Chapter 23 – Pour Me a Cup and Add More Wine
Shi Wuluo didn’t respond.
The man was quiet by nature, and even more so when drunk. His fingers were long and slender. As he smoothed out Chou Bodeng’s disheveled hair, the dark strands flowed through his pale fingers like water. Chou Bodeng glanced at him from the corner of his eye, then turned slightly to the side, idly swirling the wine jar and gazing at the mists gathering and dispersing outside the city.
The teeth of a wooden comb touched his scalp, and Chou Bodeng’s hand, which was swirling the wine jar, paused.
…He brought a comb with him?
Enemy of gods and ghosts, head of the Ten Shamans, a thorn in the side of the Hundred Clans… a man whose name was stained with blood, actually carried a comb in addition to his saber? If word got out, the expressions of all those who feared him like a snake or a scorpion would surely be priceless.
Chou Bodeng imagined the scene and couldn’t help but laugh.
Then, a hand pressed down on his shoulder bone.
The hand on his shoulder was cool, its faint chill palpable even through his clothes, and it was very strong.
“Don’t move,” Shi Wuluo said softly, pausing before adding, just like last time, “It’ll be just a moment.”
“If you hurt me, I’ll kick you off,” Chou Bodeng replied with a faint smile.
The young man said nothing. He lowered his eyelids, focusing on drawing the comb from top to bottom. The black silk strands passed through the comb’s teeth, each one reaching the end. Chou Bodeng once again caught the faint, clean scent of medicinal herbs on his sleeves.
Is it because he’s a shaman?
The ancient character for medicine was composed of the characters for shamanism and medicine, and in ancient times, Wu Peng was the first to practice medicine. This was the origin of the saying that shamanism and medicine share the same source. Using herbs as medicine to treat people was a form of shamanic art. As the head of the Ten Shamans, it was not surprising that Shi Wuluo, who likely dealt with herbs year-round, would have his clothes and sleeves stained with their fresh scent. However, Chou Bodeng always felt that among the medicinal scents on Shi Wuluo, there was a very faint one, like the fragrance of a cold herb nurtured on some high, distant, solitary peak, that felt vaguely familiar to him.
Chou Bodeng turned his head, wanting to ask.
At that moment, Shi Wuluo reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair from the side of his face. The back of his cool fingers brushed past his lips.
It was like looking up on a winter day and being gently, unexpectedly kissed by a first snowflake.
“There.”
Shi Wuluo said, putting the wooden hairpin back in for him.
Chou Bodeng turned his head to look at him. Shi Wuluo sat up straight again, quietly meeting his gaze.
Behind him were the sparse branches of the Divine Fu Tree’s canopy, which cast a moon-like light all over him. The color of his eyes was so light, like a dustless dome or a lake so clear you could see to the bottom. At such a close distance, they clearly reflected Chou Bodeng’s image.
After a moment of staring, Chou Bodeng tossed the wine jar to him and gave a crisp order, “Drink!”
Shi Wuluo lowered his gaze and poured himself some wine. His movements looked no different than before, but upon careful observation, one could see that whether he was raising the cup or pouring the wine, he was half a beat too slow.
It didn’t quite seem like he was faking being drunk.
Chou Bodeng let out a cold snort that was half a smile and snatched the wine cup from his hand.
Shi Wuluo looked at his empty hand, then raised his eyes to look at him blankly. Chou Bodeng ignored him and placed the cup far away. Shi Wuluo remembered Chou Bodeng telling him to drink just now. After a moment of stunned silence, he raised the wine jar and drank directly from it.
“…You’re drunk.”
Chou Bodeng watched him with a strange expression.
The Reed Wine of Fu City was actually quite strong. At first taste, it felt like holding cold water in your mouth, but once it went down your throat, it would immediately start to burn. Shi Wuluo drank very slowly, pausing slightly after each sip. His eyes seemed clear, but his focus had already scattered. It looked like he was really going to drink the whole jar.
Chou Bodeng, who hadn’t had a single sip, glanced around and realized that if he wanted to drink, the only option left was the cup he had just snatched from Shi Wuluo.
