Chapter Sixty-Three: Intoxication

It was Yan the Chivalrous, not Yan the Hero… The thought flashed swiftly through his mind, then was tossed aside; there was no point in dwelling on the difference of a single character.

He asked, “Brother Yan, you carry a great sword—are you perhaps one of the legendary sword masters of Mount Shu?”

A glint of keen light flickered in Yan the Chivalrous’s eyes, vanished in an instant, and he answered as though nothing had happened, “You’ve heard of the sword masters of Mount Shu, young master?”

Chen Jiancen smiled, “No need for formality, Brother Yan—just call me ‘Liuxian’… Hmm, I heard it once from a Taoist priest.”

“What priest?”

Chen Jiancen replied, “Master Qingyun of Mount Lao.”

Yan the Chivalrous responded with an ‘Oh’, his expression relaxing. “So it was him.”

Chen Jiancen pressed, “Do you know Master Qingyun?”

Yan the Chivalrous chuckled, “We’ve met once.”

Chen Jiancen continued, “And what about Master Guanghan of Mount Lao?”

Yan the Chivalrous’s face showed surprise; he glanced at Chen Jiancen again. “You know that old bull-nosed Guanghan?”

He called Guanghan ‘bull-nosed’ directly, as if they were well acquainted.

Chen Jiancen smiled, “I once shared a drink with Master Guanghan.”

Suddenly, Yan the Chivalrous understood and laughed heartily, “So you’re that scholar!”

Now it was Chen Jiancen’s turn to be surprised, but upon reflection—since they knew each other, it was only natural for them to discuss him. It was a stroke of luck; with such a connection, much effort could be spared.

Yan the Chivalrous asked again, “Did Guanghan tell you about my identity?”

Chen Jiancen shook his head. “No.”

Yan the Chivalrous smiled wryly. “He wouldn’t. The vanquished have no glory to boast of.”

Chen Jiancen listened intently; so Yan the Chivalrous’s cultivation surpassed Guanghan’s, perhaps he truly was the legendary sword immortal. Respect rising within him, he said, “Brother Yan, you are indeed a master beyond the world.”

Yan the Chivalrous waved his hand. “I know you’re no pedant; we needn’t stand on ceremony. Come—since fate has brought us together, let’s drink.”

From then on, he spoke no more of cultivation. He kept silent, and Chen Jiancen, not wishing to spoil the atmosphere, was content to let the matter lie. Thus, the two drank, cup for cup and bowl for bowl, chatting idly of home and hearth.

After this round, Chen Jiancen felt drunk for the first time, floating as if his feet were stepping on clouds, soft and unsteady. Yan the Chivalrous, however, clearly had an oceanic capacity for wine; while Chen Jiancen drank by the cup, he drank by the bowl, consuming at least twice as much, yet his face remained unflushed, his gaze clear, entirely unaffected.

When the bill was settled, the two left the tavern. Yan the Chivalrous took his leave, “Liuxian, I must depart for the capital to attend a grand Dharma assembly. If fate allows, we shall meet again.”

Another Dharma assembly…

Chen Jiancen was momentarily dazed. “Then I wish you a smooth journey, Brother Yan!”

—He and Yan the Chivalrous were but fleeting acquaintances, yet it felt like old friends meeting for the first time. It was a pity that after a single round of drinks, the other would depart for the capital. The feeling was much like with Guanghan. But cultivators were always so carefree, coming and going like the wind, rarely leaving much behind.

Yan the Chivalrous spoke no further, turned, and strode away.

Chen Jiancen watched him go, feeling his head swim; he had drunk a bit too much. He forced himself to stay alert and headed toward home.

As he walked, his head grew heavier and his steps lighter. He quickly sought a spot beside the street to sit and rest, hoping the alcohol would wear off before returning.

“Hey, young master! Please wake up…”

In a haze, Chen Jiancen sensed someone calling him, the voice distant and indistinct. He suddenly opened his eyes and realized he had dozed off.

Standing before him was a girl dressed as a maid, barely eleven or twelve, calling out to him.

Chen Jiancen shook his head. “Miss, were you calling me?”

The maid smiled, curtseying. “Young master, you must be drunk?”

Chen Jiancen gave a wry smile. “Yes, I drank a bit too much.”

The maid held out a white paper-wrapped item. “This is aged kudzu root—very effective for sobering up… My mistress asked me to bring it to you.”

“Your mistress?”

Chen Jiancen was puzzled. Had he simply dozed off in the street and caught the eye of some lady of high birth?

—No, surely that was just his imagination!

The maid pointed, indicating a delicately crafted sedan chair parked not far away.

The sedan chair sat there, its curtains firmly drawn, like a cage. Sensing Chen Jiancen’s gaze, the curtain lifted slightly, and a pair of sparkling eyes peered out, meeting his own; then the curtain was swiftly drawn back.

It shouldn’t be Nie Xiaoqian; otherwise, why hide?

Chen Jiancen cleared his throat, stood, and said, “Your mistress’s kindness is appreciated, but I am quite alright now—thank you.”

He bowed and walked away with measured steps—after a brief rest, most of the alcohol had faded and he felt steady once more.

The maid stamped her foot and ran back to the sedan chair. “Mistress, the scholar didn’t accept. Truly, good intentions mistaken for donkey liver and lungs. So many people would yearn for a gift from you, yet he just turned and left; I think he’s simply clueless when it comes to romance.”

From her perspective, Chen Jiancen should have joyfully accepted the kudzu root, thanked her mistress politely, and inquired about her name—if all went well, it could have blossomed into a tale of scholar and beauty, stirring and unforgettable… Yet he simply patted his backside and walked away without a word.

A gentle voice drifted from the sedan chair. “Xiang’er, let’s go. It was but a chance encounter; his actions are only human.”

Xiang’er, ever curious, asked, “But Mistress, why did you give him kudzu root? Was it because you thought he was handsome?”

“You’re getting more inquisitive by the day, Xiang’er.”

Xiang’er stuck out her tongue and giggled, then ordered the bearers to lift the chair, and off they went, swaying down the street.

When Chen Jiancen arrived home, Mother Mo detected the scent of wine on him and quickly said, “Abao, make some strong tea!” She assumed her son had been drinking with Wang Fu, as was customary among friends, and said nothing more.

Abao soon prepared the tea and brought it to Chen Jiancen to help him sober up.

Chen Jiancen took a large gulp, feeling refreshed, finished the tea in a few more sips, apologized to his mother, and retired to his room to sleep.

Time flew by; ten days passed in the blink of an eye, and the fifteenth of August arrived. Wu Wencai had already reserved the entire Champion’s Pavilion, closing it to outsiders and hosting a grand banquet exclusively for his guests.

Chen Jiancen was among them.

Though there had been friction between him and Wu Wencai, there was no real animosity; since Wu had extended an invitation, it would be rude to refuse. Besides, he had already written the calligraphy for Nie Xiaoqian, and this was the perfect occasion to give it to her, settling this matter once and for all.

The Mid-Autumn Festival—full moon overhead, the gathering of luminaries, the reading of poetry—all promised a lively and splendid feast. At such a banquet, many would vie for the chance to shine, hoping to become the focus of attention.

Can anyone guess what the protagonist wrote for Nie Xiaoqian? Well, this question is indeed elusive, hard to guess, but I believe in the boundless wisdom of the crowd…