What I really want to say is that even someone like me, who drinks like a cow, has once been drunk under the jar of pepper liquor.
It was on a beautiful day, with flowers in full bloom and a full moon. I picked some pomegranates from the valley and brewed pepper wine. I warmly invited my master to drink with me.
There's an old saying that puts it perfectly: "Raising a cup to invite the bright moon, we become three." It describes a situation where, after drinking, one slips up and ends up with a third person in the party.
My master doesn't drink alcohol; he loves cloud orchid tea. Every autumn, he picks cloud orchids, soaks them in lightly salted water, and adds a few petals when brewing tea, creating a delicate and elegant aroma. He always carries a faint cloud orchid scent, and when he smiles gently, the fragrance wafts far and wide, as if a white cloud is blooming before my eyes, dazzling and mesmerizing.
I think that with my drinking capacity and my master's teetotaling nature, things are progressing smoothly towards a perfect outcome.
That night, the air was filled with the aroma of wine. I vaguely remember my master holding a wine glass and smiling at me. He drank glass after glass without showing any change in expression on his fair face.
When I saw crows flying in front of me, I asked, "Master, are you drunk?"
The master's slender fingers brushed across the table, covering my cup, and his voice was as cool as the moonlight, "Xiao Xiang, you seem to be drunk."
I said, "I've never passed out when I drink, let's continue."
As the figures of my master and the Third Master overlapped before my eyes, I asked, "Master, did you hear the Third Master singing?"
Master pursed his lips, placed the back of his hand on my forehead, and said calmly, "Xiao Xiang, it's late, go to sleep."
I looked up at him; his gaze was gentle, as if draped in a layer of tousled silver satin, seemingly capable of captivating the soul. The night breeze was warm, and my master's long hair, bound with a ribbon, was blown into a gentle arc, as if the strands were softly touching my heart.
I rested my chin on my hand and asked my master, "There's a girl who fell in love with you the moment she first saw you, and has kept you in her heart for many, many years. She's used to seeing you smile with your lips pursed, and used to grinding ink and picking tea by your side. She's alright looking, maybe a little short. Master, will you always remember her?"
I think this is probably the most cheesy and sentimental thing I've ever said in my life. When I'm listening to opera, none of the lines that make me tremble can compare to this. I used to think that people who write scripts were very talented, that they could write with a flourish of their pen, producing passages that would pierce the heart and bring tears to one's eyes.
When I finally expressed these words with great feeling, I realized that "deepest emotions become poetry." I could call myself a poet, too.
I looked into my master's eyes, trying to find a clue. His brows furrowed slightly, and he picked up his cup and took a small sip.
The master said: I don't remember there being such a girl.
The night was cool, and the room seemed to be covered with a layer of frost.
I think I was drunk; I kept hearing a buzzing sound in my ears, so I probably misheard. I should have asked my master again to clarify the answer. But suddenly I lost all my strength, so weak that my heart sank and I couldn't pull myself up. I simply collapsed onto the table, and maybe when I wake up the next morning, I'll realize it was all just a dream.
When I woke up the next day, I was lying fully clothed on the couch, my mask removed and placed on the table. I propped my head up and thought for a long time, finally realizing that I had gotten completely drunk after my heartfelt confession to my master. His answer was, in fact, a nightmare—yes, a nightmare.
My original idea of taking advantage of being drunk to lie in my master's arms and be intimate with him remained just an idea; I never had the chance to put it into practice.
Afterwards, I carefully reflected on this incident and learned two lessons: First, the saying "it's not the wine that intoxicates, but the person who intoxicates" perfectly describes me. I can drink a thousand cups without getting drunk, but I was intoxicated by my master's clear and shallow eyes. Second, "to stumble after drinking" perfectly describes those men and women who are in love and will stumble whether they are drinking or not.
Someone tapped me on the forehead with chopsticks, bringing me back to my senses. I looked at Lou Xiyue, who tilted his head and glanced at me indifferently. "Who are you thinking about?"
I picked up the glass of pepper wine on the table and drank it all in one gulp, thinking of my beloved.
Lou Xiyue's brows furrowed suddenly, and her hand paused.
