The drizzle fell softly, the west wind swept the road.
As night deepened, guests within the small inn dispersed one by one, leaving the not-so-bustling hall somewhat desolate.
Songs come to an end, as must all meetings of chance.
Not to mention mere fleeting encounters with strangers on the road.
Baili An's supper had ended, and as the woman got up to leave, she glanced indifferently at the dark Ancient Sword behind Baili An and casually remarked,
"Young man, that sword of yours seems quite fine."
The little White Tiger gnawing on a bone in Baili An's embrace lifted its gaze thoughtfully.
The woman's two guards also turned with curiosity, their expressions subtly changed as they looked at the Ancient Sword behind Baili An before quickly bowing their heads again.
Before Baili An could respond, the woman had already crossed the yellow wooden threshold and climbed into the carriage that had been waiting quietly outside.
