in magnificent spectacle.

Such a scene was indeed the image of a flourishing age.

Yet Shangguan Chuci had no mind to admire it.

She stood by the window, dressed in moon-white silk, her posture upright and spirited. In her hand, a folding fan inscribed with “The World for All” opened and closed with gentle rhythm, but her gaze was not on the bustle below—instead, she stared at the dark sea in the distance, lost in thought.

From a shadow in the corner, a black-clad figure seemed to materialize out of thin air, silently dropping to one knee three steps behind her. His presence melded so completely with the surrounding darkness that, had one not seen it, it would be impossible to notice anyone there at all.

“Princess.”

Shangguan Chuci did not turn, merely answered with a quiet “Mm,” and stilled the movement of her fan.

“All has been investigated,” the shadow reported succinctly. “There are far more guests arriving for this year’s Tidal Watching Festival than appear on the surface.”

“Representatives from the northern Myriad Fathoms Mountain have come; leading them is said to be a core disciple under Swordmaster Ying Wuque, and even the famed ‘Unbeaten Swordboat’ has docked at Zhenhai River.”

Shangguan Chuci showed no surprise, nodding. “As expected, the Four Pillars of the Heavens would not miss this occasion.”

The shadow paused before continuing, “From the west, Wujian Temple has also sent people. Heading their party is a high monk under Master Liaochan, apparently one with the ‘Bu’ character in his name. They seem to have sensed the abnormal turbid flow in the area and are targeting those Dao-changers.”

“Wujian Temple has a keener nose than the Hounds of the Magistrate’s Office.” Shangguan Chuci’s lips curled in a mocking smile. “Let’s hope they don’t ruin my plans.”

“And the big fish you asked me to watch—any sign?”

“According to our sources, suspected Cultivators of the Turbid Flow have entered Zhenhai River recently. At the same time, last night our people detected several well-concealed surges of turbid flow near the Watching Tide Inn at Wanmin Beach.”

“Oh? The Watching Tide Inn?”

Shangguan Chuci tapped her fan lightly in her palm, the crisp sound echoing in the quiet pavilion.

“So they’re still wary. No matter—I already have a plan. Contact the Magistrate’s Office for me. Tell them I have a big deal to discuss, and also…”

She paused, lips curving with amusement. “Spread a rumor—say that a group of rogue cultivators from overseas, fiery-tempered and reckless, with a rare treasure from the South Seas called the ‘Canghae Moonlight Jade,’ are about to arrive at the Watching Tide Inn.”

The shadow hesitated. “Princess, this news…”

Shangguan Chuci did not turn, but gazed towards Wanmin Beach, her voice as soft as the wind.

“For now, it’s as I say.”

“But before long…”

She smiled faintly.

“It will be the truth.”

The shadow understood at once and bowed low. “Your servant understands.”