Chapter Nine: Old Man Su

Such startling behavior lasted only a fleeting moment before Han Tan Yi regained his composure. It wasn’t anyone else—just Old Su, the innkeeper at the Qilian Inn. Han Tan Yi had already seen him to his guest room, so how had he appeared here again? Not only did he reappear, but his entrance seemed almost supernatural, out of nowhere in the silent, sparsely populated surroundings. Given Han Tan Yi’s martial prowess, it was impossible for an ordinary person—let alone a drunkard—to sneak up on him unnoticed, unless Old Su was not ordinary at all. This thought made Han Tan Yi scrutinize the old man, as if he sought confirmation for his suspicions. Yet, upon closer inspection, he gleaned little. Old Su’s face wore a strange smile, an odd expression for someone of his age, bordering on the inappropriate. He was already seated on the floor, and by the light of the candle in Han Tan Yi’s hand, his whole figure was revealed. He had changed into a different set of clothes—not luxurious, but clean enough in the dim light. In his hand, he still held a wine jug, though it was unclear where he’d procured it; in an inn, wine was hardly a rare commodity.

Suddenly, Old Su reached out with astonishing speed toward Han Tan Yi. The young man, generally put off by drunken folk, instinctively dodged, confident in his ability to avoid the grasp. Indeed, Old Su’s hand missed, hanging suspended in the air. Yet Han Tan Yi felt an invisible force emanating from the old man’s palm, as though it were dragging him inexorably to the ground. The moment was so abrupt that he couldn’t control his own posture, and as he tried to summon his spiritual power to resist, he found himself too late—he was already sitting, dazed, on the floor.

The situation was settled; resistance was pointless. Seated thus, apart from the cold seeping up from the ground, there was nothing amiss. He adjusted the candlelight to restore its former glow. In this instant, Han Tan Yi knew with certainty: the old man before him was no ordinary person. Who else could possess such skill? The Kunwu sword resting nearby was likewise no ordinary blade; its sharpness far surpassed even the finest steel Han Tan Yi himself carried. Naturally, he felt a surge of curiosity about both the sword and the man. His master’s warnings echoed in his mind—curiosity killed the cat—but even so, he couldn’t help himself.

“Young man, it’s you! Come, come, drink with this old fellow. Tonight, we must drink to our hearts' content. Come, drink!” Old Su clearly hadn’t sobered up; he probably didn’t even recognize Han Tan Yi. For the old man, it was simply grabbing anyone nearby—anyone would do. His mind was muddled, his words rambling and disjointed. After taking a big gulp, he handed the wine jug over. Han Tan Yi felt awkward; to accept or not to accept? Yet the aroma of the wine was real and tempting, and he couldn’t resist. After all, he had come here to wait for someone, but wine was never far from his thoughts. Since it was right there, he might as well drink. With that, he took a gentle sip, savoring it in earnest—so different from Old Su’s careless swigs.

Old Su didn’t care how much Han Tan Yi drank; as long as he took a sip, that sufficed. With his blurry vision, he probably couldn’t tell the difference anyway. Without waiting for Han Tan Yi to hand the jug back, he snatched it away and gazed at it with even greater delight. His free hand patted Han Tan Yi lightly: “That’s right, that’s right. But remember, lad, don’t drink too much—alcohol leads to trouble. I’ve caused trouble myself. When you’re done, leave quickly. She’s coming. He’s coming. Look, where, where—everywhere, everywhere!”

His voice grew increasingly strange—sometimes high, sometimes low, at times gentle, at times heavy. Whether it was Old Su’s words bewitching him or the wine taking effect, Han Tan Yi found his gaze roaming about, as if searching for the people the old man mentioned. But it was just an illusion; the candlelight cast a dreamy haze over the empty room, and only these two remained. In the pauses, not a sound could be heard.

Again Old Su took a swig, without hesitation. The gurgling of the wine in his throat was loud and clear. Han Tan Yi watched, unsure what to say. Old Su had no intention of speaking further; his drunkenness deepened with each gulp, his eyes unable to stay open, his body slumping forward until his head rested before Han Tan Yi.

In such circumstances, getting answers was impossible. Han Tan Yi’s intuition told him there was surely some unspeakable secret behind this man—otherwise, he wouldn’t be so desolate or so fearful. He glanced at the sword lying askew behind the counter, and at the lotus floating motionless in the large water jar, trying to piece together these scattered clues. Clearly, it was a task beyond him, so he decided to let it go. He still had someone to wait for; the night was deep, and with Qiu Wan’er’s playful nature, she would take her time arriving. Before she came, he couldn’t leave. This suited him; it spared him from inner turmoil. He quietly took the wine jug from Old Su’s limp hand and drank another sip—he preferred to take his time, savoring it.

As for Old Su, Han Tan Yi let him lie where he was. The floor might be cold, but Old Su was no ordinary old man; Han Tan Yi understood from that earlier moment that the old man’s skill was a notch above his own. Such a person would hardly be bothered by a bit of chill. Besides, Han Tan Yi felt that even if he carried Old Su back to bed, the old fellow would just get up again and make trouble. Better to leave him be. The inn’s door was slightly ajar, letting in a gentle breeze that made the candle flicker in Han Tan Yi’s hand, and the shadows on the floor wavered in turn.

“Drink, keep drinking!” Old Su’s hand suddenly moved again, still holding the gesture of clutching the wine jug. By now, Han Tan Yi was used to such antics; his face even showed a faint smile as he watched this scene, as though watching a play—only from a distance could the truth be seen.

“I’m sorry, no, I truly didn’t mean it. Please forgive me, forgive me, won’t you? I know I wronged you, but I really didn’t mean it, no, no!” Another voice spilled from Old Su’s lips, thick with terror, as if he were trying to hide. The display startled Han Tan Yi; he thought he was used to Old Su’s oddities, but this sudden outburst was hard to accept. His gaze lingered on Old Su’s face, and suddenly, he seemed to understand something.

A person’s life is best lived openly, never burdened by guilt. Like this old man—despite his age, hiding in such corners for so many years, yet in the end, unable to escape the self-reproach and remorse within. The deeper the secret, the more intense its eruption. The owner of the blue lotus had not yet arrived, but Old Su was already frightened by his own memories. It was a sorrowful thing—after all, the drama of shifting fortunes might only entice the young, while the aged crave peace.

Thinking this, Han Tan Yi reached into his pocket to touch the luminous pearl, and for a moment, he felt the face of Shen Wansan drawing inexplicably nearer—as if it were mirrored in Old Su. This made the youth instinctively shift his position; perhaps this was the first time in his life he had done something against his conscience. Alas, what must come will surely come one day, but for now, the time had not yet arrived.