Chapter Seven: The Imperious Young Lady

The inn was called Joyous Arrival—a rather commonplace name, but one that Yang Lian would come to know intimately in later years. Despite its uninspired title, the inn bustled with life; traders from north and south thronged its entrance, and business was thriving. Yang Lian followed the man in the blue robe, listening to his ceaseless chatter with a faint smile.

The inn had been full to bursting these past few days. Had someone not reserved an upper room, Yang Lian would never have found a place here. After a few subtle inquiries, he once again confirmed that the blue-robed man had no acquaintance with the person who booked the room. Reaching the inn’s threshold, Yang Lian was surprised to see an opulently decorated carriage being led into the back courtyard by a servant. He paused, momentarily taken aback—was that beautiful lady also staying here? Yang Lian had no idea she was seeking him; otherwise, he would never have chosen this inn.

He followed the blue-robed man inside, who then ushered him straight to an upper room on the second floor. Though the man grumbled about not being tipped, he was still diligent—after all, he’d receive a commission from the one who had reserved the room—and proceeded to introduce the accommodations.

The room overlooked the Grand Canal. Opening the window, Yang Lian was greeted by drooping green willows and rippling jade waters. On both banks, crowds of townsfolk bustled; street vendors hawked their wares with a chorus of cries, and every now and then, the breeze would carry the scent of delicious food. Only then did Yang Lian realize how hungry he was.

“Are you hungry, sir? Our inn has some specialties—our Silverfish Soup from Lake Tai is unmatched. Care to try it?” the blue-robed man recommended enthusiastically.

Yang Lian was about to answer when the man continued, “No need to worry about the bill, sir. The one who reserved the room left over twenty strings of cash—more than enough for your expenses.”

With a wave of his hand, Yang Lian replied, “Then bring me a few of your specialties, and also have someone heat some water. I’d like to bathe.”

“Right away!” the man said, and hurried off. Half an incense stick later, the dishes began to arrive, along with a jug of warmed yellow wine and a small bucket of rice.

“Enjoy, sir. The hot water will be brought up in half an hour,” the man added before leaving.

Famished, Yang Lian made quick work of the meal. In less than the time it takes to finish a meal, not a scrap remained. Rubbing his stomach, he rose and walked to the window, gazing out at the boats gliding along the Grand Canal. He couldn’t fathom who had arranged this comfortable lodging and delicious food for him. Yet one thing was certain: this person harbored no ill will. Yang Lian even suspected that, on his way to Jinling, such occurrences would continue to happen.

He habitually stroked his chin, finding the situation all the more intriguing. Could it be that the old servant at home had made arrangements? Truth be told, he still did not know the old man’s true identity. Perhaps it would always remain a mystery.

Before long, a servant brought up the hot water, and Yang Lian enjoyed a refreshing bath in the privacy of his room.

His body was clean, but his clothes were a little dirty. As he hesitated, he noticed new garments folded nearby, with his name written neatly on a slip: “For Yang Lian.” The handwriting was elegant—a woman’s script, yet certainly not Zhang Qili’s, whose penmanship was still crude after only a few days of practice. This hand was graceful and beautiful; surely, the writer herself was as lovely as her writing.

Yang Lian smiled as he donned the new outfit. It fit perfectly, deepening his puzzlement—this person seemed to know him very well. Yet, apart from Zhang Qili, he knew no other women. But the handwriting was clearly different, so he dismissed that notion.

At that moment, a commotion arose outside—shouts, cries, and scolding voices—clearly from the courtyard. Yang Lian moved to the door and opened it, standing in the doorway to watch.

The corridor was filled with curious guests, some even wearing indignant expressions. Glancing down, Yang Lian saw the beautiful lady holding a riding crop, thrashing a man who looked like a runner or servant. The man rolled on the ground, wailing in pain. Upon seeing this, Yang Lian paused in astonishment.

It was that same striking lady. Whatever the runner had done to offend her, he was paying the price. Guests murmured among themselves, and Yang Lian, with his keen ears, soon understood the situation. The reason was simple: the runner had merely lingered a moment too long with his gaze upon her and was now being severely beaten. Some considered intervening, but after noticing the several burly, fully armed guards at her side, could only shake their heads with a wry smile. Who would dare provoke such a powerful household? Most residents of Henglin Town were merchants who valued harmony and would never risk offending such an influential woman.

Although none dared interfere, the guests whispered among themselves, wondering aloud how someone so beautiful could be so ruthless, and what sort of man would ever wish to marry her.

A cold smile flickered at Yang Lian’s lips. This woman was indeed overbearing—just a lingering glance, and the runner was beaten mercilessly. After all, it’s human nature to admire beauty; what harm in a second look if one does nothing improper? Was it really worth such a fuss?

