Mystic Blue Tavern’s interior was divided into orderly hexagonal sections, fitting neatly into its modest space. Soothing violin strains filled the air, blending with the cool-toned lighting to ease patrons into relaxation.

It was mid-afternoon. The tavern held a modest crowd—dozens of figures scattered across its hexagonal zones. Some huddled in groups of three or four; others curled alone in shadowed corners, whispering about recent events: new trouble spots, time-killing haunts, places to find thrills.

Mystic Blue truly thrummed at midnight—or when the Second Weather Bureau made major moves. Then, nearly every Containment Entity in Qianning City would gather here.

Most wore identical black cloaks, hoods pulled low to hide whatever lurked beneath. At first glance, the tavern looked less like a bar and more like a cult’s secret meeting.

These cloaks were Lu Xian’s doing—one of the tavern’s shadowy owners. They let Containment Entities move freely. Not all, like Bai Ling, had human faces to blend into society. A hooded figure might draw odd glances, but it beat revealing a monster to ordinary humans.

Beneath those cloaks? Wild spirits, vengeful ghosts, mountain demons—only the wearers knew. One truth held firm: glimpse a Containment Entity’s true form, and your death warrant was signed.

Mystic Blue offered sanctuary. As long as no one caused chaos, the owners stayed hands-off. These beings were rare kin; losing one hurt. Unlike the domineering Senior Bailin, most conflicts here ended with a warning. After all—who knew if your opponent could drag you into death with them?

The violin’s melody abruptly cut off. Every Entity—chatting, brooding, or working—froze. All eyes turned to the entrance.

Music only stopped for true VIPs. It was both respect and a warning: *Behave. Someone important has arrived.*

Today’s guest warranted it. As Bai Ling stepped inside, gown hem lifted delicately, every seated Entity rose and bowed. Her breathtaking beauty paled beside the sheer authority radiating from her. No prompting needed—they bowed instinctively.

Like a sovereign acknowledging subjects, Bai Ling gave a slight nod. She deserved this reverence. Qianning’s Containment Entities existed openly only because of her power. That alone earned their loyalty.

Officially, Bai Ling was one of the tavern’s shadow-owners. In truth, Lu Xian ran everything—and he was why she’d come.

“You still enjoy this little game,” she said, gliding past the bowing crowd to the bar. She settled gracefully onto a stool, her gown tracing alluring curves that would stir any ordinary man’s blood.

But who here was ordinary? By surface standards, Bai Ling was the strangest of them all.

“The owner tends bar. Isn’t that normal?” Lu Xian’s voice came from behind the counter.

“True enough. It’s your dump. Do as you like.”

Lu Xian—*Earthly Immortal*—looked nothing human. One of few uncloaked Entities here, his face was a blank canvas: no nose, no eyes, no mouth. Just a faint outline where features should be. For an Earthly Immortal, perhaps it made sense.

“What’ll you have? Ah—I know. Your usual jasmine honey wine. First round’s on me.”

“...Appreciated.”

Lu Xian mixed drinks with lightning speed, crafting rare masterpieces even Bai Ling sought out. Of all his creations, she craved the jasmine honey wine most. Its sweet floral fragrance lingered long after the last sip.

She took a delicate taste, then slowly traced her lower lip with her tongue. One sip was perfection. More would be waste.

“Unexpected pleasure seeing you here,” Lu Xian said, pushing aside shakers to sit. His featureless face seemed to brighten. “I’d planned to invite the Black King myself soon.”

*Black King*—Bai Ling’s title. Even Second Weather Bureau staff used it privately. Alongside Lu Xian and Peerless Sword Swallow Nine, she was one of the Bureau’s top three publicly acknowledged threats.

Both Bai Ling and Lu Xian scoffed at that ranking. The Bureau’s list was riddled with inaccuracies—useful as a rough guide, but trusting it fully was idiocy. Even Bureau insiders dismissed it.

“One name on your list can be crossed off,” Bai Ling said.

“...Meeting the Black King was that puppet’s fate. Pity. Another plaything gone.”

She’d recognized the silk-string puppet she’d eliminated as one of Lu Xian’s “enlightened” creations. His “list” was just a boredom journal—a little black book tracking where he might find amusement next.