Разные пути ведут к одной и той же цели (жениться на человеке равного социального положения)

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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 dressed in identical martial arts uniforms—a cliché setup of a gang leader and his henchmen. Judging by the pathetic state of those henchmen, each one a scrawny radish and rotten cabbage, it was clear they weren't a respectable gang. Their muscular physiques gave me a jolt. My youthful enthusiasm instantly waned, but I still hoped to hear something interesting.

The atmosphere upstairs became noticeably different due to the appearance of a group of wandering swordsmen. The laughter and chatter immediately subsided, and a young scholar even got up and headed for the stairs.

The muscular man glanced coldly around, and his men immediately scattered, closing in on the unarmed commoner. One of the scarred men held his knife to the scholar's neck and roared viciously, "Dare to leave—" The scholar's face turned deathly pale, and he collapsed to the ground.

A young woman couldn't help but scream. Before she could finish her scream, a burly, thug frowned and slashed open her neck with a knife. Then he shouted impatiently, "Shut up, all of you!"

A stream of blood splattered almost onto the calligraphy and paintings on the wall, the stark white paper making the scene utterly horrifying. The blood flowed down, still steaming hot.

The entire second floor fell into complete silence. The only sounds were the young woman's body, with half her neck split open, falling to the ground with a thud, and the old man who looked like her father sitting next to her, who rolled his eyes and fainted. No one dared to move.

The martial world is indeed treacherous...

...

All the windows were slammed shut with a few clicks, as if the fierce martial arts masters and terrified commoners were isolated in another lawless and bloody world.

As for me, I was filled with sorrow and speechless with grief.

After descending the mountain, I safely spent a year and nine months in this chaotic world, disguising myself as a weak girl or boy with no strength to even kill a chicken, moving about in safe areas. Three months later, during the June martial arts competition in Nongyang, I was instructed by my master to go and join them. A child who had been confined to the mountains for nearly ten years to practice martial arts, unable to experience the joys and sorrows of the martial world, forced to hide and avoid trouble, was not having an easy time for any young person. Although I witnessed the myriad aspects of human nature and learned about human relationships, I gained a great deal. At least with the substantial help of the silver notes, this difficult journey of exile was about to come to an end when this turmoil suddenly broke out, making me as irritable as someone experiencing menstrual irregularities.

Facing a half-baked martial arts practitioner glaring at me with fierce eyes, I muttered complaints to myself while pretending to be extremely fearful and trembling.

I was forced downstairs along with those innocent civilians. The other ordinary people on the same floor, also under threat, huddled in a blind spot out of sight of the main entrance facing the street. There were about forty of them, all with deathly pale faces, their lives hanging by a thread. I subtly adjusted my position, crouching down where there were people both in front and behind me, so I could either escape or hide.

The reason they didn't kill us was because this was on the street, and a massacre would have made a lot of noise, so they threatened us to keep quiet.

If they were here to plot something, they should have gone to a place secretly controlled by the sect. They could have easily sent us away beforehand, instead of going through all this trouble. The reason they're not letting us leave is to create the illusion that nothing has happened in the teahouse, while also preventing us from leaking information, so that the people they want might enter the shop.

So, this shop is probably controlled by the leader of this faction, and they've come here, probably waiting for their rival's big shot to arrive.

But... the shopkeeper and the waiter have vanished without a trace, and we didn't hear any screams. They must have run off to warn others by now. This muscle-bound guy is truly embodying the truth that a strong physique inevitably leads to a simple mind...

I almost rolled my eyes all the way to my scalp.

I hope that rival sect will come to besiege me instead of running away. Otherwise, how can I escape in the chaos? Without taking advantage of the situation, how can I run away like an ordinary person? I don't want to risk being caught by that treacherous Xu Wanxuan and then being unjustly expelled from my sect.

I glanced up discreetly and saw Muscular Man sitting at the table in the center, gripping the giant axe tightly in his hand, his expression very solemn, glancing at the entrance from time to time.

As I was silently devising a feasible escape strategy, my ears suddenly twitched, and I turned my head slightly toward the half-open doorway.

"Oh, it seems we do have guests waiting for us."

