Seven wells were dug beside the blacksmith shop, and each yielded water both sweet and chilling to the bone. It was said that Master Ruan, who had once resided in Riding Dragon Alley, was no ordinary man but a celestial artisan who forged swords. Even the imperial court held him in high esteem. Officials from the Ministry of Rites and Lord Wu himself had paid him personal visits, lending undeniable weight to his identity—there was no chance it could be a fabrication. Many families dreamt of having their children apprenticed to the blacksmith, but the shop had long stopped accepting new hands. That said, one day Master Ruan ventured into town for wine and, on a whim, selected two children as apprentices. By the following morning, the wine shop was overflowing with hopeful parents dragging their children in tow—not to buy wine, but to wait anxiously, hoping their child might be chosen. The children, unaware of destiny's gravity, ran amok in chaotic delight, raising a cacophony of cries and clatter.
Before the arrival of Magistrate Wu Yuan, the small town had known only that they were subjects of Great Li, and that the Dragon Kiln crafted porcelain for the imperial household—nothing more. The town was isolated, with little movement in or out. Visiting relatives, scholarly travels, or distant marriages were unheard of. Such things were neither taught in books nor spoken of by elders. Generation after generation lived in cloistered repetition. Among the Four Surnames and Ten Clans, a few knew the truth but dared not utter it. Those fortunate enough to be chosen by the natal porcelains were granted a glimpse of the world beyond, yet before the collapse of Lizhu Cave Heaven, none returned in glory—such was the covenant set by the town's Four Saints.
Only recently, through official notices and literate explanation, did the townsfolk learn that the mountain paths of Longquan County were once perilous beyond reckoning. Now, thanks to great imperial effort, the roads had been opened—not for commerce, but to gift those peaks to individuals who admired the auspicious feng shui of the region. Alongside this transformation came clerks from the county office, led by those from the Ritual Hall, instructing locals on new codes of conduct: no pointing at strangers, no children colliding with passersby, and no touching the horses of visitors. Any disputes were to be reported directly to the magistrate's yamen. Justice would be served by law, not personal judgment.
The Four Surnames and Ten Clans showed little enthusiasm, made no effort to support the county office, and instead watched coldly from the sidelines. Whether they awaited the officials to make fools of themselves, only Wu Yuan and his cadre of cunning old foxes could know.
For Ruan Xiu, who had grown up in the austere martial temple of Wind and Snow, the sweeping changes of the town stirred little emotion—or none at all. Since encountering that infuriating short woman, her mood had been clouded. That woman had barged into Chen Ping'an's residence, wrecked both the courtyard and house locks. When Ruan Xiu had gone to clean the place, she caught the locksmiths red-handed. Furious, she confronted them. Though they bowed and apologized with utmost respect, they refused to name their master, acting as if even under torture, they would never reveal who was truly responsible. She demanded both the old locks and new keys, and upon returning to the blacksmith shop, she ran into the short woman—who had the audacity to smile and claim it was all a careless accident.
In line with a prior arrangement, Ruan Xiu also hired workers to repair a dilapidated residence in Clay Bottle Alley. The roof had collapsed, beams rotted, and red paint peeled away. She instructed the local bricklayers to work meticulously and oversaw them personally for half a day to ensure the quality.
Adjacent shops—Yasui and Grasshead—had been formally listed under Chen Ping'an's name. Most of the senior staff had already left, so Ruan Xiu hired new hands. To avoid sly tricksters, she took recommendations from the sword shop: honest, nimble women and girls. Yasui continued to sell pastries and sweets, while Grasshead dealt in miscellaneous wares—antiques, instruments, calligraphy, paintings, and curiosities galore.
Whenever the sword shop was quiet, Ruan Xiu would lean idly over a shop counter, lost in thought. Hours would slip by in this trance. She never tried to attract customers, nor was she good at haggling. In truth, the shops belonged to Chen Ping'an. Though she sometimes longed to charge extravagant prices for a single pastry, her simple heart held her back. She hesitated, wondering if she should hire someone shrewd to help increase profits—but feared that, upon returning, he would dislike such scheming. Because he wasn't like that.
Nor was she the type to crave sweets, and her once rounded chin had grown slender—like a lotus bud revealing its first tender point, fresh and enchanting.
Ruan Qiong had gently suggested she visit Hengshuo Peak on Divine Elegance Mountain if she found the town stifling—the scenery there was quite fine. But the girl showed no interest and kept delaying, so he let it go. Oddly enough, the more aimless she felt, the more focused she became while forging swords. Her spiritual essence surged, her cultivation soared, and only then did Ruan Qiong find peace of mind. If it benefited her path, he would not interfere.
For a mortal's grave was already overgrown with grass, and even his descendants had grown old—yet his once-peer cultivator remained a youthful, radiant woman.
Recently, Ruan Xiu had grown even more restless. Whenever she fell into reverie at the shop, someone would inevitably disturb her—a young man with a vermilion flute at his waist, dressed in brocade with a purple-gold crown, carrying himself with lofty arrogance. But his face… she had forgotten it, or perhaps had never bothered to remember. For from childhood, she had seen far too many men like him.
Her father was Ruan Qiong—not only a high cultivator of Wind and Snow Temple but also the foremost swordsmith in Eastern Baoping Continent. After arriving in this town, he made clear to the court that within sixty years, the empire must refrain from using his name for schemes. If he discovered any such manipulation, he might negotiate—but he would offer no guarantees.
When Lizhu Cave Heaven fell and became part of Great Li's territory, the ensuing slaughter shook even heaven's pillars. Both the imperial court and distant mountain sects had felt the wrath of Saint Ruan. None dared reason with him using mortal lives as stakes. Those who tried were either slain outright or killed righteously within his domain.
Even without Ruan Qiong's warnings, the few true elites in Great Li knew the truth: his only reverse scale was his daughter, whose peerless talent was the sole reason he had left Wind and Snow Temple and taken charge of Lizhu Cave Heaven from Qi Jingchun. No one had considered this a desirable post—it meant suppression of cultivation and stagnation of body. To merely preserve one's realm was a triumph. Only Qi Jingchun had accepted it willingly—and he was a rare exception.
Since Ruan Xiu was the lifeblood of Ruan Qiong's soul, Great Li now took great pains to keep her identity hidden. Thus, clueless wanderers might stumble into Riding Dragon Alley's Grasshead Shop, see the ponytailed girl behind the counter, and be struck by her beauty. Thinking her status must be modest, they imagined that with their looks, manners, and lineage, they could make her swoon—have her willingly become a fragrant companion, a gentle maid at their side.
But such men were pitifully blind to what they truly faced.