Chapter 104: Farewell

Traveling by night is hardly a wise choice; after all, in such utter darkness, one can scarcely see a thing and must rely merely on a vague sense of direction. Fortunately, the destination was not far—after one or two turns, Han Tanyi could faintly discern the dim light spilling from a small tavern nearby. Though it could not compare to the grandeur of establishments like the Tianxiang Pavilion, where a thriving business buzzed throughout the capital, this humble place still drew its own crowd. If the patrons were fish, then the Tianxiang Pavilion’s net had certainly left some behind.

Perhaps because of frequent visits, Han Tanyi was well acquainted with this spot. The owner, an old man from the northern desert, sold strong liquor such as “burning knife” just to make a living. Whether business was good or bad, his face bore a smile either way. Han Tanyi admired this greatly; to maintain such cheerfulness despite hardship was no small feat.

Of course, Han Tanyi had not come to see the old man. The elder sat alone by the door, seldom disturbed by customers, contentedly nursing a small pot of wine. His eyes were glassy, and he seemed lost in thought, entirely oblivious to Han Tanyi’s entrance. Leaning his head to one side, half-closing his eyes, he wore a satisfied expression.

Han Tanyi’s gaze soon settled on a corner where his true purpose lay. It was none other than the town drunkard, who was drinking there as usual. Han Tanyi visited often, but the drunkard came even more frequently and lingered longer. He always occupied that very spot, and whether company was present or not, he paid little mind to others. His drinking table held only a small dish of fennel seeds—not much of a delicacy, but an apt accompaniment for liquor. The drunkard did not have much spare cash and could not afford hearty fare. At least this was his own excuse. Han Tanyi suspected that even if the drunkard were wealthy, he would still choose more wine over food. Such was the man’s preference.

The young man walked straight over and sat opposite him. The drunkard did not raise his head but casually picked up a fennel seed and tossed it into his mouth before speaking: “If you want to drink, bring your own bowl. The liquor here is rough but potent—the old man never waters it down, as you know. But if you’ve come to tell me stories, I’ve no time to listen. Even if I had, I doubt you could spin a tale as entertaining as a professional storyteller.”

Pouring wine slowly, the drunkard’s manner struck one as odd, yet Han Tanyi was long accustomed to it after three years of friendship. This was a phrase he had heard before, though on this occasion, Han Tanyi remained seated, unwilling to drink or take a bowl. Silence stretched between them until the youth solemnly placed his sword on the table and said, “I’ve come to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” The word was simple, spoken softly, yet its weight was unmistakable. The drunkard’s head lifted involuntarily, clearly struck by the statement. A flicker of surprise crossed his face before quickly fading into a slight smile. Han Tanyi knew this was mere pretense, a common instinct of those who roam the martial world. The drunkard was particularly skilled at such concealment. If there was any flaw, it was the faint tremor in the hand holding the wine bowl.

After a brief pause, the drunkard continued, “Seems you’re braver than I am. Though both of us are running away, you have at least decided to face your past. Mostly, what one wishes to forget isn’t good. As your friend, I have to ask: are you truly ready?”

Han Tanyi had no clear answer. Maybe he did, but was unwilling to admit it even to himself. His gaze drifted to the sword’s blade. Looking at it, he realized he had never truly escaped his past, so there was no question of facing it. Some burdens were meant to be borne alone. He could not allow others, especially the Butterfly Flower, to suffer because of him. People may be missed—but one must not wrong them. This was the resolve Han Tanyi held at that moment.

“No. I haven’t figured it out in three years; how could I suddenly understand now?” His words were frank and direct. The drunkard downed another cup of strong liquor and then poured himself a full bowl, his expression unchanged, as if Han Tanyi’s answer was no surprise. “You’re honest. Now tell me—what do you want from me this time? It can’t just be to say goodbye. Let me make it clear: though I’m a fool, I’m no idiot. If you want me to storm the Tianxiang Pavilion and find that Shui Linglong or Qiu Shisanniang, I won’t go. Those two women may be troublemakers, and if they get angry, I won’t stand a chance. If I get torn to pieces, I’m sure you, as a friend, wouldn’t bear to see it.”

At that, the drunkard raised his bowl and offered it to Han Tanyi. Such a gesture between friends was entirely natural. Yet Han Tanyi refused to take it, instead pressing the bowl down onto the table. Although neither were top-tier masters, the wine did not spill. The drunkard looked puzzled, unsure why Han Tanyi acted so. It was not disdain; after all, they had shared bowls before.

Han Tanyi’s eyes shifted toward the door, where the old man still leaned against the wall, a perpetual outsider. “I do feel some regret, but tonight I must ask you to deliver this Green Swan sword to Tianxiang Pavilion. Give it to him. As for me, I am leaving Shuozhou tonight. This journey is perilous; I don’t know if I will return alive. If by some miracle I survive, perhaps I can come back and drink with you once more.”

Without waiting for a response, Han Tanyi rose, moving slowly toward the exit, revealing a lingering hesitation. Watching his retreating figure, the drunkard lifted his bowl again. Though the wine was clear, the dim light failed to cast his reflection. Perhaps the lantern’s glow was blocked by Han Tanyi’s form, cloaking the corner in shadow. The drunkard paused, holding the bowl at his lips but not drinking.

Just as Han Tanyi reached the door, the drunkard spoke: “If she found you once, she’ll find you again. Three years wasn’t enough to make her give up. Do you think she will ever truly forget? Since you’re destined to be found, why hide from her? If you plan to return to the Central Plains and face your past, why not face her together?”

Han Tanyi halted noticeably. The drunkard’s words struck home. Indeed, he wished to avoid Shui Linglong. She was a member of the Blue Lotus Sect, and that alone rendered them enemies. His entire life’s teachings had instilled hatred toward the demonic cult—such ingrained beliefs were not easily overturned. So he resumed walking, stepping out into the darkness.

“People are like swords, both edges sharp,” a voice suddenly sounded behind him. It was low and slow, tinged with age and frailty, yet crystal clear. It seemed a murmured soliloquy, yet spoken as if directly to Han Tanyi. A man who could feel so deeply—his past must be complicated indeed.

The drunkard responded in a teasing tone, “But some folks, instead of pointing the blade outward, hand over the hilt and turn the sharp edge inward. Old man, would you call that kindness or hypocrisy? I, the drunkard, just can’t figure it out.”