Ji Jiu asked, "Seventh Young Master, what's wrong?"
He immediately relaxed his brows and eyes, waved his hand and laughed, "I just got a fishbone stuck in my throat."
He glanced at me, then turned to speak to Zhang Tong, "You just said you know Lou Zhao?"
Zhang Tong smiled and poured him a drink. "Military Advisor Lou was a brilliant strategist. Everyone knew him back then. He was like a brother to the General. He took a knife for the General on the battlefield. He was a true hero."
Lou Xiyue pondered for a moment and then asked, "General Jin died in battle against the Eastern Lands. Do you know about this battle?"
Zhang Tong swirled his cup, raised his head to drink, and smirked, "How could I not know? I, Zhang Tong, was demoted to Yazhou because of this battle."
Lou Xiyue looked up. "Oh?"
Zhang Tong was already drunk, his eyes filled with sorrow. "This battle was a crushing defeat. The Grand General had his head cut off by the rebels from the East and displayed on the city walls for three days. The Emperor was displeased and furious, and dozens of people were implicated in the crime."
As he spoke, he clenched his fists and slammed them heavily on the table, saying bitterly, "General Jin was loyal and brave, but he was harmed by treacherous officials. One day, my Great Li will crush those barbarians in the East and avenge this blood feud!"
Lou Xiyue drank with him, then asked, "After that, where did Lou Zhao go?"
Zhang Tong's face flushed red with excitement. "His Majesty considered him a talented man and wanted to keep him. But Military Advisor Lou insisted on resigning and then disappeared. Military Advisor Lou was a brother of the General who would go to great lengths for him. When the General was trapped in the Wen River in the East, Military Advisor Lou led a group of brothers to fight their way in and fought against a hundred men. It was a very fierce battle."
Then Zhang Tong simply picked up the wine jar, tilted his head back, and drank it down until he was completely drunk. He still kept shouting, "General Jin is the person I admire most in my life. I wish I could personally avenge you and kill your enemies. I'm useless... I'm sorry, General..."
I had only heard a little about the Battle of Yanmen County. I only knew that the Li Kingdom and the Eastern Lands clashed, and tens of thousands of soldiers died there, their corpses littering the fields and their blood staining Yanmen County. General Jin Lang's head was hung at Yanmen, dripping with blood. Afterwards, the Li army was thrown into chaos, lost its formation, and returned in defeat.
Jin Lang was a highly illustrious war god of the Li Kingdom. He pacified the northern frontier with three arrows and quelled the Han rebellion with a long song. For over a decade, he led troops on the battlefield, commanding the local chieftains. When the people were righteous, Jin Lang, wielding his long sword, left no living thing in his wake. Amidst the swirling sandstorms and the endless smoke of the desert, the "Jin" banner roared in the north wind, and Jin Lang wrote countless legends.
I said to Lou Xiyue, "I heard that Jin Lang has fifty-three scars on his back, all from being slashed, and each slash went deep into the bone. I don't know if it's true."
Lou Xiyue, drinking her wine, propped her head up and looked me over.
I was filled with awe for this legendary hero. "I also heard that after Jin Lang won the victory in the northern frontier, he buried more than 40,000 prisoners of war alive. He was simply a monster!"
Lou Xiyue looked at me with great interest. "You continue."
I said, "He has many secrets that are not known to others. For example, when his head was hung at Yanmen Pass, one day he suddenly opened his eyes wide and blood flowed from the corner of his eyes. Also, Jin Lang ate human flesh and cooked and ate prisoners of war in the army."
I lowered my voice and said solemnly, "He especially liked to eat people's tongues..."
"Whoosh—" Ji Jiu suddenly stood up and said in a cold voice, "Seventh Young Master, it's getting late, I'm going to sleep now." He then walked away.
Lou Xiyue glanced at Zhang Tong, who was unconscious beside her, and said, "There's not much wine left, shall we drink it?"
I said, "Okay."
I continued to tell him the story of Jin Lang.
Lou Xiyue listened patiently to me finish speaking, then smiled and asked, "Where did you hear all these legends from?"