“…”
He had well and truly shot himself in the foot.
“Forget it.”
Chou Bodeng rummaged around and found a Bo Chopstick he had used before when playing the Liubo Game with Zuo Yuesheng and the others.
“Next time, it’s your turn to treat me to a drink.”
As the words left his mouth, Chou Bodeng was suddenly taken aback.
In his past life, Young Master Chou’s standards for his drinking buddies were so high that he didn’t have a single friend.
The closest thing to “half” a friend was the folklorist who had pestered him after he bought a Shamanistic Nuo Mask. The folklorist had the honor of becoming Young Master Chou’s half-friend thanks to being an old drunkard who could get his hands on good wine from all over the country every few days.
The old drunkard was exceptionally ugly and always burrowing into poor, remote mountains, yet he somehow had a beautiful, artistic wife—though she had already passed away from illness.
In the several years he had known the old drunkard, the only time he heard him mention his wife was during the Qingming Festival one year. The old drunkard got roaringly drunk, pounding his chest and stamping his feet, saying it was all his fault for forgetting to say “next time, I’ll treat you” that one time. It was only then that Chou Bodeng learned that his deceased wife had also been a heroine, a lover of wine. The reason she had married the old drunkard was that he would always treat her to drinks, and after drinking, he would shamelessly demand that she treat him back. Through this entanglement, the girl was won over.
The drunkard felt his success was all due to this back-and-forth of treating each other, so he kept the habit even after they were married.
One treat, one return; one return, another treat. The wine appointments were endless, and the people would never be separated.
“I just forgot that one time…”
The sound of his wailing still echoed in his ears.
Endless wine appointments, so they could never be separated? How could there be something so good?
“Fleeting light, fleeting light, I urge you a cup of wine.“
Chou Bodeng struck the wine cup. The moonlight held within the cup, originally like a still mirror, suddenly shattered into countless shimmering lights. The Bo Chopstick collided with the rim of the cup, producing a clear, resonant sound.
“I know not the height of the azure sky, nor the thickness of the yellow earth.
I only see the cold moon and warm sun, searing away a person’s life.“
The sun replaces the moon, and people grow old. In this world, the White Deer is hard to find, the Year Crane is hard to follow, the Soaring Serpent turns to dust, and the Divination Turtle to rotten flesh.
No matter how long the appointment, how could it be longer than a lifetime?
On the Divine Fu Tree, neither high nor low, a vast emptiness. The chopstick spun faster and faster, more and more sorrowfully. Chou Bodeng’s voice was like a string plucked by grief, rising higher as it spun.
“Eat bear and grow fat, eat frog and grow thin…“
By the time he reached the line “The Divine Lord is here,” his voice had reached its peak, the zither string about to snap.
“Taiyi…“
Crack.
The cold liquor was gone, the zither string suddenly empty.
Before the words “how can there be” were out, Shi Wuluo seized the Bo Chopstick and the wine cup. He used so much force that the cup and chopstick instantly shattered into powder.
Chou Bodeng slowly raised his eyes to look at him.
“You…”
Shi Wuluo paused.
Young Master Chou felt that what he sang, if not the music of the heavens, was certainly not of the mortal world. Whoever heard it was lucky. Chou Bodeng stood up, looking down at Shi Wuluo with great displeasure. If he dared to say “don’t sing anymore,” he would kick him off.
“Don’t jump from high places.”
The kicking motion stopped.
Shi Wuluo picked up the wine jar, his slender, bamboo-like body swaying slightly as he also stood up.
“Don’t jump from high places.”
He repeated himself. The moonlight fell into his eyes, making it impossible to tell if he was drunk or sober. His tone was so solemn, as if he were saying something more important than the sky falling, the earth collapsing, or all things turning to dust.
“It’s dangerous.”
“And what if I insist on jumping?”
Chou Bodeng tucked his hands into his sleeves.
