An awkward, heavy silence hung over the main hall, thick enough to make the steam from the food feel like a fog.
"Ahem, ahem," Master Wu coughed, the sound cutting through the tension like a blunt axe. "It is only natural for a martial artist to be protective of his weapon. Everyone, sit. Let's not allow a momentary misunderstanding to ruin our harmony."
The command was absolute. Master Wu's authority in the Changfeng Agency was unquestioned, and the men promptly returned to their benches. They still shot sharp, unfriendly glares at Ye Beizhi, but they kept their mouths shut.
Master Wu turned to the young man with a softening expression. "Young Hero Ye, my people are crude men. They're straightforward, sometimes to a fault. Please, don't take their rowdiness to heart."
Ye Beizhi gave a small, respectful nod to show he hadn't taken offense.
Seeing the fire had been doused, Master Wu leaned in with genuine curiosity. "A blade like yours—spotless while its master is covered in the dust of the road—is clearly no ordinary tool. You must cherish it deeply to keep it so close. Does it have a name? I've seen much of the world in my younger days; I might recognize it."
At this, Ye Beizhi finally shifted his full attention toward the old man. His voice was quiet, but it carried clearly through the hall. "The blade's name is... Stormqueller."
The name landed on the table like a lead weight.
"Stormqueller? Never heard of it," one of the guards muttered.
"What kind of lousy name is that?" another snickered. "Sounds like something a scholar would use to write a letter. How can a weapon meant for killing have such a fancy, cultured name? It's ridiculous!"
A wave of derision rippled through the men who still held a grudge over Zhao Feihu's humiliation. They laughed and mocked the name openly. Only Master Wu remained silent, stroking his gray beard in deep contemplation.
"Stormqueller?" The girl in the yellow dress blinked, her eyes wide. She had been quieted by the earlier violence, but her curiosity was getting the better of her. "Grandpa Wu, isn't that the name of a famous poem?"
"It is," Master Wu acknowledged, his eyes never leaving Ye. "A very famous one."
"A poem? Are you a wannabe poet, then?" a guard sneered. "Using a poem title as a name is just naive. Are you trying to copy the Ghostbane Association? They love those dramatic titles. Tell us, kid, how many experts from the Ghostbane Association have you even heard of?"
"A few," Ye Beizhi said simply.
"Quit your bragging! You look like you just stepped out of your village yesterday," the guard continued, leaning forward to show off his own knowledge. "There are countless masters in that Association. Do you know Formation Breaker, Qiu Shuihan? They say he was an Earth-ranker years ago and might be a Heaven-ranker by now. Ever heard of him?"
Ye Beizhi looked at him and shook his head. "I don't."
The speaker smirked, clearly enjoying the chance to feel superior. "Ha! Fine. How about Sky Partridge, Luo Shuangyan? His lightness arts are legendary. Even though he's a man, he's a master of the Emei Thorn. Know him?"
"I don't," Ye said again.
"Then how about Careless Whisper, Shen Man?"
"No."
"Distant Sky, Xue Guangmu?"
"No."
"Mulberry Leaf, Liu Lei?"
"No."
The guard was practically interrogating him now, throwing out names like he was listing ingredients in a recipe. He wanted to look like a man of the world, but he quickly began to feel like he was punching a bale of cotton—no matter how hard he hit, there was no reaction.
"Drunken Flower, Yin Liaoxing? Sandy Creek, Wang Yunyin? Riverside, Lei Jun? Plum Blossom, Xiong Huaifang..."
"Wait," Ye Beizhi interrupted, his voice cutting through the list. "I think... I've heard of one of those."
The guard paused, surprised. "Heard of one? Which one? Wang Yunyin?"
"Riverside... Lei... Jun? I think that was his name." Ye Beizhi's eyes clouded for a moment as a memory surfaced—a tall figure, a crescent-shaped blade, and the cold air of a month ago. He remembered the man's final moments, the way he had looked at Ye with utter disbelief as he fell. He remembered the man's choking, unfinished last words: I am Riverside... Lei... Jun...
"Yes," Ye Beizhi thought to himself. "That's probably the one."
"What do you mean 'I think'?" the guard snapped. "That's his name! Would I get it wrong? But it's common knowledge that Riverside Lei Jun died last month. He was one of the many killed during that massacre at the Ghostbane branch in Yingtian Prefecture..."
"Yes, he's dead," Ye Beizhi added helpfully. "I killed him."
The hall went into a sudden, vacuum-like silence. Then, it broke into an explosion of laughter.
"Hahaha! Did you come here specifically to entertain us today?" The men at the table doubled over, slapping their knees.
"What's next? Are you going to claim you're the one who wiped out the whole Yingtian branch single-handedly? Is that your story? Huh!?"
Ye Beizhi opened his mouth to say yes, but he looked at their red, laughing faces and the mocking light in their eyes. He realized that the truth would only bring more noise, more questions, and more disbelief. He closed his mouth and went back to his silence.
"Alright, alright, that's enough. Let's eat," Master Wu interceded, though his eyes remained sharp and focused. "Any more questions can wait until the bellies are full. This banquet is supposed to be for Dingwu's return. Let's not let these... trivial matters... ruin the night."
The tension began to drain away as the men turned their attention to the food, though the atmosphere remained somewhat subdued.
Master Wu took one long, weighted look at the young man sitting at his table—this strange traveler who claimed to have slain a Ghostbane master yet sat there staring at a plate of vegetables like a lost child. Then, the old man picked up his chopsticks, grabbed a slice of cucumber, and announced to the room, "Let's eat!"