“Oh?” Jing Hengbo immediately showed a wary expression.
The doctor beckoned, “Come closer to my ear…”
A moment later, Jing Hengbo emerged from the medical clinic with a somewhat bewildered and puzzled expression. She stood at the clinic entrance thinking for a while, asked several local people about the town’s inns, quietly visited all the inns, and finally lodged at a relatively secluded inn at the town’s east end—which happened to be where the Long Ying family was staying.
Walking through Luoyun tribe’s markets, especially the evening market, was a very interesting experience—this “interesting” specifically referred to how bold people felt. Luoyun tribe people liked wearing white hemp clothes, almost everyone had one, and liked lighting red lanterns, with every household hanging two red lanterns in front of their doors in various shapes. This was because within Luoyun tribe’s territory lay the largest Luoyun Marsh, a sheet of snow white. Though the things growing in the marsh weren’t medicines, long-term consumption extended life and strengthened the body, so Luoyun tribe naturally had good constitutions with many martial practitioners. However, this marsh also had side effects—though it appeared snow white, eating too much of what grew inside made faces turn black. Dark skin wearing dark clothes meant people couldn’t be found in the evening. Over time, Luoyun tribe began wearing white hemp clothes and lighting bright red lanterns to illuminate the roads, thus forming a unique local character.
As Jing Hengbo strolled along, she also found this place quite interesting. Probably due to their dark skin, the local people’s clothing and decorations favored bright and vivid colors—colorful roof tiles, window decorations, complex curtain and screen patterns. Sauce-colored wooden houses with deep yellow window sills, indigo door curtains with large patches of multicolored flowers. When night fell, the street looked quite frightening at first glance—white-clothed people floating about, red lanterns swaying, scary as a ghost town. But settling down to carefully observe the scenery, those misty rain colors and deep night colors contained large patches of rich, heavy yet vibrant colors that all glowed with hazy, mysterious light in the pattering rain.
This rainy night’s atmosphere, somewhat desolate and melancholy, suddenly made travelers particularly want to drink.
Jing Hengbo stopped. Before her was a small tavern, open for business. Perhaps due to the rainy weather, business was quite good. But what truly attracted her wasn’t this tavern, but a fellow drinking while pounding the table.
Meng Potian was actually here getting drunk.
That night when she and Pei Shu fell off the cliff and were pursued by cloaked figures, after Pei Shu was kicked into a pit by Gong Yin, Meng Potian was directly left aside. At the time, Jing Hengbo wasn’t worried about her safety—as long as she and Gong Yin were there, the cloaked figures’ real targets would only be them. Indeed, the cloaked figures ignored Meng Potian. After Meng Potian sobered up somewhat, she naturally wanted to return to the military camp to find Pei Shu, but how could Pei Shu be willing to see her? That night’s events were too embarrassing after all. Meng Potian herself felt awkward—reluctant to leave but uncomfortable staying, so she simply spent her days mixing with Seven Kills.
Jing Hengbo knew she felt bad inside and really had no way to console her, so she pretended not to see, which at least let Meng Potian feel more at ease.
Who would have thought Meng Potian had also quietly slipped out of camp to come here drinking.
Jing Hengbo sighed and turned to leave—Meng Potian wouldn’t want to see her now.
But she couldn’t get away, because suddenly a commotion erupted inside. Several men walked to Meng Potian’s table, said something unknown, and Meng Potian suddenly splashed a cup of wine at them.
Jing Hengbo smiled bitterly—truly the essential tavern drama: harassment followed by retaliation.
Actually, it wasn’t surprising. Local customs weren’t very open, and women often wore bamboo hats when going out. Meng Potian, a single woman drinking alone without any covering, and quite beautiful too—being approached was completely normal, especially since frivolous playboys were most common after drinking.
Jing Hengbo still didn’t move, crossing her arms to wait for the fighting to begin. After all, these few people were completely insufficient for Meng Potian.
