Wen Yi watched the two gentlemen depart. Sitting in the boat, his brow lightly furrowed.

He suddenly felt these two were odd, yet he couldn’t pinpoint why—especially the man in the blue robe. None of the great scholars he’d encountered seemed to match this Green-Robed Gentleman’s presence.

Wen Yi shook his head, dismissing his thoughts. After enjoying the riverside scenery awhile, he returned home with his maid.

Yet the very next morning, chaos struck Changchun Prefecture’s Yamen.

His maid hurried into the courtyard. “Young Master! The bandits from Tengyun Mountain have surrendered!”

Wen Yi paused mid-brushstroke at his painting desk.

“How? The officials weren’t planning to suppress them yet.”

“Huan’er heard…” The maid hesitated. “They surrendered themselves. Ten bandits were found unconscious at the Yamen gates at dawn—piles of stolen silver beside them!”

Wen Yi stared. “This…”

It sounded unbelievable.

“It’s true!” insisted the maid.

Startled, Wen Yi said, “Take me there.”

The Wen family held influence in Changchun Prefecture. Wen Yi sought his acquaintance among the Yamen constables.

The constable confessed, “Honestly, Young Master Wen, it’s bizarre. The bandits swear they don’t know how they got here. Woke up babbling ‘money, money,’ like madmen.”

“Truly?” Wen Yi gaped.

“Exactly!”

The constable added, “The Xun River lies between us. No ferries at night. Yet they crossed carrying all that silver? Utterly strange…”

Pondering deeply, Wen Yi froze. An idea struck. “Did they admit to any recent robberies?”

“They confessed everything,” said the constable. “Latest was yesterday—robbed two travelers, but got only a single coin.”

Wen Yi’s heart lurched. “Did one wear a blue robe?”

The constable blinked. “You knew?”

Sudden understanding washed over Wen Yi.

Claiming urgent business, he rushed home.

The bewildered constable watched him dart away—what emergency could this be?

Wen Yi recounted the events and his suspicions to his father, Wen Yueshan.

Wen Yueshan listened in astonishment.

He paced, piecing together the clues.

Finally stopping, he declared, “Yi’er! You encountered a hidden master!”

“Perhaps…” murmured Wen Yi.

“Those bandits surely crossed paths with your Blue-Robed traveler,” insisted Wen Yueshan. “To know for certain, visit the City God Temple.”

Wen Yi agreed. At noon, the family went to the temple.

Wen Yi burned incense, knelt before the City God statue—his father followed.

No sign appeared.

Returning home, Wen Yi coughed violently; his body ached unrelentingly.

He sighed bitterly, mocking himself, “Just my wild imagination…”

He put it out of mind.

Yet that night, he dreamed of a Yin Attendant!

In the dream, the shadowy figure drove a chain through his chest! Yanking it back, a mass of gray Yin Energy tore free from Wen Yi’s body.

Wen Yi screamed soundlessly in the nightmare.

The moment the Yin Attendant extracted the dark mist, Wen Yi jolted awake.

Gasping, drenched in cold sweat.

“Day’s thoughts haunt your dreams…”

He lay back down, ignoring it.

Waking at dawn, however, he froze.

His pain had lessened. His cough nearly gone. Alarmed, he sat bedridden, lost in thought.

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Dawn light touched his face. Only then did he realize—

He had met a legendary master!

Wen Yueshan rejoiced at his son’s recovery—then regret crept in.

“Health matters most. Yet such a chance, gone forever… a pity.”

Wen Yi replied softly, “That gentleman likely left Changchun Prefecture. As the books say—fate favors the undeserving.”

Wen Yueshan clasped his son’s shoulder. “No matter. Simply remember.”

After dreaming of the Yin Attendant, Wen Yi’s illness vanished entirely. Color returned to his cheeks.

One late afternoon at sunset,

Wen Yi recalled meeting the Green-Robed Gentleman—the river view, their strange encounter. Longing stirred him.

He summoned his maid, grinding ink, unrolling paper.

Drawing a deep breath, Wen Yi dipped his brush, painting the landscape he’d seen.

His strokes flowed swift and sure. Mountains rose layered; the river misted on paper. Dappled greens and blues bloomed—masterful brushwork capturing nature’s soul.

Gazing at the scene, Wen Yi pictured the Blue-Robed man. He frowned.

His face… how do I forget?

Frustrated, he struggled to recall the gentleman’s features, failing utterly.

Resigned, he painted his memory—

There, amid mountains and water, walked a figure in blue, wine gourd dangling. Carefree beneath Heaven and Earth. Robe unstained; spirit unburdened.

Sadly, Wen Yi remembered only the back view. The man’s face escaped him entirely. The other traveler—even his form blurred into nothing.

Staring at the painting yielded no revelation.

Wen Yi sighed.

“Afraid I startled the jade towers—now his face won’t return.”

Lost in thought, he added calligraphy above the art:

[Boating on Xun River, beholding landscape glorious.

Heard voices call from shore—spied two gentlemen, invited them aboard.

Discussed Ghost Deity’s healing arts—gladly parted upon Xun’s waters.]

[Homeward bound, jolted awake suddenly.

Recalled both, yet only one Blue Robe remained—a single back-view.

Fears he startled the jade towers of heaven—that dear face erased.]

“It shall be… Facing the River Immortal.”