Chapter 26: The Wine Pouch

At the faint break of dawn the next day, Lu Chenyuan awoke on his hard plank bed. Sitting up, he noticed an uncanny silence around him; the breathing—sometimes light, sometimes heavy—of his master that he was so accustomed to, was now utterly absent. He found this odd, thinking to himself, “Master rose so early today? That’s a rarity.” Remembering his master’s childish habit of lingering in bed, Lu Chenyuan shook his head helplessly, the corners of his mouth lifting in a slight, involuntary smile. He assumed it was because his answers yesterday had pleased his master so much, she had woken early in a good mood.

Pushing open the woodshed door, the chill of the morning mist brushed against his face. In the backyard, the old crooked locust tree stood silently in the fog; its branches were bare, with no trace of the familiar blue dress. The smile in Lu Chenyuan’s heart faded somewhat, but he thought nothing more of it, simply assuming, “Perhaps the tree was uncomfortable to lean against today, and she’s gone to the roof to watch the sunrise.”

He fetched a bucket, drew water from the well, washed himself, lit the fire, and boiled a pot of millet porridge until it was scalding hot. When two black, coarse cakes were crisping golden at the edge of the pan, the rooftop was still empty, not a shadow in sight.

Now a faint sense of unease, vague and subtle, crept into his heart.

Throughout the morning, Lu Chenyuan busied himself in the main hall of the Watching Tide Inn—wiping tables, sweeping the floor, serving tea and water—but his eyes couldn’t help repeatedly drifting toward the doorway. The street outside was bustling, lively and loud, and whenever a woman in blue rode past, his heart would leap, only to sink again when he saw it wasn’t the face he so longed for.

Behind the counter, Qian Dahai took note of his distracted, absent-minded look and couldn’t help but chuckle. When Lu Chenyuan came near, he lowered his voice to tease, “Boy, have you lost your soul? Did that beautiful master of yours punish you last night, and vanish this morning as a result?”

Lu Chenyuan’s heart gave a jolt, but he kept his composure, responding vaguely, “My master… perhaps she’s gone to visit an old friend.”

Even as he spoke, he himself had no confidence in his words.

Qian Dahai curled his lips and gestured toward the sky outside. “Don’t fret too much. The Listeners at the Shrine of Divine Visions have all said that the Sea Eye’s aura grows stronger by the day—the great tide will surely come within seven days. It’s chaotic outside now. Just stay put in the inn—a bit later, your master will surely return.”

Lu Chenyuan answered perfunctorily. Noticing his mood, Qian Dahai frowned, found another worker, and quietly instructed, “Lu seems unsettled these days. I’m worried something might happen. Keep an eye on him—if he leaves the inn, let me know.”

That afternoon, a heavy tread broke the lull in the inn’s hall. The door swung open, and several figures strode in—each wearing black uniforms and iron compasses at their waists—adding a new edge of menace to the already tense atmosphere.

The Demon Suppression Bureau had arrived.

Lu Chenyuan recognized their leader as the one who had commanded the suppression of the fallen Daoist creature days before. The officials were blunt: strange events had occurred frequently at Zhenhaichuan lately, with more than ten itinerant traders and cultivators disappearing without a trace. They suspected the remnants of the Tainted Current and had come to investigate.

Qian Dahai greeted them with a smile, but when questioned, claimed ignorance on every point, eventually putting on a pitiful face and complaining about difficult business and the fearful mood of the people.

Lu Chenyuan, listening from the shadows, felt utterly adrift. In the past, he might have carefully weighed every word Qian Dahai said, watching for the flicker of calculation in the officials’ eyes. But now, his thoughts were consumed by the one who had left without a word—he had no room for anything else.

He sensed that Qian Dahai had, perhaps intentionally, assigned him extra tasks today, as if trying to keep him bound to the inn. But when the heart is not present, how can the body remain?

Seizing a moment when everyone’s attention was fixed on the officials, Lu Chenyuan slipped quietly out the back door.

He first went to Taibai Restaurant. The place was bustling, the storyteller’s gavel striking sharply, but the blue-clad figure, always lounging in a corner to listen lazily, was nowhere to be seen.

He hurried to the street corner from the day before. The old man selling clay figurines was still there, but the “Heart-Guessing” banner and table had long since vanished.

He followed the stone-paved roads of Zhenhaichuan, searching and asking at every turn. As the sun sank westward, his heart grew heavier and heavier.

By the time dusk fell and the city lights flickered on, he dragged leaden legs back to the inn’s backyard.

The woodshed was his last hope.

Standing before the battered door, he hesitated to reach out. He feared that upon opening it, he would see exactly what he dreaded most.

Drawing a deep breath, he finally pushed the door open. The hinges gave a rusty groan.

Inside, there was no one.

Only then did he belatedly notice a leather wine pouch sitting on the table. The pouch was full and tightly sealed—the very flask of Autumn Dew White he had fetched from Taibai Restaurant the day before.

Lu Chenyuan’s entire body stiffened. He walked forward, trembling, and picked up the pouch.

It was heavy in his grasp. Not a drop missing.

The slender hope, the self-deceiving thoughts he’d nursed until now, were all crushed under the weight of that untouched flask.

A tidal wave of panic and abandonment swept over him, drowning him in an instant.

He staggered back two steps, his back slamming into the cold wall, the wine pouch nearly slipping from his grasp.

“Master said she’d find a solution for me after the Hibernating Dragon Tide… How could she go back on her word?”

“She also said… she wanted me to serve her all my life… How could she leave?”

Countless thoughts swirled and collided in his mind, until they all condensed into a single, chilling phrase:

“Don’t ever come see me again.”

His body trembled. He murmured, “Was it something I said last night? Was it when I asked about Manager Qian, or about cultivation a few days ago? Did I drive her away?”

Lu Chenyuan shook his head hard, desperate to rid himself of the thought, but he could not.

He remembered the warmth of yesterday in the woodshed, the comfort of his master’s nightly presence since that day. He could not fathom why she would leave without a word.

Every scene of their past days together now became a blade, each memory slicing deeper into his heart.

He thought of the stark white strand at her temple, her drunken murmurs, how she always loved to lean against the tree, gazing silently at the cold moon.

Suddenly he understood how much solitude and weariness lay beneath her carefree exterior. And he, far from easing her burdens, had only reopened old wounds she wished to forget.

Of course—she was tired, weary of it all.

At this realization, all resentment left him, replaced by boundless regret and self-reproach.

He stood motionless in the center of the woodshed, lost in time until the moonlight stretched his shadow long across the floor.

Slowly, he lifted his head, clutching the heavy wine pouch tightly to his chest, as if it were the last warmth left in the world.

Softly, to the empty pile of straw, he murmured, “Master, I fetched this wine for you.”

“I’ll be here, waiting for you to return…”

“Waiting for you to pour this Autumn Dew White into that vermilion gourd…”