The woman's voice coming from behind the door was very pleasant, like the warbling of orioles among the flowers.

...

The muscular man stood up abruptly, and a figure appeared behind the slowly pushed-open door. It was an extremely beautiful woman, holding a veil she had taken off, wearing a scarlet silk robe with gold-embroidered five-petaled peonies, and a pomegranate-colored silk skirt sprinkled with gold. Underneath the sparse, translucent pattern, her pale white underpants were faintly visible. Her shoulders were sculpted, her waist slender, and the vibrant clothing accentuated her almond-shaped face and peach-blossom cheeks, giving her an alluring charm.

I caught the drool that was silently dripping down my face with my hand, thinking how beautiful this woman was, and how skilled she was; for example, I couldn't hear her footsteps at MuscleBump.

These nice clothes are a bit tight, though. Won't they "crack—hiss—" when a fight breaks out...?

Upon seeing the muscular man, the woman raised an eyebrow, a mocking expression appearing on her face, yet with an indescribable allure. She seemed too lazy to speak further, glanced casually at us, and walked straight to another table next to the muscular man's table.

I continued to steal glances, but was suddenly startled.

I clearly only heard the woman's voice, but now, three more people have entered the teahouse.

At this moment, I finally realized that I was going to get involved in a major event that would soon spread throughout the entire martial arts world, and I was forced to remain a passerby.

Two cups of Linluo wine

Linluo Wine - Northerners vie to offer Linluo wine, saying that they've caught a rabbit at the shed.

...

The first person was a handsome young man who looked to be only sixteen or seventeen years old. He wore a brocade robe with floral patterns and held an iron fan with engraved patterns in his hand. His baby face was slightly immature, and his big, bright eyes were full of cunning.

The second person to enter was a young man with extremely cold eyes. His handsome face was expressionless, but his thin body exuded a faint yet chilling murderous aura, clearly a fierce character who had emerged from a pile of corpses.

After I thought the first three were already extraordinary enough, I glanced at the last slender figure, paused, and fell silent. I knew then who the leader of these four martial arts masters was. Not to mention the commoners around me who were also secretly watching; at first, their eyes were just wide open, but now their eyeballs shot out in a straight line.

The newcomer stood casually, yet his bearing was like a crane in flight, his integrity and character evident in his very being. He wore a lotus-green brocade robe, its surface lightly splashed with ink-like patterns, further enhancing his regal bearing, reminiscent of autumn chrysanthemums and flourishing spring pines. His sideburns were sharply defined, his eyebrows like ink paintings, and his phoenix eyes, slightly upturned, exuded a hint of arrogance, their slender corners seemingly painted by a master artist.

The three men glanced at the woman casually, seemingly too lazy to pay attention to the burly man with the axe who had already shown murderous intent, and walked straight to the woman, placing the four veils on the table.

Ignored, the muscular man waved his hand with a gloomy expression, and his men immediately surrounded the four.

The four ignored him, but the slightly immature boy complained, "Why are all the windows closed? It's so hot!"

With a snap, he opened his fan and fanned himself twice. Suddenly, he flung the fan out with force, and it flew swiftly through the encirclement in an arc, its sharp edge slicing through the necks of everyone it passed.

In the blink of an eye, most of the attackers had their necks split open and collapsed to the ground.

The iron-boned fan, which flew back along an arc, was caught by the boy again. He shook it outwards, and the blood droplets on the fan were flung along the blood groove onto the stunned surviving martial artists.

That clean and decisive move left me completely stunned.

In the crowd I was in, someone couldn't bear witnessing the massive casualties and screamed. After being given a cold look by the man with murderous intent, they immediately covered their mouths with their hands.

The few martial artists who survived because they were on the outer perimeter turned pale with fright and began to slowly retreat.

The man, his back to them and his face as cold as ice, pulled a handful of chopsticks from the chopstick holder and threw them behind him without turning his head. With a few soft thuds, the remaining men all clutched their throats where the chopsticks had pierced their throats and collapsed.

The teahouse fell silent for a moment, and several people in the corner had already fainted. The muscular man was clearly not expecting these people to be so powerful, and he was stunned for a moment.