Lanterns glowed like floating stars along the riverbank, their light reflecting off the polished wood of Willow Bridge Pavilion. That night, merchant Fan Yucheng hosted a poetry gathering, drawing officials, scholars, and wandering swordsmen to his hall.
At the rear, Yun Liang sat alone with a flask of warmed wine. His robe was plain, his hair tied without care, yet his posture carried the ease of a man who belonged wherever he chose. He had not been invited—merely slipped in, as if courtesy itself were his servant.
At the dais, a young disciple of Azure Cloud Sect declaimed in thunderous tones:
"The azure sword cleaves the heavens,Righteousness sweeps ten thousand li,All heretics tremble beneath our blade,For virtue shines eternally!"
Polite applause followed. Merchant Fan clapped loudest of all, his smile broad.
The disciple basked in admiration, but his gaze soon fell upon Yun Liang, who poured himself wine without the faintest hint of applause.
"You there," the disciple barked. "The drifter in plain robes. Do you not applaud righteousness?"
The room hushed. All eyes turned.
Yun Liang rose with a bow, every movement refined. His voice was courteous, almost apologetic.
"This unworthy wanderer admires righteousness above all. But forgive my poor ears—they mistook your verse not for poetry, but for an account ledger."
Laughter burst across the room. The disciple's smile froze.
Yun Liang continued, calm as flowing water. "Poetry requires imagery, feeling, life. Yours was but a list of assets: sword, righteousness, heretics. Admirable bookkeeping, but thin wine for a thirsty soul."
The disciple's face turned crimson. "Then compose a verse yourself, if you dare."
Yun Liang's gaze drifted toward the river. He spoke softly, almost as if to himself:
"The moon floats upon the river,Yet holds no water in its light.Men speak of virtue loudly,But only silence proves it true."
The hall shook with applause. Some clapped in awe, others in sly delight at the disciple's humiliation.
"You insult Azure Cloud Sect!" the disciple shouted.
"Perish the thought," Yun Liang replied with a smile. "I merely compared the moon to your verse. Bright on the surface, but when one reaches for substance—" He lifted his cup, tilting it toward the floor. "—one's hand is wet with nothing."
The laughter this time was merciless. The disciple could endure no more. His sword hissed from its sheath as he lunged.
Steel froze an inch from Yun Liang's chest. Balanced delicately on the blade's edge was a cup of wine. At some unseen moment, Yun Liang had placed it there.
If the sword advanced, the wine would spill—not upon Yun Liang, but upon the disciple himself.
The hall erupted in laughter. Trembling, the disciple sheathed his blade and stormed out, humiliated.
Yun Liang sat again, drained his cup, and left the pavilion in silence.
At the doorway, a ragged beggar watched him go, eyes sharp beneath the grime. As Yun Liang passed, the beggar muttered, "The Azure Sect's pride is paper. Tear one corner, the whole scroll burns."
Yun Liang's smile deepened. "Indeed. And who better to spread that fire than a beggar with ears in every alley?"
The beggar's answering grin revealed broken teeth. A thread of connection had been tied.
Yun Liang walked into the night, his sleeve brushing the air like a whisper of silk. His mask as a drifting gentleman remained intact—but already the first strings of his web had been laid.