Shi Wuluo didn’t speak. His face was half-hidden in the shadow of the branch above, his expression unreadable. The moonlight swept over his slightly high cheekbones, the contours of his facial muscles stark, cold, and sharp. Chou Bodeng thought that he was indeed the head of the Ten Shamans, indeed a person who stood against all gods and ghosts.
“Then I will catch you.”
He said.
“I’m a sick person,” Chou Bodeng laughed, softly and mockingly. “How would you know when and where I want to jump?”
“I will catch you.”
No matter when, no matter where.
The pale moon rose higher and higher, at some point hanging directly above their heads. The light and shadows shifted. Shi Wuluo’s eyes were illuminated by the cold moon, while Chou Bodeng’s face sank into shadow. They were very close, yet it was as if they were separated into two worlds. One stood in the light, waiting stubbornly; the other stood in the dark, motionless.
The wind was still, the night silent.
Rustle, rustle.
Suddenly, a large clump of silver Fu leaves fell from the air, showering both of them.
“…Didn’t I tell you! If you drop leaves on my head again, I’ll chop you up for firewood!”
Chou Bodeng covered his head with one hand and waved the leaves away with the other, cursing angrily.
The Fu leaves continued to fall, with a momentum that seemed to grow stronger.
“You’re about to go bald, save your last few leaves!” Chou Bodeng said helplessly.
Amidst the rustling of the leaves, Shi Wuluo still stood stubbornly, watching him. Chou Bodeng pulled off his black cloak, threw it at him, then snatched the wine jar and turned to walk towards the end of the branch. He didn’t look back, only flicked the wine jar with his finger. The remaining half-jar of wine sloshed inside.
“In the east is the Ruo Tree, beneath it lies the Candle-Holding Dragon—“
His voice rose with the wind, no longer sorrowful, no longer grieving.
“I will sever the dragon’s feet, and chew the dragon’s flesh.
So it cannot return at dawn, nor rest at night.
Naturally, the old will not—“
Chou Bodeng reached the end of the branch and drank the contents of the jar in one go.
The wine jar was thrown and shattered.
“—and the young will not cry!“
He turned, spread his arms, and without any warning, fell straight backward. His red robes flew open like thousands of raging flames spreading wantonly, wild and untamed.
***
A funeral-like wail echoed in the alley.
Zuo Yuesheng painfully slammed his head against the wall, shouting in despair, “Ye Cang! I’m sorry! I was wrong! This is definitely retribution! This is definitely retribution, ahhh!”
“Mom!”
Lu Jing squatted on the ground, drunk. The clothes on his body had been snipped to shreds by the overly enthusiastic girls of Fu City, making him look like he could start begging on the spot. Fortunately, while the girls were bold, they still had a last shred of modesty and left him his belt—of course, it was also possible that his belt was woven with golden cicada silk, and the girls couldn’t cut it.
“I’ve made my mark on the world!”
Zuo Yuesheng turned his head, threatening him with a ferocious expression, “If you keep howling, I’ll whip you.”
Lu Jing paid him no mind, continuing to howl so loudly it felt like his brain would split.
“…”
Zuo Yuesheng took a deep breath and started looking around for a stick.
Why waste effort persuading him? This kid needed to know what a good clubbing felt like!
After looking around, Zuo Yuesheng actually found a broken pillar. He mercifully pulled out the nails and dragged the pillar back. It was unknown whether it was an instinct for self-preservation, but as soon as Zuo Yuesheng returned with the pillar, Lu Jing’s wails subsided, leaving only intermittent whimpers.
Zuo Yuesheng cursed under his breath, dropped the pillar, and dragged the limp man up, planning to carry him back to the Liu residence.
Just as he pulled the man up, he heard Lu Jing mumble:
“…Soul-Returning Grass.”
Zuo Yuesheng faltered and subconsciously let go, wanting to slip away.
Just as he let go, he remembered he had nothing to feel guilty about; the Yin-Yang Pendant had already found it for the kid. But he remembered too late. The heavily drunk Lu Jing had already hit the back of his head on the ground with a thud. Zuo Yuesheng squeezed his eyes shut at the sound.
