Night in Red Crane Town belonged not to merchants or scholars, but to beggars. When the lanterns dimmed and shutters closed, ragged figures slipped from alleys, their bowls replaced with keen ears and sharper tongues.
In a crumbling shrine at the edge of town, Yun Liang sat cross-legged before a cracked idol, a jar of cheap wine between himself and Old Crane. The elder beggar drank straight from the clay mouth, his grin widening with every swallow.
"They say Iron Saber blames Azure Cloud for last night's poison," Old Crane rasped. "Three duels already fought in the streets. A fine storm you've stirred, Gentleman Yun."
Yun Liang poured himself a measured cup, his hand steady, his robe immaculate despite the grime around them. "Storms clear the air," he replied. "But only if the wind blows from the right direction."
He leaned closer, voice lowering. "Spread the word: an Iron Saber disciple was seen slipping powder into Azure Cloud's wine. And whisper, too, that an Azure Cloud scholar purchased rare herbs from the apothecary days before the brawl."
Old Crane chuckled, broken teeth flashing. "Ah… a snake with two tongues. By dawn, each side will swear the other guilty."
Yun Liang smiled faintly. "Not guilty—righteous. Righteous fury is the finest blade. And blades, once drawn, are hard to sheathe."
By morning, beggars carried whispers like dandelion seeds. A drunk leaning on a bridge swore he saw an Iron Saber man near the wine cellar. A washerwoman insisted an Azure Cloud disciple had demanded poison herbs. Even the innkeeper—nudged by coin and fear—confirmed both tales to different ears.
When Yun Liang walked the market streets that day, he overheard hawkers murmuring, scholars debating, even children repeating the tale of Azure Cloud and Iron Saber's feud.
One of the wandering swordsmen he had befriended clapped him on the back. "Brother Yun! You were wise not to sit near those fools last night. The whole jianghu says their hatred is older than any wine."
Yun Liang smiled, bowing slightly. "Hatred ripens like old liquor. Sometimes all it needs is a cracked jar."
That evening, as he returned to his inn, a small beggar boy ran to him, bowl clutched tight. "Scholar! Scholar! Old Crane says the wind carried a strange word today. A woman asked about a boy surnamed Yun."
Yun Liang froze mid-step. His smile held, but his hand tightened on the fan he carried. "Describe her."
The boy frowned, thinking. "She was pale. Pretty, but her eyes were sharp, like she was cutting the air when she looked. She gave me a copper and said: 'If you see a man with Yun blood, tell me.'"
The boy held out the coin. Yun Liang pushed it back into his hand with a gentle pat.
"You've done well. Keep it hidden. Tell no one else."
When the boy scampered off, Yun Liang stood in the empty street, the wind tugging at his robe. His expression was unreadable.
"Mother…" he whispered, the word tasting foreign on his tongue. "Is it truly you, or only another shadow sent to test me?"
The night answered with silence, and Yun Liang walked on, his figure swallowed by lantern light and mist.