Early summer in Lijiang, and the last of the peach blossoms were fading. The streets were littered with fallen petals.

This year, the peach trees had bloomed under relentless rainstorms and never reached their full glory. The air held only a lingering sweetness—flowers washed by rain, spring’s fragrance diluted. What remained of the season was no more than a sliver, scattered across Lijiang in a carpet of ruined red.

The elderly in every alley whispered that it was all because the Pavilion Master of Jin Zhan had died—that the heavens had taken pity on him.

Jin Zhan Pavilion had stood in Lijiang for many years. Though it was a martial sect, it was tied to the Prince Li’s estate by marriage. Strictly speaking, they were no longer merely people of the jianghu. A man who held such a position, by reason alone, shouldn’t be called pitiable.

But the old folk liked to say it that way. Over tea or after meals, they’d even pour out half a cup of wine by their doorsteps, offering it as tribute.

But all of that hardly mattered now—the man was dead, after all.

What did matter, perhaps, was that his funeral still hadn’t been held.

The seasons may pay no mind to human will, but a person’s funeral could.

When Yu Sha awoke, the faintest scent of rain-washed peach blossoms lingered at the tip of his nose. It had crept in through the sealed window of the second floor, mingling with the incense and the stale wine that had filled the room overnight, chasing away the air of decay and reckless indulgence.

He rubbed his eyes and got up to open the narrow window. The peach tree in the courtyard had grown to the height of the third floor; the moment the window swung open, he could see branches stripped of petals by the rain, leaving only bare stamens clinging to the twigs. He studied them for a while—then heard the sound of a pipa being tuned in the courtyard below. Sure enough, it was Xun Er, up early and beginning her morning practice.

Yu Sha shut the window in haste—the movement loud enough to stir trouble. In the room beside him, Xiang Feibai was still asleep and roused by the noise. With his eyes still closed, he opened his mouth to curse, but before the words could form, a jarring, piercing pipa note rang out. It sliced through the thin second-floor walls like dry thunder, exploding right by his ears. Whatever trace of sleep remained was gone. His temples pulsed with pain; even his heartbeat picked up speed.

“…With such skill, you’re still playing the pipa?! You’d be better off strumming cotton in a bedding shop in East Market!”

Xiang Feibai roared, but the playing below was completely unaffected—boldly forging ahead. It was a rendition of Ambush from Ten Sides, though it only held onto one or two of the right notes. The fingerwork was as broken as shattered porcelain, each passage as grating as fingernails dragged across stone. Every sound made one’s skin crawl.

Driven past endurance, Xiang Feibai climbed out of bed. Yu Sha had already split two bowls of hangover tea, pushing one toward him.

“If you can’t stand it, then go home. Stop showing up here whenever you’ve got nothing better to do.”

Half-awake and already being shooed out, Xiang Feibai felt deeply wronged. He exclaimed, “I came because I was worried about you! Since when did you become so cold-hearted?”

Yu Sha rolled his eyes. “I’m doing fine. Spare yourself the trouble. You’re a guest of Jin Zhan Pavilion. What business do you have running off to Pingchun Ward every other day?”

“So you know this place is beneath you.” Xiang Feibai seized on the words, accusing, “You should buy a house somewhere else. This whole street’s lined with brothels! The racket went on till past four last night—how can you live like this?”

“Enough.” Yu Sha cut him off. “If you have time to lecture me, you’d better use it to report back. I heard inspections have been strict lately.”

That much, at least, was true.

At the mention, Xiang Feibai’s headache deepened. Whatever lingering haze he had disappeared. He yawned, then launched into a new round of complaints.

“Since that sickly bastard took power, there hasn’t been a single peaceful day. First he purged half the disciples—had everyone on edge. Then it was the funeral. Hah! One whole month and it’s still not done. The locals here are one thing, but now they say they’re inviting northern dignitaries too. Spoiled young master—hasn’t the faintest idea how hard it is to get anything done. All these lords from north and south—none of them are easy to deal with! For all we know, their families have centuries of feuds. Each guest is more troublesome than the last.”

Yu Sha frowned at his endless chatter. “You rambled on the whole night yesterday—how are you still not tired of it?”

Xiang Feibai had indeed spent the whole night complaining. Not even the sounds of customers and courtesans making love in the room next door had stopped his venting. Clearly, life hadn’t been kind to him lately.

Now that Jin Zhan Pavilion had changed hands, things were no longer what they used to be.

Knowing he’d wear out his welcome if he kept talking, Xiang Feibai waved his hand dismissively, smoothed out his robes, drank the tea Yu Sha had poured, and strolled out of the room with deliberate leisure.

The second floor opened into a wooden corridor, with staircases on either end. Downstairs, the hall held long benches and old tables. Under the corridor, a wooden counter sat beside a half-empty treasure shelf with only a few ceramic jars.

The furniture was intact, but years of oil smoke and weeks of rain had left everything grimy and damp. Xiang Feibai passed by, glanced around, and scowled.

“You don’t even hire help?” he said. “At least keep the place tidy. Otherwise, how are you supposed to run a business?”

He had said the same thing upon waking. Between the lines, it was clear he looked down on Pingchun Ward. No surprise—of Lijiang’s eighteen wards, Ping’en, where Jin Zhan Pavilion stood, was the most prestigious. Pingchun, lined with brothels, was hardly a place anyone from the Pavilion would respect.

“Don’t nitpick. If you’re leaving, go now,” Yu Sha urged. “Even if I end up starving, I won’t be showing up at your estate for scraps.”

Xiang Feibai wanted to argue more, but the sun had already risen. If he didn’t hurry, he’d miss morning roll call for real. With a sigh, he left in a rush.

Yu Sha saw him off, then yawned. The alleys of Lijiang were still quiet—after a night of revelry, those who partied had yet to rise. Aside from the faint demonic sound of pipa music drifting from the back courtyard, all was calm and clear.

No matter how cheap or expensive the land, this moment of early-morning peace was the same everywhere.

He stood in the inn’s doorway, dazed for a while. When Xun Er’s pipa finally reached its last trembling note, he turned, preparing to head back upstairs for another half-day’s sleep.

It should’ve been an ordinary morning.

But just before Yu Sha turned around, a figure suddenly emerged from a nearby alley—a man caked in mud, like a creature dug straight from the earth. He looked wild and feral. Even someone like Yu Sha, who had seen a fair bit of the world, was startled. It took him a second to realize this man hadn’t appeared out of thin air but had walked through the narrow passageway between two buildings.

The alleys in Lijiang were tangled and winding. It wasn’t that rare for someone to pop out of nowhere.

But still—this one was a sight to behold. The man was filthy, covered in crusted mud. His clothes clung to his body in stiff, hardened folds. Even his bamboo hat was speckled with dried muck.

Ever since Yu Shaomiao’s death, Lijiang had been crawling with all kinds of strange people.