It’s over. I’m going to be hunted down by Medicine Valley.
After a long while, Zuo Yuesheng cautiously opened his eyes and looked down.
Lu Jing was motionless, a bubble forming at his nose.
Thank goodness, he’s alive.
“What are you looking for Soul-Returning Grass for, kid?” Zuo Yuesheng squatted down, utterly perplexed. “Can that thing really bring people’s souls back? I’ve never heard of anyone succeeding!”
“I saw her.”
Lu Jing’s eyes suddenly flew open, scaring Zuo Yuesheng so much he almost smashed him with the pillar. After catching his breath, he realized the guy was still drunk, just staring blankly into space.
“I saw her… in the miasma fog.”
“Alright, alright, yes, yes,” Zuo Yuesheng said impatiently. “Nonsense. Where else would there be Wild Soul-Ghosts besides the miasma fog?”
People have souls, and souls enter the miasma.
Most souls in the miasma fog were just gray, indistinct shapes. Souls were formless. Even if you saw one with similar features, it wasn’t the person you knew. It had just coincidentally taken on that appearance and would soon dissolve again. This was why the first two stages of cultivation were called “Mind Illumination” and “Unconfused.”
During the Miasma Moon, mortals would shut themselves in the city and not see the formless souls of the past.
But cultivators practiced precisely so they could pass freely through the miasma fog, not to be confined to one place. Once a cultivator entered the miasma, it was possible to see old acquaintances.
Souls were formless; the acquaintance was not the same person.
Therefore, one had to illuminate the mind, and then be unconfused.
“I wouldn’t mistake her…” Lu Jing murmured. “She’s not a soul…”
“Get over it,” Zuo Yuesheng patted Lu Jing’s shoulder and sighed. “The dead are gone, and the living must go on.”
“No! She’s not dead!” Lu Jing sat up, his expression wooden. “She’s not dead! She’s right there in the miasma! I should… I should…”
“Go into the miasma and find her.”
“Into the miasma… right,” Lu Jing nodded heavily. “I’m going into the miasma! I’m going to find Mom!”
“Into the miasma my ass!”
Zuo Yuesheng squeezed the words through his teeth, his forehead covered in cold sweat. The line “Go into the miasma and find her” hadn’t come from him at all. It was a cold male voice, coming from the darkness deep within the alley behind them.
Before this, Zuo Yuesheng hadn’t noticed anyone else in the alley at all!
In an instant, thoughts of soul threads, the mastermind behind the scenes, the un-stiffening Ge Qing, and all sorts of ghosts and monsters flashed through Zuo Yuesheng’s mind. He pushed Lu Jing behind him, gripped the broken pillar, and slowly turned around, his heart filled with tragic heroism.
Old man! Your private stash, I don’t think I can inheri—
“Eh?!”
A young man in black clothes walked out from the depths of the alley. He was good-looking, with a cold and fierce aura, the type you could tell at a glance was not a good person, the kind who would kill and silence witnesses in a heartbeat. That wasn’t the point. The point was! The young man was holding someone in his arms. Someone who also looked dead drunk.
And this person looked very familiar.
Red robes, black hair.
Damn it, who else could it be but Chou Bodeng?!
Zuo Yuesheng instantly relaxed.
Looks like I won’t be killed and silence—
The young man glanced coldly at Zuo Yuesheng.
The breath Zuo Yuesheng had just released was sucked back in.
The moment the young man looked over, Zuo Yuesheng felt an invisible blade graze his neck. Swearing on his years of experience being glared at icily by the old man, this person had, for a moment, wanted to kill him!
But, why?!
Even if this person mistakenly thought his relationship with Chou Bodeng was impure, shouldn’t he be looking at Lu Jing?!
Before Zuo Yuesheng could figure out what was happening, Lu Jing poked his head out from behind him.
“What?!” Lu Jing blurted out. “It’s not two-timing? It’s three-timing?”
“…”
Zuo Yuesheng’s vision went black.
It’s over!
Old man, your private stash really has no one to inherit it!!