Chapter 123 — The Li People
劍問蒼天 · Page 1 of 5
Qili Tong, in the far southern borderlands.
The Miao altar.
In the dim, silent depths of the hall, neither Ming Li nor the great shaman, the only two still awake, spoke a word. Only the bonfire crackled now and then. Beyond that, another strange sound rose in the quiet altar.
The monkey Xiaohui was dead drunk, sleeping sweetly now—and snoring.
Ming Li had often been with Xiaohui before, but he had never noticed the monkey snoring in his sleep. The Miao's strong liquor, it seemed, was truly in a class of its own. The monkey's face was flushed red, his little belly rising and falling, rising and falling—endearing, and a bit comical besides.
Drunk though she was too, Xiaobai cut a far finer figure than Xiaohui. This nine-tailed celestial fox who had cultivated for a thousand years had naturally far outstripped the monkey in attainment. After this great debauch her skin glowed a translucent pink, her head tilted to one side, and between her brows lingered a charm that pulled at the heart—a creature that could truly turn the world upside down.
Ming Li sighed inwardly and turned his head.
The great shaman still faced the fire and did not turn around, but now he spoke slowly: "This friend of yours—she does not seem to be an ordinary person."
Ming Li's heart lurched. This great shaman was unfathomable—could he have seen through Xiaobai's identity as a nine-tailed celestial fox? The customs of the five southern tribes were utterly unlike those of the Central Plains, and they lived far closer to beast and bird than the people of the Central Plains. But how exactly they regarded a demon like her, Ming Li had no idea at all.
He pondered a moment, weighing his words, then said slowly, "How so? Why should the great shaman single out a woman like her for special notice?"
The great shaman was silent a while, then said mildly, "A frail woman who can drink down several dozen of my Miao strongmen—is she an ordinary person?"
Ming Li was taken aback, then set at ease—though at the thought of the spectacle Xiaobai had made at the foot of the mountain, drinking all those Miao down, he could not help shaking his head to himself.
Perhaps, shut away in that sunless Xuanhuo Altar for three hundred years of loneliness and pain, she needed a night of abandon and release.
Ming Li turned his head slightly. Xiaobai still leaned quietly against his leg, sleeping peacefully. Her breathing was even, her lips lightly closed, her eyes lightly shut, and now and then her long, delicate lashes trembled. She looked like a child asleep with something on her mind. Perhaps she was dreaming of something.
He only wondered whether she slept soundly now, or whether some nightmare had her in its grip, tormenting her in her dreams.
Xiaobai's delicate brows drew together slightly, as if she felt his gaze—or as if she dreamed of something. She turned her head a little, then sank back into deep sleep.
In the firelight her face held a little less of its seductive charm, and something of a guilelessness he had never seen in it before.
Ming Li looked away, toward the great shaman, and said, "She has had too much to drink. I fear she cannot answer your questions now, great shaman."
The great shaman was plainly unsurprised—nor did he turn to look at the woman. After a pause he said slowly, "There is one thing you may not know."
Ming Li started. "What is it? Pray tell me."
The great shaman's stooped figure cast a shadow that swayed gently before the fire, and even his voice seemed to drift: "This art of recalling the soul has always been passed down only among the shamans of the Miao altar. To speak plainly, only the great shamans of each generation possess this art. It is never taught outside, and even the people of my own tribe know nothing of it. Yet this young woman—young as she looks—how could she know of it? I truly cannot fathom it."