Chapter 122 — The Altar
劍問蒼天 · Page 1 of 7
Ming Li was taken aback. Yet Xiaobai's eyes brimmed with boundless tenderness, so liquid they seemed about to spill over, and in them he saw his own form and face reflected. His heart could not help but skip a beat.
"You are drunk," Ming Li said, and as he spoke, he could not keep a faint sheen of sweat from breaking out on his brow.
Xiaobai's body could no longer seem to hold itself upright; her entire weight leaned upon Ming Li. Her white teeth caught her red lip in a light bite, languid yet with a trace of delicate, pitiable charm, and a low moan escaped her throat, a languor that seemed to pluck at the very soul. Slowly, she rested her head against Ming Li's shoulder.
"You..." the woman murmured softly, her voice steeped in wine and infinite sweetness.
Perhaps the liquor was too strong, for she turned her head gently, rubbing it against Ming Li's shoulder—perhaps her head ached. Yet her voice, soft and pliant, remained at Ming Li's ear, whispering on.
"You are a man who lives too wearily! Do you know that? Little fool!"
That final epithet—"little fool"—sent Ming Li's heart pounding in alarm, yet every word was soaked in tenderness. From the woman's body drifted a faint, elusive fragrance that lingered and would not disperse.
Worst of all was that peerless face, resting so lazily against his shoulder, her whole body nestled against him, leaving a man not daring to move, unable to move.
In the Central Plains, such a scene would surely have stirred endless rumor and gossip. But here in the southern border, customs were open; the assembled Miao thought nothing of it, and most took them for a pair of lovers. Xiaobai's earth-shaking shout of a moment ago had truly shaken the Miao village, so no one said a word.
Only a few young Miao men who admired Xiaobai stood there thoroughly dejected.
Ming Li was at a loss what to do. At the same time, unbidden, his mind turned over the meaning of Xiaobai's words, and those few words—"lives too wearily"—echoed slowly through his heart, leaving him dazed.
Just then he heard a few "chi chi" cries beside him—it was Little Grey. Only then did he remember that Little Grey had been playing nearby all this while; the drinking contest had been so astonishing that he had forgotten the monkey entirely. He turned to look.
But that look nearly choked Ming Li into speechlessness again.
Little Grey had, at some point, run back from the riverbank and was now squatting not far from Ming Li and Xiaobai, its three eyes rolling busily, watching the scene with great curiosity.
Now that the drinking contest was over and everyone was busy clearing up, the Miao were mostly going over to lift and tend to the fallen warriors, while Ming Li stood holding the half-drunk, barely conscious Xiaobai, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
The scene was utter chaos. Drunken bodies lay sprawled every which way across the ground, to say nothing of long-handled spears and other weapons, rattan armor, and the great wine sacks the Miao had dropped when they fell—all strewn over the earth. From several sacks whose stoppers had not been properly replaced, the remaining strong liquor trickled slowly out, filling the air with a pungent reek of spirits.
Monkeys are curious by nature, and Little Grey, a creature of rare spirit, possessed a curiosity ten times that of any ordinary monkey. Slipping away while no one was watching, it crept over to a fallen Miao warrior nearby, craned its head about to survey the surroundings, and, seeing that no one seemed to be paying attention, gingerly picked up the wine sack lying on the ground beside the man.
The reek of strong liquor surged up at once. Little Grey sniffed deeply, its three eyes spinning in unison, wearing an expression of utter bewilderment—plainly it had never encountered such a thing before.
It sat down cautiously on the ground, turned its head, cast another wary glance around, and only then slowly brought the sack to its lips and took a sip.