Chapter 122 — The Altar

The soldiers charged with the grave duty of guarding the altar lay dead drunk in every direction, sprawled across the ground, while the air was thick with the pungent fragrance of strong liquor. In the distance the Miao populace stood watching in layer upon layer, and from time to time someone burst into hearty laughter. As for the two visitors from the Central Plains—the man was all right, standing where he was, though his face wore a rather ugly expression; the woman, however, appeared to be drunk as well, her face flushed a brilliant red, and she leaned against the man's body—yet she could still stand, which put her well above the Miao warriors sprawled drunk across the ground.

Even the strange three-eyed monkey they had brought along was sitting at their feet, taking a bite of fruit and a sip of strong liquor, in high spirits.

Tu Magu was no fool. A few more glances, a look at the wine sacks strewn over the ground and the expressions of the watching Miao, and he knew it was no trick of the two Central Plains folk—it was his own men who had failed him.

Seeing the chieftain come down, someone had already hurried forward, bent to his ear, and briefly recounted what had happened.

Looking at the field of drunkards, Tu Magu was so furious he was near to smoking from every orifice. He thought these good-for-nothings had cast to the winds even so grave a duty as guarding the altar. Worse still, a dozen or twenty grown men had been drunk under the table by a single frail woman. If word of this ever spread, the Miao would lose all face and be secretly mocked to death by the other four tribes of the southern border.

Resolving in his heart that he would certainly deal with these useless Miao afterward, Tu Magu forced a smile onto his face, pretended to take no notice of the shambles on the ground, and walked toward Ming Li.

Ming Li saw Tu Magu approaching as well, and his heart gave a lurch. Though this drinking contest had not been fought with naked blades, anyone could see that the Miao had lost a great deal of face. When Tu Magu had come down the mountain a short while before, Ming Li had marked his expression from afar and seen plainly that he was greatly angered.

Though the man now wore a forced smile as he came over, Ming Li knew well enough that he was displeased, and could not help inwardly blaming Xiaobai for stirring up such a great deal of trouble.

When Tu Magu drew near, Ming Li forced a smile and said awkwardly, "Elder, my—my friend here, she—she truly does not know the rules, and that is how this..."

Tu Magu shook his head and said to him, "Say no more. I know it all. It was my own men who proved useless."

Ming Li fell silent, then said cautiously, "Then will the great shaman agree to see us?"

Tu Magu glanced at him, then at Xiaobai leaning against Ming Li, her bright eyes half closed, her breathing soft and quick, and gave a bitter smile. "Go on up. The great shaman has agreed to see you."

Ming Li was overjoyed and said again and again, "Thank you, Elder."

Tu Magu said mildly, "I am the chieftain of the Miao here. You may call me Tu Magu."

Ming Li was taken aback. He had seen that the old man commanded great respect among the Miao, but had not expected him to be the chieftain of the whole Miao tribe. He nodded and said, "Then I thank you, Chieftain."

Tu Magu shook his head. "Go up quickly. The great shaman is still waiting for you."

Ming Li assented and was about to step toward the altar halfway up the mountain when Xiaobai caught at him. Her body, soft as if boneless, sagged limply against him; if he simply walked off, she would surely fall to the ground.

So he said softly to her, "Xiaobai, I am going to see the great shaman. Stand up on your own and wait for me here, all right?"

Whether she understood through her drunkenness or not, hearing Ming Li's voice at her ear, she did not open her eyes. A smile flickered faintly across her face, bewitching beyond measure, but she said nothing—only her hand, clutching Ming Li's garments, tightened by another degree.

Ming Li was helpless. This was, after all, an unfamiliar place, and Xiaobai was drunk to such a state; to leave a woman here alone would leave him uneasy. Turning it over in his mind, he gave a helpless sigh, reached out, and gathered her up, supporting Xiaobai as they walked up the mountain together.

Tu Magu led the way; Ming Li walked supporting Xiaobai, whose body remained limp and soft, her steps light and unsteady, the greater part of her weight resting in Ming Li's hands. Ming Li's brows were knitted, his heart filled with an indescribable feeling—when suddenly he thought of something and turned his head.

Sure enough, Little Grey had not moved at all. It sat where it was, eating fruit and drinking strong liquor, letting out the occasional "chi chi" laugh, so happy it had forgotten to go home.

Ming Li kicked out with his foot and sent a banana flying; it struck Little Grey square on the head and gave the monkey a start. Its head whipped around, and it raised a paw to touch the spot where it had been hit.

Ming Li said sourly, "We are leaving." With that, he supported Xiaobai and followed Tu Magu up toward the altar on the mountain.

Little Grey scratched its head, stood up, dropped the fruit in its hand (it had, in truth, eaten most of it), and shook the wine sack. That soldier had held his liquor well and had already drunk a great deal; and when the sack had fallen to the ground, much of the liquor had spilled. After the monkey had been at it a while, the sack was already scraped dry.

Little Grey tossed the sack to the ground and was about to follow Ming Li when its body suddenly lurched and it gave a drunken hiccup. Its monkey face slowly reddened—plainly the Miao's strong liquor was no ordinary brew, and the effects were only now creeping up on it.

Still, Little Grey was after all a creature of rare spirit. Though its face grew redder, it moved as usual, and hurried off to catch up with Ming Li.

Only, as they went up the mountain path, the Miao soldiers who had stood guard earlier had collapsed here in great numbers, and the ground was littered with drunkards and wine sacks. Ming Li, supporting Xiaobai, went first, and Little Grey, walking along, suddenly stopped, picked up another large wine sack from the ground, raised it to its ear, and shook it—it gurgled and sloshed, and there seemed to be a fair amount left, at which its monkey countenance lit with delight.

At this unexpected joy, Little Grey grew merry at once, picking up a sack here and shaking it twice, a sack there and shaking it twice, gathering as it walked. But a monkey has only two paws—picking up one meant dropping another—and yet Little Grey's greed knew no bounds and it would not let any go. It piled the seven or eight sacks it had gathered from here and there together, yet could not carry them all at once, and was so frantic it set up a "chi chi" clamor.

It was about to raise its head and beg its master for help when the look gave it a fright—its master, following the old Miao man, had already gone far, nearly to the altar on the mountain. Little Grey chattered wildly, leaping this way and that, scratching its ears and cheeks, frantic as an ant on a hot pan. At last, with a hard heart, it snatched up two sacks at random and, dragging them along the ground behind it, ran desperately up the mountain.

Fortunately the Miao stitched their wine sacks from thick, sturdy hide; otherwise, dragged about like that, they would long since have split. At the sight of the monkey's comical antics, laughter erupted from the crowd of Miao watching below, carried far and echoing through the valley of Seven Li Cave.

Little Grey raced all the way and at last caught up with Ming Li and the others before the altar, panting and puffing.