But Yang Lian was no self-styled champion of righteousness. He wouldn’t leap in to right every perceived wrong. Shaking his head, he returned to his room. He had more pressing matters—his training.

These days, Yang Lian had been studying a book he’d taken from the Lake Tai pirates, and he was beginning to grasp its teachings. The book described basic internal training techniques, mostly involving sitting cross-legged and cultivating one’s energy. Though elementary, it was of immense benefit for laying a foundation. In just a few days, Yang Lian noticed a difference: no matter how far he walked or how tired he became, he would seize every moment of rest to practice, feeling a warm current rise from his lower abdomen, traveling through his chest and up to his head, invigorating his spirit and banishing fatigue. His sleep became deep and restful.

He was nearly finished mastering the book’s contents. It was, after all, only an introductory manual, but it was invaluable for building a solid foundation.

After reading the book for a while, the sounds outside faded. Presumably, the lady had vented her wrath to satisfaction, and the courtyard returned to its usual calm.

As dusk fell, the Joyous Arrival Inn grew quiet. Seizing the opportunity, Yang Lian began his evening practice as planned. After more than an hour, sweat drenched his body. He gradually finished his exercises, rested with his eyes closed, then stood and summoned a servant for hot water.

After training, his body was warm and it was best to wash with tepid water—cold water was strictly to be avoided.

The runner soon appeared—it was the same blue-robed man from before, now in fresh clothes, but his face was bruised and battered.

“What happened to you?” Yang Lian asked curiously.

The man forced a bitter smile and spoke softly: it was he who had been beaten by the lady earlier.

“If you’re injured, why not go home and rest?” Yang Lian inquired.

The man shook his head. “I have elders above and children below—several mouths to feed. How could I rest?” He managed a smile. “Please wait a moment, sir. I’ll fetch your hot water at once.” With that, he hurried off.

Yang Lian watched him go, thinking how hard life was in these times. Soon, the man returned with hot water, and Yang Lian wiped the sweat from his body.

Though he hadn’t been in this world long, these past days had left a deep impression. In his former life, he’d been a bit of a brawler, but there were human rights in the modern age—one wouldn’t go too far. Things were very different now; had the innkeeper not apologized, the runner might well have been beaten to death.

Frowning, Yang Lian recalled memories from his body’s former owner. No matter how noble one’s birth, without true strength and power, one was still at the mercy of others. The blue-robed man’s plight only reinforced this conviction.

Clenching his fists, Yang Lian resolved that only he would have the right to decide his fate.

Night had deepened. Yang Lian pushed open the window, seeing a crescent moon overhead—it was midnight. Though Henglin Town was a busy hub, merchants traveling back and forth slept early after a long day’s journey, and the surroundings were peaceful.

His gaze swept across the Grand Canal, and his resolve only deepened. He was about to close the window and retire when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a shadow flitting swiftly some twenty paces away. By the time he tried to focus, the figure had vanished.

“Did I imagine it?” he wondered, closing the window and blowing out the candle.

He’d just lain down when a soft noise came from the roof.

Ever since his encounter with the Lake Tai pirates, Yang Lian had become exceedingly vigilant. Even the faintest sound now rang in his ears like thunder, banishing all trace of sleep. He stayed motionless, listening intently.

There was indeed movement above—soft footsteps, almost inaudible to most, but clear as day to him. He could even tell how many there were.

Three in total, moving with remarkable lightness. Ordinary people would struggle to walk soundlessly atop tiles or bricks, but these three moved as though on solid ground. Yang Lian surmised their skills were not inferior to those of the black-clad man and the white-clad maiden who had saved him days earlier.

What were these three doing here in the dead of night? Yang Lian sat up, crept to the pillar, and listened carefully. Could they be after him? But that seemed unlikely—he hadn't provoked anyone along the way.

The footsteps continued for about twenty paces, then stopped. He heard the faint sound of tiles shifting.

“Where have they gone?” he wondered, quietly moving to the window and easing it open. Under the silvery moonlight, he saw nothing, but his ears were sharper than ever. The footsteps were moving east.

The east wing also belonged to the Joyous Arrival Inn. Yang Lian guessed the three were headed toward the lady’s quarters. From what the blue-robed man had said, the lady was staying in the east. Given her identity, Yang Lian suspected the trio's intentions were anything but benign.

Well, he thought, perhaps a domineering woman like her could use a lesson in humility. In any case, it wasn’t his concern—besides, he had no strength to intervene.

He was about to shut the window and sleep when, without warning, a dart flew in and embedded itself firmly in the pillar behind him!