The Riverside Inn stood at the edge of Willow Bridge Town, where barges moored and lantern light shimmered across the water. It was a place where merchants haggled, gamblers shouted, and swordsmen boasted over wine until dawn.
That evening, Yun Liang sat at a corner table with a small flask, the sleeves of his plain robe folded neatly. He wrote a poem on the table with spilled wine, his brush no more than the tip of a chopstick.
A group of wandering swordsmen entered, their laughter filling the inn. They were men of the road, scarred and sun-darkened, their blades worn but ready. They noticed the scholar at once. One nudged the other with a grin.
"Brother Yun, is it? I've heard of your clever tongue. They say you humiliated an Azure Cloud disciple with nothing but words."
Another added, "But can words cut a throat? Can they block a saber?"
Laughter rang, half-teasing, half-challenging.
Yun Liang rose with a courteous bow. "This unworthy one's sword is dull, but he has always believed the sharpest blades are not carried at the waist, but behind the lips."
The swordsmen chuckled, intrigued. One, tall and lean with a scar across his cheek, stepped forward and unsheathed his weapon. "Then let us test both. A friendly duel. No killing, no grudges. Do you dare, Gentleman Yun?"
The inn fell silent. All eyes turned to the scholar.
Yun Liang brushed his sleeve and picked up his sword, drawing it in one smooth motion. The blade gleamed faintly in the lantern light, not flashy, but perfectly balanced.
They moved to the open floor. The scarred swordsman bowed, then lunged with a sweeping strike meant to test the scholar's footing. Yun Liang shifted as if merely stepping aside to avoid spilled wine. His sword flicked—not to strike flesh, but to tap the man's wrist at precisely the moment of overextension.
The blade clattered to the floor. Gasps erupted.
The scarred man blinked in disbelief, then laughed heartily. "Exquisite! You didn't wound me, yet I feel as though my arm has been chained."
Yun Liang sheathed his sword and bowed again. "The finest swordplay is that which leaves no blood."
Applause burst from the crowd. Cups were raised. The innkeeper hurried forward with wine, eager to host a legend.
The rest of the night passed in drinking and laughter. Yun Liang matched the swordsmen cup for cup, his wit never faltering, his verses flowing like spring water. By dawn, half the room was singing his lines, and more than one wandering fighter declared him a brother.
Yet when the revelry ended, Yun Liang did not stumble to sleep. He slipped into the shadows beyond the inn and walked to the marshes where hired bandits waited, coins already heavy in their hands.
"You know the target," he said quietly. "A caravan marked with Azure Cloud banners. Strike hard, leave no survivors. Make it look like the Iron Saber Alliance."
The bandits bowed and vanished into the reeds.
Yun Liang stood a moment beneath the paling stars, the mask of geniality slipping from his face. His eyes reflected the cold light of the river.
"Azure Cloud Sect." His whisper was softer than the lapping water. "Your disciples laugh at poems and pride themselves on righteousness. Tonight you will mourn your lost caravans, and tomorrow you will quarrel with your rivals. All while I pour another cup of wine."
He turned back toward the inn, where his new brothers slept in drunken admiration. By the time they awoke, Yun Liang would once again be the harmless scholar with a smile, a verse on his lips, and nothing in his hands but wine.