They say that when the Netherflower blooms, even forgotten souls remember love.
In the far corner of Wuya County, at the end of South Street in ancient Chu State, stood a quiet inn named Qinghuan. Weathered by centuries yet dignified in its silence, it had witnessed empires rise and fall. Its origins were unknown, but it never lacked stories—or those seeking refuge within its walls.
What made Qinghuan truly legendary was not its age, but a wine brewed only under the full moon: Zuihua Yin (醉花阴), Intoxicated Under the Bloom. Each month, only ten cups were poured—reserved for those chosen by fate.
Some whispered the wine was born of longing. Others said it was brewed from unspoken debts and promises never kept. The innkeeper's wife, Lady Liu Huanyin, still poured each cup as if waiting for someone who had once promised to return.
Every dusk, the second floor overflowed with listeners. They didn't come for food or lodging—but for the stories told by a man known only as Lao Hu.
No one knew his origin. With phoenix-like eyes and a voice hoarse from wine, he wore a faded robe and carried a bamboo flute. His tales were never of war or ghosts, but of strange dreams, star-crossed lovers, and timeless legends that flickered like candlelight in the fog.
That night, Lao Hu lifted a cup of Zuihua Yin, letting its amber liquid touch his lips, and began:
"There once lived a boy named Ye Mingzhi, whose destiny defied the heavens. From obscurity he rose to become the Celestial Lord of the Nine Heavens.By his side stood a mortal girl—Chu Xiyue—born of dust, yet brave enough to defy the stars."
The crowd held their breath. Lanterns swayed gently, casting shadows like falling petals. And the story took root.
In the farthest corner of the hall, a cloaked man and woman sat in silence. Though their faces were hidden, their presence was unmistakable.
The man—clad in black, cold-eyed, a sword resting by his side.
The woman—graceful, starry-eyed, her fingertip brushing the man's pale cheek.
With a mischievous smile, she leaned close and whispered:
"Sounds awfully familiar, doesn't it, my lord?"
The man took a slow sip of wine, unbothered."What nonsense," he muttered. "This Emperor is nothing like that."
A pause.
"And… are you jealous?"
The woman laughed softly. The storyteller's voice echoed above them, threading past and present, dream and fate, as somewhere, perhaps, the Netherflower silently bloomed again.
again.