The oil in the chicken soup was still swirling in the bowl, but He Fangchuan suddenly slammed his chopsticks onto the table.
"Uncle Zhong, pack your things."
"Huh?" Zhong was gnawing on a chicken leg, oil still lingering at the corners of his mouth. "But we've only just sat down..."
"If you don't hurry up, you'll be sharing chicken soup with that Wind Chaser." He Fangchuan glanced up at the beams, where the aroma of wine seemed fainter. He scooped up a spoonful of soup and deliberately raised his voice. "That story about the abandoned house in the south of the city won't hold up for more than half an hour."
Just as he finished speaking, the roof cracked. Zhong Bo shuddered with fear, and the chicken bone in his hand rolled to the ground, hitting the stray cat's tail. The cat meowed and leaped up, knocking over the empty wine jar in the corner.
"Who?!" Zhong Bo was about to pick up a bench and throw it, but He Fangchuan held him down.
A shadow on the beam shifted, and something fluttered down, landing with a thud on the table. It was a half-gnawn chicken bone, still stained with shredded meat.
This Qin Feng truly treated the inn like his own kitchen.
"Come down," he poked the chicken bone with his chopsticks. "Hide for a while. When the Wind Chasing Guards arrive, the three of us can join in the fun."
"Follow? Young Master He, that's a surprising thing." A low chuckle rang from the beam, its alcohol-tinged voice like a knife dipped in honey.
A gray shadow flashed, and Qin Feng had landed steadily at the table. He was still wearing his blue shirt, though the cuffs were dusty. In his hand, he held a wine gourd, identical in style to the one the Wind Chasing Guards had taken.
"Two gourds?" He Fangchuan exclaimed in surprise.
"A man of the martial arts world wouldn't go out without a backup." Qin Feng unscrewed the gourd and took a sip. "Besides, there's something mixed in there, enough for that gray-clad idiot to circle the abandoned house three times."
Zhong Bo's eyes widened. "You, you've been hiding in the rafters?"
"Then why else would I listen to Mr. He's stories? 'Drunken Wind Guest' is a good name, more interesting than 'Green Shirt Guest'." Qin Feng raised the gourd towards He Fangchuan, unable to hide the smile in his eyes.
He Fangchuan didn't respond, his mind brooding. He stared at the half-burnt account book in Zhong Bo's arms and suddenly remembered the portrait on the Chasing Wind Guard's token. It couldn't be that Xiuxiu Que was going to such great lengths to track him down just for a 'remnant of the He family.' There must be something important hidden in this account book.
"You knew the wanted poster was drawn wrong." "
Qin Feng paused as he poured his wine, raised an eyebrow, and said, "Three years ago, Young Master He accompanied his father to a banquet at Xiuxiu Palace. He wore a moon-white brocade robe and a Hetian jade belt. The painter only remembered his appearance at that time, but who could have predicted that he would become a refugee scholar now..." He looked up and down at He Fangchuan's tattered clothes. "Is he a refugee scholar?" He Fangchuan touched the scabs on his face and suddenly smiled. The original owner probably never imagined that the nobleman's appearance he had carefully maintained would become a pretense to save his life.
Qin Feng suddenly leaned in, his voice extremely low, the scent of alcohol lingering in He Fangchuan's ear: "Did Madam He give you the real account books before she died?"
Zhong Bo looked up abruptly and clutched the bundle in his arms even tighter. He Fangchuan remained calm, picking up a piece of chicken skin and popping it into his mouth. "What account books? They're just the remains of the burned He Mansion. How could they be worth such a big fight for Xixiuque?"
Qin Feng's sharp eyes locked with He Fangchuan's, then he sneered, not asking any further questions. He glanced out the window, his brows raised slightly: "Speak of the devil, and here he is."
He Fangchuan followed his gaze and, as expected, the gray-clad figure reappeared at the corner of the street, peering towards the inn. Apparently, after searching the abandoned house in the south of the city, they'd returned to investigate.
"Go out the back door. The shopkeeper's cellar leads to the ditch outside town." Qin Feng grabbed He Fangchuan and Zhongbo's arms and dragged them towards the kitchen.
"How did you know?" Shen Qingci stumbled after them.
"I got drunk here for three days last year. I know the place better than the shopkeeper." Qin Feng smiled, a sly glint in his eyes. "A man of the underworld always has to leave a way out."
The fumes from the kitchen were blinding. Qin Feng kicked open the door to the woodshed. Sure enough, there was a loose stone slab in the corner. He bent down to lift it, and suddenly heard a hiss. His shirt had been cut at some point, and blood oozed out.
