I'll sell my clothes and get some wine to drink with you

I'll sell my clothes and get some wine to drink with you.

A cup of bamboo leaf green tea

Bamboo Leaf Green Wine: Fragrant with bamboo leaves, served in a golden basin; ten or five cups are not enough to satisfy the palate. Only after a hundred cups does one begin to go mad, and in that madness comes a surge of passion and spirit.

...

In the third month of spring, rain patters on the banana leaves, its rhythmic cadence mingling with the cadence of the rain.

When I stepped into Buxian Town, the rain had just stopped. The light mist in the streets and alleys resembled delicate flower petals fluttering in the air, gradually turning into a light wine in the increasingly bright spring sunshine.

Painted pavilions and vermilion towers stand facing each other, half-hidden and half-revealed, while red peach blossoms and green willows droop their eaves in the shadows. Although it is a small town, it is exquisite and prosperous.

There were few pedestrians on the road, most of them were taking shelter from the rain.

The bluestone slabs, stained with water, reflected the light so brightly they seemed to mirror a person. I strolled leisurely into a small teahouse.

The shop was quite crowded. Some were engaged in lively discussions, some were impromptu composing poems while the lingering rain and mist hadn't cleared, and others were bowing their heads, desperately trying to appear profound. The scene was a mix of activity and quiet, a microcosm of the diverse lives of the people, offering a glimpse into the realities of life.

The faint smell of rain and ink in the air wasn't too unpleasant.

I went up to the second floor, found a small corner, ordered a cup of tea, opened the window, rested my chin on my hand, and looked out. It was very pleasant.

...

My name is Qing Guyi.

Well, it sounds like a very sophisticated name, making me seem like a refined young lady from a scholarly family, skilled in all the arts, and the story would be about how I would portray a life of romance and adventure. Unfortunately, while I wouldn't call myself a commoner, I'm definitely a roughneck, or to put it more politely, a roughneck.

My master is Yu Buzhou. The old man once told me when I was seven years old that I would definitely have a place in the martial arts world in ten years. So, soon I will have at least half a copper coin's worth of space in the martial arts world.

Speaking of literary pursuits, I do know a little; my calligraphy is quite good. As for the profound question of why a rough, uncouth man who throws guns and sticks can write calligraphy, I owe it all to my teachers.

My sect, it's no exaggeration to say it's a renowned place in the martial world, imbued with an ethereal, otherworldly aura, producing peerless swordsmen who can kill a man in ten steps and leave no trace for a thousand miles. Despite having fewer than fifty disciples and masters combined, they occupy two prime locations in the mountains, boasting excellent feng shui. They claim to be indifferent to the chaos and turmoil of the martial world, yet they never miss a single martial arts competition in Qishan to prove their status. They proclaim to live a life of seclusion, seeking swordsmanship amidst nature, yet just a mile outside their gates lies the winding Turtleback Avenue, adorned with three white stone arch bridges, showcasing their wealth and power.

In short, this sect is reserved and self-righteous, but being honest is not a bad thing.

The sect has three pavilions: Moyang, Bilu, and Yanzhi, each named after an ancient divine weapon. The master of Moyang Pavilion teaches how to strengthen the body and defeat enemies, the master of Bilu Pavilion teaches how to kill with a single blow, and the master of Yanzhi Pavilion teaches the arts of music, chess, calligraphy, and painting.

When the sect leader, Old Man Yu Buzhou, introduced himself to us children in this way, the children were stunned. They didn't know the difference between the first two, nor did they know the meaning of the third.

"To put it bluntly, in Moyang Pavilion you learn how to fight, in Bilu Pavilion you learn how to kill, and in Yanzhi Pavilion you learn how to conceal your murderous aura," Vice Sect Master Zhou Xuande added impatiently as we nodded in slight understanding, "so as not to be too conspicuous when you go out and get killed by the mob."

The children suddenly realized what was going on and lit up Zhou Bapi's sullen face with starry eyes full of admiration.

"The book says to attack in groups, but in the martial arts world it becomes to kill in groups," I said, punching my right fist into my left palm. "The martial arts world is indeed very dangerous." I concluded with such profound insight.

"..." The children were stunned again, and the masters were stunned as well.

Zhou Bapi's face turned red with embarrassment; he would rather die than admit that he had memorized the idiom incorrectly.