But those who acted weren’t Meng Potian, but another group. Where there were frivolous, ill-behaved playboys, there were chivalrous heroes ready to help. Luoyun tribe people had good constitutions—anyone could fight. Seeing someone harassing a woman, others intervened, and immediately a fight broke out with fists flying and cups and dishes smashing in a chaotic commotion.
The person involved seemed to see nothing, drinking by herself. The waiters with towels draped over their arms wove through the fighting crowd with expressions showing they’d seen it all before, occasionally rolling their towels to catch flying cups and dishes, spinning them skillfully back to the kitchen while loudly calling out: “One broken gold-rimmed shallow dish… one broken blue and white glazed cup… one broken double-eared fat-bellied partridge-patterned wine jar…”
Jing Hengbo watched and laughed, then her eyes flashed with interest as she laughed—these tavern waiters had pretty good skills.
The tavern brawl grew larger, with many people getting excited and jumping in to join the fray. Now everyone had forgotten about Meng Potian.
Amid the chaotic voices, the proprietor kept watching with a half-smile, not stopping anything. Jing Hengbo’s gaze began gradually scanning the waiters and proprietor in this shop—she felt the people in this shop were more interesting than the fight.
Then she saw someone come down from the second floor stairs, pass by the proprietor, and go out.
This person’s walking posture was very strange, particularly stiff, with all joints seeming rusted, yet the movements were extraordinarily fast. If Jing Hengbo hadn’t been interestedly staring at the proprietor all along, she wouldn’t have seen this person at all.
At this time the shop was in chaos from fighting—except for Jing Hengbo, no one noticed the person who left.
Jing Hengbo frowned. She inexplicably felt that back looked somewhat familiar.
She flashed onto the tavern roof to look around—terrible, white robes and red lanterns everywhere. Where to find that person?
She had to return to that strange shop. The fight had ended, with the group helping the underdog winning and driving the troublemakers out. They came over with gentle words to comfort Meng Potian. Meng Potian drunkenly stood to thank them, unsteady on her feet, nearly falling into the other’s arms. The other person hurriedly supported her.
Jing Hengbo suddenly felt something was wrong.
Not the posture—Meng Potian had her back to her, blocking the other’s movements. She couldn’t see that supporting action, and that person’s support was quite gentlemanly, touching only briefly before letting go.
What was wrong were the subtle expressions of several people standing nearby.
Red lamplight cast ambiguous reflections on those faces. At first glance they looked normal, but looking carefully, everyone’s gazes were directed downward, brows slightly tight, eyes focused.
When people are paying attention to something, their subtle facial expressions are different.
Several people simultaneously paying attention to one thing—that thing would definitely not be merely a supporting gesture.
Those few people didn’t chat much with Meng Potian, said a few casual words then left, looking no different from any chivalrous heroes who helped when seeing injustice.
After the people left, Jing Hengbo pulled down her bamboo hat and entered the small shop.
Under the dim, hazy lamplight, Meng Potian reeked of alcohol. Jing Hengbo sat before her for quite a while before she squinted and recognized her.
“Oh… you… hic… wo…”
Jing Hengbo’s gaze had already swept her up and down, really unable to see anything wrong. Wanting to smell her scent, all she got was a nose full of alcohol.
“Wo… wo… wo…” Meng Potian was still stuttering. Jing Hengbo glared at her fiercely. Meng Potian seemed to sober up somewhat, rolled her tongue: “Donkey!”
Jing Hengbo’s cheek twitched. The waiter bringing wine looked at her strangely, thinking this girl was probably donkey-faced, and uninterestedly turned his gaze away.
It was getting late, and the tavern had no more customers. The proprietor went upstairs to rest, and the waiters were cleaning up in the back hall from a distance.
“Donkey…” Meng Potian perked up, grabbing Jing Hengbo’s hand: “Last time… last time I wronged you… hic, I apologize… I apologize…”
Jing Hengbo was somewhat surprised—oh, she’d only heard of people being unreasonable when drunk, but this one became reasonable after drinking.
“But!” Meng Potian’s hand gripped tightly, her voice ringing: “Breaking off friendship is breaking off friendship! I still can’t… can’t forgive you! You… you… you’re too heartless! You… you… I don’t want to see you, go away, go away!”
