Extra - old friend
The winds of the martial world always scatter people first, then bring news.
The wind chimes on the eaves of the Hundred Birds Gang are missing three copper pieces.
Last year, Zui Qingfeng got drunk and used a slingshot to shoot.
Now, when the wind blows, the "ding-dong" sound is always punctuated by a few blank spaces, like an unfinished ballad.
The eldest brother squatted on the threshold, his colorful headgear askew at his feet, and a letter was crumpled by his fingers.
"That bastard Zui Qingfeng..."
He suddenly slapped the letter on his knee, startling two dozing sparrows.
"The northern desert? What else could that place have besides sand and wolves?"
Dog Egg, nestled in Jianyu's arms, let out a "woof" and its tail swept the peanut shells off the table.
"You mentioned in your letter last month that the plum wine from Jiangnan is quite good."
The boy counted on his fingers, which were covered in sunflower seeds, "I burned my tongue eating hot pot in Sichuan the month before last..."
In the shadows of the corridor, Chenze's sword tassel suddenly entangled his fingers.
He lowered his head to untie the crimson tassel, his voice thinner than the edge of a sword.
"If he dies outside, remember to have someone bring his jade pipe back."
Shiyun's zither string snapped with a "clang".
Xi Jiang's hand, which was brewing tea, hovered in mid-air, and the tea soup rippled along the rim of the cup, creating a golden line.
Zui Qingfeng chewed the last mint leaf until it was completely mashed.
The moon over the desert looked as if it had been sanded, making his shadow appear rough and fuzzy.
In the shadow cast by the crumbling walls of the post station, he counted the crumpled letters in his arms.
The eldest brother's colorful little figure was grinning, but the ink had been smudged by sweat on half of its face.
"The new cook burned the sweet and sour pork ribs to a crisp; even Dog Egg wouldn't eat them."
There were also suspicious oil stains stuck to the corner of the paper.
He chuckled and pressed the letter to his chest, but then touched another one.
Chen Ze's handwriting was so sharp it could cut your finger.
"Reply if he's still alive."
On the back of the parchment, Zui Qingfeng wrote in a crooked and unsteady hand.
"Alive?"
The pen suddenly paused.
He added a dot of ink with a mischievous grin.
"I heard there's a kind of rouge in the Western Regions that's especially good for your coffin-shaped face."
There are always two cups on Shiyun's zither table.
One celadon bowl holds tea brewed by Xijiang, while the other rough earthenware bowl always holds half a mouthful of cooled wine.
"Are you waiting for Zui Qingfeng?"
One time, while frying fish, I couldn't help but ask.
The music didn't stop, but Xi Jiang saw that Shi Yun's little finger had snapped the third string.
Amidst the rising steam of tea, Xi Jiang suddenly pushed open the window.
A gust of wind swept through, causing the remaining wine on the rim of the rough earthenware bowl to sway gently.
The sword energy parted the snow-covered roof tiles, revealing a crooked "wine" character.
Half a pipe still lay at the bottom of the jar, and clumsy birds were engraved on the copper pot.
It looks exactly like someone's cooking when they were drunk back then.
"...inferior quality bamboo leaf green tea."
He brushed the snow off the tip of his sword, but instead hugged the wine jar to his chest.
Everyone in the Hundred Birds Gang remembered that day.
Chen Ze's swordsmanship suddenly took on a drunken quality, and three roof tiles broke off.
The world never waits for anyone, but there are always people waiting for those who return.
The letters from Zui Qingfeng grew thicker and thicker, sometimes containing acacia seeds from Lingnan, and sometimes poplar leaves from the Western Regions.
In the latest letter, the eldest brother pulled out a handful of dried mint leaves and jumped up and down in anger.
Quitting smoking? Does he think he's a rabbit?
When the wind chimes rang again, everyone looked up.
Dog Egg suddenly rushed towards the gate, his tail sweeping over Shi Yun's zither.
The sword tassels on the dust-covered ground swayed without wind, and the tea soup in Xijiang rippled.
Squeak...
The wooden door swayed, letting in only a gust of wind carrying the scent of locust blossoms.
Later, a legend spread throughout the martial arts world.
On the day the Hundred Birds Gang's wind chimes were completed, a figure, dressed in the stars and moonlight, leaned against the door frame.
He had a freshly picked mint leaf in his mouth, and the hem of his clothes was still covered with snow from the Kunlun Mountains.
Chen Ze's sword tassel suddenly broke.
The eldest brother kicked over a teacup, extinguishing the fire in the stove.
But Shiyun's zither strings started playing by themselves.
...
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