This bustling street is fraught with hidden dangers. A butcher carves meat with a blade that can embroider flowers on white bones. An old woman selling embroidered shoes fires needles that leave no survivors within a hundred paces. An oil vendor hides eighteen swords up his sleeves, his eyes fixed on the bun stall opposite, where a young beauty can change her face nine times with a simple rub of her hands. At the end of this street lies the Donggui Tavern, run by a youth who does nothing but brew wine. He has crafted twelve exquisite wines, yet no customers come to drink. The only regular is a perpetually drunken man in white, clutching his spear as he stumbles about. He says he wants to buy a horse, carry a jar of wine, and ride like the wind, drunk in the warm spring breeze.