Jing Hengbo said ominously: “Fine, but could you let go of my hand before telling me to scram? This way I’ll think you’re a lesbian.”
“Jing Hengbo…” Meng Potian wouldn’t let go, suddenly starting to cry: “You’re so fortunate… having whatever you want… everyone loves you… everyone likes you…”
She grabbed Jing Hengbo’s hand to wipe her own tears and snot—damn, too disgusting!
Jing Hengbo slapped her away to the table edge.
“Cry your ass, get up and drink!”
“Bang!” A heavy wine jar thumped down before Meng Potian, shaking her three parts more sober. She opened her mouth in confusion: “Ah?”
Illogical—normal people tried to stop drunkards from drinking.
“Drink!” Jing Hengbo was imposing as she grabbed a large bowl, gurgling as she poured wine and pushed it to Meng Potian.
“I… hic…” Meng Potian’s bowl-grabbing posture wasn’t graceful. Her stomach was churning, but under Jing Hengbo’s burning gaze, she reluctantly drank a few sips, her face starting to turn green.
“Drink!” Before this bowl was finished, Jing Hengbo gurgled and poured another large bowl, even more than the previous one.
Meng Potian barely finished the first bowl when Jing Hengbo had already poured the third.
Meng Potian was getting scared—this was the rhythm of drinking someone to death.
“I… I can’t drink anymore…” she said through gritted teeth, looking ready to cry from frustration.
Jing Hengbo acted as if she hadn’t heard, continuing to pour wine: “Look, you’re so fortunate—wanting to drink wine and drinking wine, wanting to drink as much as you please, and having the Queen personally pour wine for you. How many people have your good fortune? Come, drink!”
The gurgling wine-pouring sounds made Meng Potian’s scalp tingle. These words sounded wrong no matter how she heard them. When another large bowl of wine was pushed over, she couldn’t help it—she exploded.
“Bang!” She slammed the table hard: “This old lady doesn’t want to drink anymore! This old lady doesn’t want to drink! This old lady doesn’t even like drinking! Drink your ass, get up and scram!”
Jing Hengbo’s hand paused as she looked at her steadily, then smiled.
Meng Potian felt her smile was somewhat sinister and sobered up more.
The wine bowl was pushed away, wine spilling on the floor.
“You still know you don’t love drinking, don’t want to drink, don’t like drinking?” Jing Hengbo lowered her voice, staring at Meng Potian with a mocking expression: “Then do you know that those loves, those likes—I also don’t love them, don’t want them, don’t need them?”
Meng Potian stared at her blankly.
“You see the person you like pursuing me and think I’m happy. The question is, is that what I want? Just like this wine—those who like drinking think drinking surpasses being an immortal, those who don’t like drinking only want to vomit when they drink too much. Life quality isn’t calculated by what you possess, but by happiness level!”
“You… are very happy…” Meng Potian hiccupped from the alcohol: “You’re the Queen…”
“So what if I’m Queen?”
“Do you know what kind of Queen I was at first?”
“A puppet, marionette, doll, unable to have any personal will. Foolishly trying to fight for freedom, yet opposed and framed by everyone. Have you seen protest crowds filling the entire Yuzhao Palace square? Have you heard tens of thousands of people frantically shouting ‘The Queen will not die, Dige will not be peaceful’? Have you seen someone die in remonstrance just wanting you dead, their unpeaceful corpse falling at your feet? Have you experienced betrayal by good friends, betrayal by lovers, having nothing, being exiled alone? Have you felt like you’re dying the moment you stab a knife into your beloved’s chest?”
“If being this kind of Queen is called happiness, damn it, would you be willing to do it?”
Wine liquid poured from Meng Potian’s mouth as she stared stupidly at Jing Hengbo. She had vaguely heard about the Queen’s past but never such detailed versions. People were always indifferent to others’ suffering, feeling mostly their own pain. At this moment she suddenly felt cold, as if she too saw that year’s cold snow thrust into her chest in Dige.
