The Green-Eyed Blademaster

Chapter 3: Huang's Snow Flower

In a bustling tavern in Wushan Town, Li Qingyan sat alone at a corner table.

He had shed his tattered burial clothes. His robes were now the color of fresh snow, a stark contrast to his jet-black hair that fell freely over his shoulders. His jade-green eyes, sharp and clear, calmly observed the room. He ate slowly, a simple bowl of noodles and a cup of cheap wine before him.

But the atmosphere in the tavern was not festive. It was thick with a palpable fear. The usual loud boasting and laughter were replaced by hushed, panicked whispers.

“Did you hear? Linshan Village… it’s gone!”

“Gone? What do you mean gone?”

“Every last soul! Dead! My cousin was a guard who went to investigate. He said there were no wounds, no signs of a struggle. They just… died. The air still reeks of blood and some strange, sweet perfume.”

Li Qingyan’s chopsticks paused for a fraction of a second. Perfume. So, the work of a poison master. An amusing, if crude, method. He filtered the noise, extracting the useful threads of information with cold efficiency. This town, Wushan, was under the protection of the Huang Clan. The massacre at Linshan was a direct provocation. A response was inevitable.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the tavern door swung open.

Five figures entered, their presence immediately silencing the room. They wore the same blue and white robes he had seen at the crater—the uniform of the Huang Clan. They were known throughout the region for one thing: their mastery of defensive formations. A clan of turtles, priding themselves on their impenetrable shells.

Their leader, a stern-faced man, swept his gaze across the tavern. His eyes, and the eyes of his four companions, inevitably landed on Li Qingyan. An outsider, radiating an aura of calm that was entirely out of place amidst the town's collective terror. He was a nail that stuck out, waiting to be hammered down.

The five cultivators strode directly to his table.

"You. Who are you?" one of them, a young man with an arrogant sneer, demanded. "We have no record of you in Wushan Town."

Li Qingyan slowly finished chewing a mouthful of noodles before looking up. He met the man’s gaze without a trace of fear or deference. "A traveler, passing through," he answered, his voice level and calm.

His utter lack of intimidation seemed to infuriate the arrogant disciple. "A traveler? Now? After a massacre right on our doorstep? How convenient!" The disciple’s hand shot out, not at Li Qingyan, but at his bowl. With a sharp smack, he sent the half-eaten noodles and soup splashing across the table and floor. "Speak the truth, or you won't be leaving this town!"

A sharp clatter of chopsticks hitting the wooden table was the only sound. Li Qingyan’s eyes, once placid pools of green, turned to ice. He did not move, did not speak. He simply stared at the disciple, and in that silent gaze was a pressure so immense the arrogant young man felt a sudden, primal chill crawl up his spine.

"Zhang Jie, that is enough!"

A clear, firm voice cut through the tension. A young woman from the group stepped forward. She had her long black hair tied back in a neat ponytail, her face beautiful but etched with a weary authority. She bowed her head slightly toward Li Qingyan.

"Please forgive my junior brother's rudeness. We are all on edge. I am Huang Lianxue."

As Li Qingyan looked at her, for the briefest of moments, a flicker of something ancient and forgotten stirred in the depths of his memory. A face, from a thousand years ago. Similar, but not the same. A descendant, perhaps?

Whispers erupted from the other tables.

"It's her! Lady Lianxue!" "Huang's Snow Flower... they say her defensive formations are like fortresses of ice and snow, impossible to breach."

Huang Lianxue ignored the whispers. She took out a few silver coins and placed them on the table. "For your meal, and for our disrespect. Please, allow us to replace it."

Li Qingyan's cold gaze softened, returning to its neutral calm. The flicker of pressure vanished as if it were never there. "Li Qingyan," he said, offering only his name. "A simple wanderer."

Huang Lianxue nodded, a hint of curiosity in her eyes as she studied the strange man who could face down a Huang Clan disciple without flinching. "If you are just a wanderer, then we have no business with you. But I would advise you to leave this area. It is not safe."

Before she could say more, a sudden, murderous intent flared through the tavern like a bolt of lightning.

A figure, cloaked entirely in black, dropped from the rafters above. Their face was covered, their movements swift and utterly silent. Their target was clear.

With a flash of steel, the assassin struck, not at Li Qingyan, but directly at Huang Lianxue.

Caught by surprise, she barely managed to raise her arms. A wave of frosty Qi exploded from her, but the blow was too powerful. With a cry, she was sent flying backwards, crashing through two tables.

Chaos exploded. Mortals screamed and scrambled to get away. The other Huang Clan disciples shouted in alarm, drawing their swords.

But Li Qingyan did not move.

Amidst the panic and the splintering of wood, he remained seated at his ruined table. He calmly picked up his cup of cheap wine, which had miraculously remained undisturbed.

He raised the ceramic cup to his lips and took a slow, deliberate sip, the taste of cheap wine sharp on his tongue as he watched the scene unfold.