The Immortal's Secret Tavern

Chapter 2: The Elder's Addiction

The heavy silence of the tavern was no longer empty; it was pressurized, thick with the weight of unseen gazes. Shen Ruichen tightened his grip on the hammer, his knuckles turning white. He took a steadying breath, forced a somewhat jagged grin onto his face, and pushed the door open.

The three men standing on his porch looked like they had stepped out of a silk painting. Their robes, a deep, midnight blue embroidered with silver constellations, seemed to ripple even though there wasn’t a breath of air. The leader, a man with a thin, sharp face and eyes that held the chilling clarity of polished ice, stepped forward.

"The resonance," the man said, his voice clipped and cold. "It originated here. Where is the source?"

Shen blinked, adjusting his grip on the hammer so it looked less like a weapon and more like a tool he’d just been using to fix the floor. "Gentlemen, good morning. If you’re looking for the source of the noise, you’re about three minutes too late. And if you’re looking for a drink, you’re early for the rush."

The man—Luo Tianze—didn't blink. He drifted past Shen, his boots making no sound on the splintered wood. He stopped in the center of the room, his nose twitching as if he were tracking a scent. He turned slowly toward the earthenware jars.

"You," Luo said, pointing a slender finger at the jars. "What is contained within those vessels?"

Shen stepped inside, closing the door firmly behind him. "Just my house brew. Mountain berry wine. It’s got a bit of a kick, maybe a bit of a funk if you’re not used to mountain foraging, but that’s about it. Are you guys actually planning to buy something, or are you just here to critique my interior design?"

Luo Tianze’s eyes narrowed. He strode to the counter, ignoring the fact that his presence seemed to make the very air in the room crackle with static. "House brew? Do not play games with me, shopkeeper. I have spent decades climbing the paths of the Heavenly Peak, and I have never felt an essence so pure, so unrefined yet potent, as what currently bleeds out of those clay pots."

Shen sighed, leaning against the counter. "Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just a guy who picks berries and mashes them with water. If you’re looking for 'essence,' you’ve clearly got the wrong tavern. This is Swallow’s Hollow, not some high-minded sect retreat."

Luo reached out, his hand moving with a speed that made Shen’s head swim. Before Shen could protest, the elder had snatched a cup, dipped it into the jar, and brought it to his lips.

"Wait, that’s not—" Shen started, but stopped.

Luo took a long, measured sip. For a moment, the elder remained perfectly still. Then, his eyes widened, the pupils dilating until his irises were almost swallowed by darkness. A ripple of raw, golden energy surged outward from his body, turning the dust in the air into glittering sparks.

"The laws of nature," Luo whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying, ecstatic intensity. "It isn’t just essence. It’s... it’s the structure of the world, diluted into a liquid form."

Shen watched, horrified, as a chair near the elder began to hover, its legs slowly turning into fine powder. "Hey! That’s an antique! You’re getting your 'essence' all over my upholstery!"

Luo didn't seem to hear him. He grabbed the ladle again, his composure completely shattered by the drink’s effects. "This! This is the key! The stagnant barrier of the seventh rank... it’s thinning. It’s actually thinning!"

"Sir, you are really starting to stress me out," Shen said, his voice rising. "You already broke my floor. If you start breaking the furniture, we’re going to have a very different conversation."

Luo Tianze slammed the cup down—or at least, he intended to. The sheer force of his excitement caused his hand to miss the counter by a fraction of an inch, striking the edge of the heavy oak table instead. The wood didn't just splinter; it disintegrated into fine, sawdust-like particles, leaving only the legs standing.

Shen’s jaw dropped. "That’s it. That’s the third piece of property this morning. Do you have any idea how much work it is to haul timber up to this cliffside?"

Luo barely looked at the ruined table. He was staring at the jar, his breath coming in ragged, gasping gulps. "The whole barrel. I want all of it. Name your price. Gold? Spirit stones? The secrets of the Cloud-Piercing Sword technique? Anything."

Shen crossed his arms, his fear momentarily eclipsed by the sheer audacity of this man. "I don’t care about your techniques. I care about my tavern. You smashed a floor, you pulverized a table, and you’re scaring away my potential customers—assuming anyone ever comes by. If you want more, you pay up. And not in 'secrets,' either."

Luo Tianze laughed, a sound like grinding stones. "You are bold, shopkeeper. Most would be groveling at my feet."

"Most people don't have to deal with weirdos breaking their livelihood before noon," Shen countered, keeping his tone firm despite the way his pulse was racing. "Look, house rule: you break it, you pay for it. The table was solid oak, hand-carved by my grandfather. You owe me an artifact. A real one. Something that actually holds value."

Luo Tianze paused, his gaze drifting from the jar to Shen. He seemed to genuinely see the tavern keeper for the first time. He reached into the folds of his robes, his fingers dancing briefly in the air before he pulled out a hairpin. It was crafted from pale, translucent jade, carved into the shape of a weeping willow, and it hummed with a warmth that Shen could feel from across the room.

"A soul-binding needle," Luo said, tossing it onto the counter. "It stabilizes the mind and prevents qi-deviation. It is worth a hundred of your tables. Now, move aside."

Shen picked up the hairpin, feeling the gentle, rhythmic thrumming against his palm. It felt like holding a living thing. "This... this is a lot for a table, mister."

"It is a pittance for the path to the eighth rank," Luo snapped, already reaching for the jar again.

Shen opened his mouth to protest, but a sudden, sharp whistling sound cut through the air outside. It was followed by the distinct thwip-thwip of several figures landing on the roof above them.

Shen looked toward the door. The fog, usually thick and gray, seemed to be parting as shadows gathered around the tavern. He could hear whispers—thin, sharp, and predatory—drifting in through the gaps in the stone walls.

"Brother Luo," a voice called out from outside, slick and sycophantic. "We felt the surge. We know you’ve found something of... exceptional quality. Surely a discovery of this magnitude belongs to the collective?"

Luo Tianze froze, the ladle halfway to his mouth. His face hardened, the ecstasy of the wine replaced by the cold, calculating mask of a predator.

"Scouts," Luo muttered, his gaze turning to the door. "They’ve tracked the resonance. It seems your little 'berry brew' has made us both very popular, shopkeeper."

Shen felt his stomach drop. He looked at the hairpin in his hand, then at the jar, and finally at the door. "I just wanted to make enough to buy some radishes for the winter," he whispered to himself.

Luo turned back to him, a cruel, sharp glint in his eyes. "Tell me, shopkeeper. Can you defend your tavern? Because if the

se vultures get inside, they won’t be paying for the furniture."