“So many people follow you…” she said weakly, not knowing if it was an excuse or suddenly wanting to comfort her.
“Right, so many people follow me, but don’t mention love to me. Others’ affection for me—some is friendship, some is fondness, but what I most want was dug out from that snowy night in Dige and still hasn’t been filled. Oh no, it’s been filled with suspicion, helplessness, loneliness and incomprehension. You damn well whine and cry envying my good fortune, resenting that no one loves you. My god, you just want one person who doesn’t want you, right? Don’t you know I also want one person who desperately flees? He pretends to betray and flees, he pretends to die and flees, he appears and disappears and flees, he cosplays a thousand faces and flees. He not only flees, he won’t let me touch him, won’t smile at me, won’t sleep with me. If I want to sleep with him I have to take initiative, and after I do he avoids me…”
Jing Hengbo closed her mouth, meeting Meng Potian’s eager yet confused gaze, angrily tapping her head: “You think you’re the only one suffering in the world? Everyone else lives perfectly? Bah! If you dare, let’s switch—damn it, then you’d know you were truly happy before!”
Meng Potian softly slumped on the table, all vigor gone, whether from her scolding or suddenly understanding.
“Look on the bright side,” Jing Hengbo finally poured her a small cup and herself a large bowl. Her imposing manner suddenly disappeared as she raised her bowl to clink with hers, her gaze distant: “Where in this world are there perfect lives, where are there truly people happy in everything? But those who cling to their little troubles with endless resentment lose even the last bit of joy from being human. Potian, whether you love someone, whether you get someone is very important, but most important is loving yourself, being yourself.”
She raised her wine bowl, the bowl so large it covered her face, wine splashing everywhere, soaking her with alcohol.
Then she set down the wine bowl and sneered: “Come out.”
A gust of wind passed, and a person stood before the table, black robes like iron, face also iron-blue.
Jing Hengbo snorted—she knew he was there.
When she disappeared, Pei Shu could definitely guess she’d returned to this town. With nowhere else to go, only this street had a night market. Searching house by house, he should have arrived long ago.
It was fine if he didn’t come out—better to hear all the words that should be heard.
Pei Shu’s complexion was particularly terrible today. He sat down heavily and gestured for the waiter to bring wine: “Ten jars!”
Jing Hengbo didn’t stop him—if she didn’t let him drink, wouldn’t he go even crazier? Better if he got drunk.
Pei Shu ignored her too, not speaking, breaking the mud seal and drinking. But he had an enormous capacity—the more he drank, the brighter his eyes became, the more they flashed, the closer he sat to her. Several times he wanted to speak, but Jing Hengbo quickly poured him wine to stop his mouth. Only this made her nervous—what if this guy couldn’t get drunk and caused trouble?
She pretended to relieve herself, wandering to the tavern’s back courtyard, asking the dishwashing waiter: “Your shop’s wine is good—home-brewed?”
The waiter said proudly: “Naturally. Our shop’s wine is famous throughout the town—three cups and you’re down!”
After speaking, he looked at Meng Potian and Pei Shu, his face reddening first. Jing Hengbo seemed not to hear, smiling: “In that case, do you have wine mother?”
“We do, but this thing can’t be easily given to people. What if something goes wrong from drinking it…”
The world’s only universal key was silver—an essential tool for home travel, murder, robbery, and bribing waiters.
Getting the wine mother, Jing Hengbo put a tiny bit in the wine, handed it to the waiter, and asked him to drink. The waiter didn’t think much, happily drained it in one gulp, and his eyes immediately showed circles.
Jing Hengbo felt relieved.
Half an hour later, the last jar of wine finally brought down Pei Shu, who became more sober the more he drank.
Watching Pei Shu tumble under the table with a thud, rolling into a pile with Meng Potian, Jing Hengbo secretly praised—wine mother was indeed wine mother. The first nine jars did nothing, but just one bowl from the last jar brought him down.
Asking the waiter to help carry the two people to a nearby inn, Jing Hengbo very much wanted to give them one room, but thinking better of it—forcing matches might not end well. Two rooms, each to sober up separately.
