When the news finally trickled down that the boss wanted a meeting, Fang Dingwu hurried over to the guest wing. He found Ye Beizhi had already made use of the basin of water and the fresh clothes the servants had left behind.
The layer of road grime had hidden a face that wasn't exactly handsome in the traditional, poetic sense, but it was striking. His features were clean and refined, sharp enough to hold a gaze, though it was his eyes that truly drew the attention.
They were unnervingly still—calm and deep, like the surface of an ancient well that hadn't been disturbed in a hundred years.
Even in the safety of the room, he hadn't let go of that Tang blade; it was slung across his back as he focused on the simple task of boiling water for tea.
Fang Dingwu stepped in with a wide, easy grin, clapping a hand onto the young man's shoulder. "Good news, Brother Ye! The Chief has invited you to the welcome-back banquet tonight. He wants to meet you properly, get a feel for who you are.
Honestly, it's mostly just him being pedantic and old-fashioned. With your skills, you've got nothing to worry about."
Ye Beizhi gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
Fang lingered, his expression shifting from excitement to a touch of concern. "But listen, Brother Ye... why are you so quiet? When the Chief starts asking you questions, try not to just give him the silent treatment, okay? I know you aren't one for chatting, but just... try to respond a little.
For my sake?"
Ye Beizhi glanced up, his eyes meeting Fang's for a fleeting second before he looked back at the steam rising from his pot. "Okay," he said.
"That's the spirit!" Fang laughed, satisfied with the one-word victory. "I'll head back for now. I'll come by and get you when the food's ready!" He swaggered out, his footsteps heavy and confident.
By the time evening rolled around, the air in the agency was thick with the smell of roasted meat and the sharp tang of rice wine. Fang Dingwu returned to the guest wing, though he looked a little different than he had a few hours ago.
His face was flushed a deep pink, and his walk had a slight, rhythmic sway to it. He'd clearly spent the afternoon getting a head start on the festivities.
"Brother Ye! I'm here for you!" he boomed before he even crossed the threshold.
He didn't wait for an answer. He reached out, grabbed Ye Beizhi's hand, and practically hauled him out of the room. "Tonight, we drink! You've got to tell me the secret, Ye. How do you train a blade to move like that? I've seen masters, but you... you're something else!"
Fang dragged him toward the main courtyard, where the party was already in full swing. Eight or nine large tables had been squeezed into the open space, and a small army of servants was darting between them, carrying platters of food that steamed in the cool night air.
They pushed through the crowd toward the main hall, where a massive table sat at the center of the room. As they approached, a man at the table stood up, waving a half-empty cup. "Dingwu! About time! Get over here, your wine's already poured and waiting!"
Fang let out a boisterous laugh. "Guo Xiaoliu! With your tolerance? You'll be snoring under the table after two cups.
You sure you want to start with me?"
The table erupted in laughter, the sound bouncing off the wooden beams of the hall.
"You aren't exactly a legend yourself, Dingwu!" Guo Xiaoliu shot back, his face reddening as he sat down.
Fang pulled Ye Beizhi closer, beginning the introductions with a clumsy, alcohol-fueled pride. "Everyone, look here.
This is Sun Song—best escort leader in Jiading.
And that's Zhao Feihu, one of our pillars. And this loudmouth is Guo Tu, but he's the sixth kid in his family, so just call him Xiaoliu like everyone else."
He then turned to the group, his voice dropping an octave as if sharing a secret. "And this... is Brother Ye Beizhi. The one I told you about."
The veterans at the table stopped laughing for a moment, their eyes narrowing as they sized up the newcomer.
Ye Beizhi didn't seem to mind the scrutiny. He offered a polite, shallow nod and took a seat facing the front of the hall, his posture as still as a statue.
"Big Bro Dingwu! Big Bro! I heard you brought back someone interesting!"
The voice was high and full of energy. A girl in a bright yellow dress came skipping into the hall, her oval face bright with curiosity. She had neat bangs and eyes that seemed to catch the lamplight like a lake under the moon.
There was a single, stray lock of hair falling over the right side of her face, giving her an air of playful innocence.
She stopped right in front of Ye Beizhi, leaning in to look at him from head to toe.
"He doesn't look much older than me," she said, cutting a sharp, suspicious look toward Fang Dingwu.
"Is he really as amazing as you said, or were you just drunk even then?"
Fang could only offer a weak, wry smile, holding up his hands in a silent plea for mercy.