Later I learned that learning music, chess, calligraphy, and painting can have many benefits for strengthening wrists and cultivating temperament. For example, when I practice calligraphy, my wrists become more flexible and I can remain calm and composed in the face of adversity. Zhou Bapi, on the other hand, enjoys Go, which gives him a far-sighted perspective, but he is too aggressive because he always cuts off his opponents' escape routes, which is why he is the master of Bilu Pavilion...

Disciples in this sect cultivate all three arts (music, chess, calligraphy, and painting), but only one. Like a school, their schedules are strictly regulated, with strict rules governing their daily lives and classes – a testament to the saying, "A strict teacher produces outstanding students." Another rule is that to become a master and undergo trials, one must pass the annual examinations in all three arts. Failing even one subject disqualifies one from further training; the disciple is then confined to the mountain to try again the following year. Therefore, on Qiuchang Mountain, I would occasionally hear my fellow disciples' mournful howls in the middle of the night, like a pack of wolves in heat with nowhere to vent their frustration…

I'm a special case. I went down the mountain for two years of training, but I was kicked out.

I was fifteen years old that year.

It was all for a ridiculous thing that I still don't think was wrong. To put it simply, Li Yiyao and I discovered the corpse and secret manual of a demon and secretly learned some of his techniques that were neither evil nor demonic. Only Old Man Yu and Zhou Bapi defended me, while the other stubborn old men and women insisted that I had fallen into the demonic path.

As for that scoundrel Li Yiyao, his father is the wealthiest merchant in the capital, richer than a country, so he was only punished with half a month of solitary confinement. This shameless brat even complained that he couldn't go down the mountain with me to play.

It's said that the elders initially discussed expelling me from the sect, but because of my exceptional talent, diligent martial arts training, hard work from 5 am to 9 pm, and my kind and considerate nature—well, honesty isn't wrong—I was ultimately sent down the mountain for a two-year trial. The woman I hated most in the sect, Xu Shiren, along with her equally detestable father, Xu Wanxuan (Xu the Fat Pig), insisted on adding a rule—for these two years, I couldn't reveal my lineage to anyone, use any of the sect's skills, or even be expelled from the sect if they heard my name. They said they were afraid I'd cause trouble and ruin the sect's reputation. To hell with that second aunt! If they want me to die a violent death in the street, just say so.

At the mountain gate, Old Man Yu, Zhou Bapi, and my best friend Li Yiyao, whose relationship with me was so close that people often suspected I was a mirror polisher, saw me off. Zhou Bapi patted me on the shoulder with some reluctance and admonished me of the principles of the martial world—"I will not offend others unless they offend me; if they offend me, I will kill them"—a saying I still deeply believe in to this day. My best friend Li Yiyao was the most honest; she secretly slipped me a few silver notes and a bag of essential martial world gadgets for home, travel, murder, and silencing witnesses.

As for Old Man Yu, he patted my other shoulder kindly and said gently, "You are not allowed to come back if you do not learn the third move of the Duijun Sword Technique within two years."

Upon hearing this, my face turned ashen. If I threw it into the stove, it would probably burn for three days and three nights.

The valleys were suddenly shrouded in darkness.

I remember when the wild goose carried the setting sun on its back, it was a perfect time to see the sunset glow in the sky and the lone wild goose flying together on Luowu Mountain.

...

This was the year I was about to establish myself in the martial arts world.

Before long, the number of pedestrians on the street increased, and stalls selling all sorts of trinkets sprang up on the street corners, with the noisy voices rising slowly like boiling water.

Before I could enjoy myself for long, I slowly began to feel a growing boredom, like the urge to scratch my bellyband. I tapped my fingers on the tea-stained table, yawned, and was wondering what to do when I noticed something unusual in the creaking footsteps on the old stairs. Dense, yet orderly; heavy, yet steady.

These are the footsteps of a group of martial arts practitioners.

Of course I wasn't stupid enough to turn around. Although I sensed something was off, I was still awkwardly excited about the fun that was about to unfold...

Calmly, I picked up the teacup and took a sip. As I put the tea down, I glanced discreetly toward the stairwell.

I saw a burly man carrying a giant axe; his terrifying muscles looked like giant twisted ropes wrapped around his body. I felt deeply disappointed by this kind of appearance…

Behind him followed a group of men d

……