She placed signal flags on the roof, arranged for Hengji army to guard them, then came down from the roof, thinking of returning to the inn. Passing that tavern, she casually turned her head and suddenly stopped.
In the tavern, one lamp burned like a bean, with only one drinker sitting in the position where Meng Potian had just been, holding Pei Shu’s last jar of wine, pouring.
Jing Hengbo froze at one look at his back.
She never would have thought that someone like Gong Yin would also wander at night, would also enter such a small tavern, would also get drunk.
Night was deepening, fine rain continued, and the deep alley’s deep blue ground reflected distant red lanterns with a shallow red oily gleam.
Wooden signboards swayed in the wind, slapping against raw wood door frames with sharp sounds.
The lamplight was pale yellow, faintly tinting everything with dim color like yellowed old paper. That person’s snow-like back also seemed thinner by several degrees. His black hair had a crystalline gleam, also covered with a layer of misty water vapor, as if he’d been outside for a long time.
Across from him sat Jing Hengbo’s wine bowl. Looking at his posture, it was as if he were drinking with her.
Jing Hengbo’s legs couldn’t move, and she knew they shouldn’t. Though he currently maintained the posture of drinking together, if she actually walked over, this wine couldn’t be drunk.
Her heart aching, her eyes reflected the night’s fine scattered rain.
She stood in the doorway corner, walking further under the eaves to avoid rain, inadvertently seeing fine ice crystals scattered on the ground before the eaves. Gong Yin seemed to have stayed here earlier too.
That moment he watched her drinking and pouring out her heart in the night rain; this moment she watched his drinking silhouette in the rain.
Everyone thought themselves spectators, inadvertently becoming scenery decorating others.
Jing Hengbo hugged her arms, listening to the sound of Gong Yin slowly drinking in the shop hall. She didn’t remember seeing him drink. Such things that easily made people indulgent and lose self-control—someone like him wouldn’t touch them.
Yet he was drinking, while drinking, while speaking in low tones.
Wine dripped with sounds like pearls.
She listened in the rain.
First cup of wine.
“First cup of wine,” he said, “to you in the ten-li spring breeze of the past, and to myself, amazed at first sight.”
Second cup of wine.
“Second cup of wine,” he said, “to you who shared life and death with me in Yuzhao Palace, and to myself, who suddenly took you into my eyes.”
Third cup of wine.
“Third cup of wine,” he said, “to you who shouted your love for me to the world on Jingjing Bridge that day, and to myself, who had already decided to betray you.”
Fourth cup of wine.
“Fourth cup of wine,” he said, “to you who stabbed me in the chest in Dige’s snowy night, and to…” He suddenly paused, his voice seeming somewhat blocked, “myself, who seeing your poisoned blood spurting on that blade, was so shocked I suddenly wanted to abandon everything and take you away.”
Fifth cup of wine.
“Fifth cup of wine,” he said, “to you who didn’t disappoint my expectations and grew stronger through setbacks, and to myself, disappointed by heaven’s expectations, forced to heartlessly push you away again and again.”
Sixth cup of wine.
“Sixth cup of wine,” he said, “to you who after experiencing so much finally willing to honestly confess, and to myself, hearing your confession for the first time, wishing I could die.”
…
“Crack.”
The wine bowl shattered.
Porcelain shards cut his finger, blood freezing before it could flow, like those many more words that couldn’t be spoken.
Gong Yin swayed slightly, supporting his forehead.
Wine mother wasn’t poison. After entering wine, the wine’s taste wouldn’t become stronger, but its aftereffects increased tenfold. Even experts like Pei Shu and him couldn’t detect it.
Rain threads slanted through curtains, water vapor swirling like smoke and light.
He leaned on his elbow before the solitary lamp and wooden table, slightly drunk, recalling bitter past in his intoxication.
She stood under misty rain and eaves with folded arms and raised head, as if wanting to see through this gloomy heavenly will.
Peach blossoms and spring breeze, one cup of wine; rivers and lakes in night rain, ten years of lamplight.
…