"Are you hurt?" He Fangchuan frowned.
"No big deal, get down now." Qin Feng waved his hand nonchalantly, suddenly lifting the stone slab, revealing a dark cave entrance.
Zhongbo jumped down first, clutching his bag. He Fangchuan was about to follow when Qin Feng grabbed him.
"Here, you're going." Qin Feng thrust an oilcloth bag into his hand. He Fangchuan opened it, revealing a clean blue shirt and a small porcelain bottle. "Golden wound medicine, better than yours."
He Fangchuan was stunned. This man had just been a fox trying to steal oil, but now he seemed serious.
"Why are you helping me?" he couldn't help but ask.
Qin Feng had already given him a push, ushering him into the cave entrance. A smile echoed from outside: "Maybe you think Mr. He's a good storyteller and want to hear more?"
The stone slab slammed shut, blocking out the light outside. The only sounds in the darkness were the breathing of He Fangchuan and Zhongbo. He Fangchuan fetched a tinder and lit it, discovering that the secret passage was so narrow that only one person could stoop to pass through it. The walls were covered in slippery moss.
"Young Master, can this Young Master Qin be trusted?" Zhong Bo's worried voice echoed through the tunnel.
He Fangchuan pinched the bottle of golden medicine. The porcelain bottle was cold, yet it seemed to hold a hint of warmth. He remembered the wound on Qin Feng's lower back and suddenly realized that the injury might have been caused by the beam. Perhaps he had tampered with the beam to stall for the return of the Wind Chaser.
"Let's go, or there's no other way." He Fangchuan took two steps forward and suddenly kicked something hard. Shining the tinder on it, he discovered it was a jade pendant, smooth and smooth, with the character "Qin" engraved on it.
It seemed this "Drunken Wind Guest" had indeed left them a safe escape route.
"Go upstream. There's a dilapidated ancestral hall three miles away. I'll lead them away and rendezvous there!" Qin Feng's voice suddenly boomed from behind the wooden planks, a slight muffled sound.
Before He Fangchuan could respond, he heard shouts from the direction of the inn, mixed with the crisp clash of weapons. He clenched the jade pendant in his hand and shouted towards the other side of the planks, "Hey! I've memorized your nickname 'Drunken Wind Guest'!"
There was no response from the other side of the planks, only the sound of receding footsteps and a clear whistle—the same tune as the bone whistle from the dilapidated temple.
Zhong Bo rowed the small, shabby boat he'd found somewhere, while He Fangchuan sat at the stern. He took out the small medicine bottle Qin Feng had given him and poured out a pill. He was surprised to smell a familiar minty scent, not unlike modern cold medicine.
"This Jianghu man knows how to combine Chinese and Western medicine," he muttered to himself, swallowing the pill.
As the boat reached a bend in the river, He Fangchuan spotted a shimmering silver leaf floating on the water, identical to the one he'd poured from the medicine bottle that morning. He reached out to scoop it up, and the leaf gleamed coldly in the moonlight, leaving a faint indentation on his palm... the character "Que."
Que?
He suddenly remembered the wound on Qin Feng's lower back, the jade pendant inscribed with "Qin," and the distorted image on the Zhuifeng Guard's token. These fragments swirled in his mind, piecing together a vague image.
"Uncle Zhong, do you think Qin Feng is also looking for trouble with Que?" He Fangchuan asked, gazing at the outline of the ancestral hall in the distance.
Uncle Zhong rowed, the planks creaking. "This old servant doesn't understand the ways of the underworld. I only know that those who treat the young master well are good people."
He Fangchuan smiled. This old man was quite insightful.
The door of the dilapidated ancestral hall was ajar. He Fangchuan pushed open the door and saw a wine gourd on the altar—the very same one Qin Feng had, the one with the Chinese character "Feng" on it. Beneath the gourd was a slip of paper, written in sloppy handwriting, as if written in a hurry:
"The He family account books hold the key to the life of Xixiu Que. If daybreak doesn't come, I pray for the best."
He Fangchuan held the slip of paper to the tinderbox, watching the flames lick the corners. He felt that his journey through time might be more than just a simple escape.
He touched the charred account book in his arms, then the jade pendant with the Chinese character "Qin." Suddenly, he smiled at the empty ancestral hall:
"Okay, I'll take this role."
Morning light streamed in through the broken window of the ancestral hall, casting a long, thin shadow on the ground, resembling someone reclining over a drink.