Chapter 1285: Indulging the wander

Like earlier, when Bu Zhou had been present—if the painting’s spirit had been observing them—it wouldn’t have noticed the mist or Bu Zhou. As for their conversation, it would neither have heard nor seen it. Even the dishes Bu Zhou had eaten would have escaped its senses, leaving it to assume Yang Qing had eaten them himself. The mist would have subtly manipulated both its conscious and subconscious mind into believing everything was Yang Qing’s doing.

Now, all it saw was Yang Qing eating while admiring the scenery outside. It remained blind to his observation of it because that scene could not register in its mind or senses, all thanks to the shrouding effect.

Yang Qing ran through a few ideas, some feasible and some less so, though he held the same doubts for both. Sighing in either exhaustion or frustration at the lack of progress, he finished his last cup of tea and called for Sun Biya to settle the bill. Much to his pleasant surprise, she informed him he wouldn’t have to pay for any dishes, thanks to the donation he’d made of that research study journal on body refinement.

The other reason he didn’t have to pay was because of the chefs. Given that most who frequented the teahouse didn’t come there for the food, with most settling for the tea. Yang Qing’s hearty appetite and his decision to order everything on the menu, and seven times over at that, left them deeply gratified. They were endeared by the fact that someone not only ordered the dishes they prepared but did so with such enthusiasm.

They had insisted to Sun Biya that not a single spirit stone be taken from Yang Qing, even offering to pay for his meals themselves.

“Could I meet them?” Yang Qing asked, touched by the gesture. Even before this, he had been curious about the cooks—something he always felt when he enjoyed truly exceptional food—and now that the chance presented itself, he was eager to thank them in person.

“Funny you say that,” Sun Biya replied with a warm smile. “They wanted the same thing, too. They’re waiting outside,” she added, pointing toward the door. “Let me call them in,” she said as she moved to open it.

Out of reflex, Yang Qing straightened his robes and adjusted his posture, doing whatever else he could manage in the two seconds it took Sun Biya to open the door and invite the three cooks inside.

Leading the trio was a short, barrel-chested man with a bushy beard, beady eyes, and a roughly tied high knot. He wore dark brown robes lined with charred golden embroidery.

Following behind him was a slender, medium-height woman wrapped in a sage green hanfu rolled at the sleeves. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, with plain features where her beauty was concerned, neither too outstanding nor mediocre. Just a perfect blend of ordinary, except for the piercing, steady gaze of her soft brown eyes.

Closing the group was the tallest of the three, taller even than Yang Qing. She appeared to be around the same age as the woman before her, though her sharp cheekbones, fox-like face, and loose waves of ink-black hair pinned with a single chopstick gave her a more mature, cool air. She wore light grey robes, their cuffs stained with pink and amber. The faint scent of fermented fruit drifting from her made it clear she was a wine brewer.

By the same logic, the plain-featured woman was likely the tea brewer, and the stout man the cook. Sun Biya’s introduction more than confirmed it.

“This is Guo Fang, our cook,” said Sun Biya, pointing to the short man. “Ruan Yin, our tea mistress,” she continued, indicating the plain-looking woman. “And Jiu Xian, our wine brewer,” she finished, gesturing toward the tall lady.

All three cupped their fists in greeting as their names were spoken.

“And this is Yang Qing,” she added warmly, gesturing toward him, “our new special patron.”

Smiling to them all—though more so to the three—Yang Qing cupped his fists. “My name is Yang Qing, and it is truly a pleasure and an honor to meet you all. Thank you for the memorable experience you gave me with your tantalizing dishes.”

“The honor is ours, Daoist Yang Qing,” said Guo Fang, with the other two nodding in agreement.

They didn’t need many words. A few exchanged gazes were enough to convey their sentiments and understanding. So, when Yang Qing offered them a drink of wine—Yi Jie’s brew, which unsurprisingly left Jiu Xian, the wine brewer, completely enamored—as thanks for the food and their meeting, what was meant to be a brief ten-minute introduction turned into two hours of lively conversation. It felt less like strangers meeting for the first time and more like old friends catching up.

It might have gone on even longer had the three cooks not been on duty.

With a belly full of food and a heart filled with contentment, Yang Qing left the teahouse and wandered the streets of Velvet Orchid on a whim, eager to soak in its atmosphere. He danced with those who were dancing and sang with those who were singing.

As unfettered as he let himself be, living fully in the moment, he still took care in choosing who he sang with. He knew his own singing abilities well, and no matter how unrestrained he felt, he was soberly aware of the limits his thick skin could handle and that which it could not.

When he was done singing, he played go with those seeking a match, exchanged words with strangers—some conversations were light, others were deep—and in each encounter, regardless of the weight, bonds were formed and the experiences of life got shared. He admired paintings being created by the roadside, listened to stories told from terraces to any who wished to hear, and with every step he took, he immersed himself deeper into the charm of Hebei.

Through it all, he found his mind and heart renewed, and somewhere within, he sensed something subtle beginning to stir in his spirit.

Yang Qing the wanderer, Yang Qing playfully hummed as he gazed at the floating lanterns above, then further upward to the thousands of stars scattered across the night sky. Around him, the backdrop of laughter, conversation, music, and the gentle flow of the river wrapped him in its embrace.

He might be investigating a case, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t fully immerse himself in his current persona and, for a brief moment, live like the wandering traveler he claimed to be. Just this once, he decided to indulge in his wanderlust, losing himself in the charm of Hebei.

It was in that sudden, unplanned indulgence that he inadvertently solved the mystery of the moonlit orchid—before even his water beetles did—while also uncovering a little more about the owner of the Red Velvet Orchid Teahouse.