Way of The Devil

Chapter 1. The Dao Has No Mercy

Cold wind sliced through the air like invisible blades, sending snowflakes swirling before they blanketed the ground. Lu Sheng slowly opened his eyes. He was seated inside a dull-yellow horse carriage that rocked gently from side to side. Beside him, a young girl's soft, lilting voice drifted through the air.

Beyond the carriage walls, a cacophony of life unfolded—a lively hum of vendors hawking their wares, people shouting and bargaining, and the cheerful cries of children filling the wintry air.

Lu Sheng drew in a deep breath and released a weary sigh. He knew there was no going back. Once, he had been a seasoned worker in a state-owned enterprise. But after one drunken night, he had awakened to find himself in this strange new world.

It had been five days since that moment.

The crisp air carried the mingled aromas of wine, roasted nuts, and freshly baked pies.

"Sigh... The Osmanthus Winery's white osmanthus wine smells even richer today," murmured the young servant girl beside him. Her name was Little Qiao, her voice soft and tinged with innocence.

At twelve years old, she looked no older than ten, with her doll-like face and petite frame. A faint blush colored her round cheeks as she sat in her small green cotton skirt, gently rubbing a hair tie between her palms to warm it.

The tie, made from the bark of a rare rubber tree, gave off a subtle fragrance. In the cold, it hardened easily and needed to be softened by touch.

Lu Sheng chuckled quietly but said nothing. Moments later, the carriage came to a halt.

He lifted the veil and stepped down, his boots pressing onto the grayish-white bluestone street, each tile large enough to hold a man's face.

All around him, carriages rolled by and horses trotted under their masters' guidance. Street hawkers bargained with strolling ladies, and wives laughed freely beneath the pale winter sun—their carefree laughter echoing endlessly through the bustling street.

Lu Sheng lifted his gaze and spotted the building ahead. On a white rectangular signboard, three bold characters danced in elegant brushstrokes — The Osmanthus Winery.

"Young Master Lu, you're here! Please, come in! Room A has been reserved for you!" A servant greeted him warmly, bowing with a practiced smile.

Lu Sheng gave a slight nod. From Little Qiao's hands, he took a silver-bordered white fan and flicked it open with the ease of a nobleman. Painted upon the fan was a tranquil scene of mountains and rivers intertwined, with a delicate poem penned at the edge — the unmistakable handiwork of a refined literati.

He followed the servant through the familiar entrance of the winery.

Inside, the establishment spread across two floors. The main hall on the first floor buzzed with patrons, most gathered to watch a song performance. In the center of the open space stood a young woman clad in green, her clear voice weaving through the air like silk. Beside her, a middle-aged woman plucked the strings of a lute, each note rippling gently through the crowd.

They were performing Three Meetings — a sorrowful tale of a general's conquest and a fox spirit's doomed love in the mountain wilds.

Yet the audience was largely a coarse crowd. Only a few among them possessed enough culture to grasp the meaning behind the lyrics; the rest paid the singers no heed. Coins were sparse, applause even rarer.

Lu Sheng halted for a moment, observing the scene, then quietly took a seat near the front.

"Who chose Three Meetings?" he asked the servant, his tone casual.