The capital. Floating Life Teahouse. Stories on the first floor, orders on the second. One tune of Wild Geese Descending on the Sandbank, and every trace of worldly passion is cut short. The locals all say, “One cup of tea at Floating Life, and no guest returns from the underworld.” The musician Wen Ling, white-haired and dressed in plain robes, wears a white silk blindfold. Everyone says he is a gentle, frail musician, like an immortal banished from the heavens. They do not know that though he is blind, his remaining senses are sharp as knives, able to hear thunder in a place of utter silence. Amid the scent of goose pear incense, his voice is gentle and soft; within the seven strings of his zither lies a poison that kills with a single touch. Before the music ends, life and death are already decided. All who come, please have tea.
Historical & time travel
By 於西