"Enough of your nonsense!" a heavy, stern voice rumbled from the back of the hall. "How would a little girl like you know anything about skill? And stop running around like a wild animal. Is that how I raised you to behave?"
At the sound of the voice, every man at the table stood up in unison.
An old man with graying hair stepped out from the shadows. Despite the lines on his face, he stood perfectly straight, possessing the rigid, dangerous grace of a rusted iron spear.
Master Wu walked into the light, his eyes immediately locking onto Ye Beizhi.
While the others stood, Ye remained seated, his eyes fixed on the grain of the wooden table. Fang Dingwu panicked, reaching under the table to frantically tug at Ye's sleeve. Finally, Ye stood up, though he still didn't quite look at the old man.
"You're Ye Beizhi?" Master Wu asked, his voice carrying a hint of a playful challenge. "The one Dingwu found on the road?"
Ye finally turned his head to meet the old man's gaze. After a long, heavy pause, he spoke. "That's me."
Master Wu grinned, the skin around his eyes crinkling. He gestured for everyone to sit. "I heard you can handle a blade. Better than most, apparently."
Ye sat back down, his gaze returning to the table. He nodded once. "Yes."
The girl in yellow scoffed. "Is something wrong with him? Does he only know how to say one word at a time?"
Master Wu frowned at her, a silent command that made her purse her lips and look away, though she continued to glare at Ye.
The old man turned back to his guest. "A blade like that usually belongs to a famous school or a master. Would you mind if I took a look at it?"
Ye Beizhi stared at the table. He didn't speak. He didn't nod. He just existed in a bubble of silence that seemed to irritate the air around him.
Zhao Feihu, the "pillar" of the agency, had finally had enough of the cold shoulder. "You've been sitting there acting like you're better than us all night," he snapped, leaning across the table. "Are you a man or a statue?"
Before anyone could stop him, Zhao reached out, his hand darting toward the hilt of the Tang blade resting on Ye's back.
In a blur that no one—not even Master Wu—quite caught, a hand appeared.
Zhao's wrist was suddenly caught in a grip that felt like an iron shackle.
He tried to pull back, but his arm wouldn't budge. He tried to shove forward, but Ye's hand was an unmoving wall. Zhao looked up and found himself staring into Ye's eyes. They weren't angry.
They were empty. It felt like staring into a deep, dark pool of stagnant water where nothing lived.
With a sudden, sharp thud, Zhao lost his balance and tumbled to the floor.
Whether it was the pressure on his wrist or the sheer shock of that gaze, he went down hard.
The table erupted. Chairs screeched against the floor as the guards stood up, their faces red with fury.
"Let him go!"
"You little brat, how dare you!"
"I'll kill you for that!"
Ye Beizhi didn't let go of Zhao's arm. Instead, he slowly tilted his head toward the man who had screamed the last threat.
The man flinched, but seeing his brothers-in-arms around him, he doubled down. "What are you looking at? I said I'll kill you!"
Ye Beizhi looked at him with an unsettling, serious intensity.
"No."
The room went quiet.
The guards exchanged confused glances. "Wha... what do you mean, 'no'?" the man stammered.
"You can't kill me," Ye Beizhi said. He wasn't mocking them.
He said it with the simple, flat conviction of a man stating that the sun was hot or the ground was hard.
A strange, heavy silence flooded the hall. Then, the insults started up again, louder this time.
"What an arrogant fool!"
"Grandpa's going to teach you a lesson today!"
"I'll chop you into pieces in two strikes!"
"Enough! Be quiet!" Master Wu's voice boomed like a foghorn, cutting through the chaos. He slammed his fist onto the table, rattling the dishes. "Everyone, sit down! Look at yourselves, acting like children at a dinner table."
The old man turned his sharp gaze to Ye. "Young Hero Ye, could you release Feihu? He was out of line, but he hasn't done any real harm."
Ye Beizhi looked at Master Wu, then down at Zhao Feihu, whose face was now a bright, embarrassed crimson. He opened his hand.
Zhao scrambled up, rubbing his bruised wrist.
He threw one last, venomous look at Ye before turning and storming out of the hall, unable to bear the shame of the fall.
Fang Dingwu put his head in his hands, feeling utterly helpless.
His perfect welcome-back banquet had turned into a disaster in minutes. He looked over at Ye Beizhi, who was once again staring at the feast on the table, silent and still, as if the entire world hadn't just tried to jump down his throat.