In the hazy moonlight of a Jianghu night, a rural tavern was boisterously shaken.
As a wine bottle slammed onto the table, startling those who dropped their chopsticks, heads turned. In the center of it all sat a man with white hair falling to his shoulders, disheveled as if soaked in wine, his eyes unfocused like blue-gray smoke. He idly spun a wine cup in one hand and muttered.

"Hmph, are the heroes of Jianghu just sitting on this tavern floor watching a chicken fight? How pathetic."

His tone was slurred, but laced with barbs, and at that moment, two martial artists drinking at the next table stood up abruptly.

"What did you say, you rogue?!"

The man's hand was already on his sword hilt. But the white-haired young master calmly took a sip of wine, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Was what I said wrong? The speed at which you draw your swords is slower than the speed at which my wine goes down my throat."

‘Clang’— As the wine bottle rolled off the table and hit the floor, a sword flashed like a blue-white light. People hadn't even noticed when the sword was drawn, but the martial artist's wrist was already bleeding. Yet, he remained seated at the table, pouring wine as if filling a cup.

"Jianghu? Power? It's all just fleeting foam. So, won't you have a drink?"

His voice was languid as if drunk, but his sword tip shone with a clear light, cutting through the air.