Chapter Twenty-Seven: Shall We Have a Drink?

For convenience, Su Meng simply crafted a human-skin mask identical to the one she had first used to disguise Ma Xue’e. Whenever she needed to go out, she could just put it on. It seemed an easy task, yet the mask was so flawless that it appeared to be her real face.

As before, Ma Qingyun’s mask was nothing more than an utterly ordinary visage.

“As for your martial arts techniques, if you wish to avoid drawing too much attention, and don’t want others to notice anything amiss, you can hold back during the competition. Rely solely on your internal energy when you spar, and as long as you don’t use innate true qi, no one will know you’re an innate-level fighter. I trust, Brother Ma, that with your skills, even without true qi, you can defeat that group of acquired-level fighters.”

True qi and internal force are both tools for attack. For an acquired martial artist to step into the innate realm, one must attune to the forces of heaven and earth, greatly enhancing one’s abilities. Even without deploying true qi, it’s a trivial matter to vanquish those still at the acquired level. Tools and techniques are important, but the latter always takes precedence.

“Besides,” Luo Changning added, “I doubt your enemies are so feeble as to concern themselves with a mere ranking tournament at a martial arts school. If you can’t even take on such a minor affair, how can you ever speak of vengeance?”

He spoke these words not just to Ma Qingyun, but also to himself.

Ma Qingyun laughed at himself, “You’re right. Who would have thought I’d become so timid? I’ve been overcautious, second-guessing myself. Looks like living in seclusion really does erode one’s courage and spirit.”

Luo Changning sighed softly. He understood well that Ma Qingyun’s hesitation was all for Xue’e’s sake—afraid that if he drew attention before he was strong enough, their enemies might discover them and put both of them in danger.

But some things must be done, even if one knows the risks. Compared to the hardships that lie ahead, a mere martial arts ranking contest is nothing at all.

If you let fear of danger halt your steps, forever hesitating and timid, you will never make progress—much less achieve vengeance.

Thanks to Luo Changning’s guidance, Ma Qingyun recognized this as well and agreed to help with the tournament.

“Heh, wonderful! With Brother Ma on our side, our chances of victory have soared. The Sacred Hands School may have many disciples, but only their master, Gao Ba, is an innate-level fighter, and the ranking competition is for the younger disciples of each school. This time, we’ll finally have our day and teach those snobs a lesson!”

The contest hadn’t even begun, and the outcome was still unknown, but Xiang Yinglong already felt vindicated, imagining the Sacred Hands School’s arrogance shattered.

Our Luoyang School has an innate-level protector, too!

“I knew my brother wouldn’t stand by and do nothing,” Ma Xue’e grinned. “Once we trounce them soundly, let’s have a good look around Heishui County.”

She cared about the contest not just out of loyalty to her friends, but also because it was finally a chance to travel somewhere new. The thought was enough to make her giddy with excitement.

Luo Changning, seeing the expressions on their faces, knew that persuading Ma Qingyun had gone perfectly.

He smiled, displaying the spirited, handsome confidence of youth.

With long, elegant fingers, he lifted the lid and placed freshly picked spring apricot blossoms from the cellar into the warmed wine. This was the Su family’s way—descendants of an old lineage, unlike ordinary folk who drank cold wine for comfort and ease. They preferred their wine warm, which made it mellower and less intoxicating—perfect for a few extra cups. In the cellar, blossoms of all seasons were stored for use in cooking, pastries, tea, and infusing wine.

After a while, the delicate fragrance of apricot blossoms blended with the wine, adding a subtle new dimension of flavor.

Luo Changning watched Ma Xue’e, her eyes bright and hungry, gazing longingly at him, and he smiled fondly.

He poured a cup for Ma Xue’e first, then Ma Qingyun and Xiang Yinglong, and finally for himself.

Returning the pot to the brazier, Luo Changning said, “This wine is very light, you won’t get drunk. You can have a few cups, but don’t overdo it.”

He glanced at Ma Qingyun, who sipped his wine without objection.

Ma Xue’e winked at Luo Changning, cupping her cup in both hands, a mischievous smile dimpling her cheeks.

She took a tentative sip. It wasn’t as fiery as she’d imagined—instead, it was mellow, sweet, and refreshing, with a faint scent of apricot blossoms.

Warmed, the wine had fewer impurities—Su Meng’s brew was pure to begin with, clear, smooth, and fragrant.

Ma Xue’e’s eyes widened, sparkling like a kitten’s, utterly endearing.

She downed the cup in one gulp and sighed contentedly.

“Delicious! Who would’ve thought Aunt Su could not only cook but also brew such fine wine?”

She eyed the wine pot wistfully and complained, “Books say wine burns the throat and makes your body heat up. But this is so gentle and easy to drink—I think they’re lying.”

Luo Changning smiled and poured her another cup.

“Heh, Sister Xue’e, the books aren’t wrong. It’s just that today we’re not drinking strong spirits—this is mild, delicious, but not satisfying in the way strong liquor is. When you’re older, and taste the fiery kind, you’ll know what it’s really like!”

“Something even bear’s paw can’t be traded for!” Xiang Yinglong shook his head, unimpressed by the gentle wine: tasty, yes, but it was the kind women drank.

He was tall and broad, raised among martial artists rough and bold. He knew nothing of the delicate pleasures scholars enjoyed—only that a real man drank the strongest spirits, seeking the thrill of drunkenness and abandon. Sipping from a tiny cup was no pleasure at all—he’d rather drink from a bowl, draining it in one go. Now, after three cups, he still wasn’t satisfied—Luo Changning was far too stingy…

“Hmph, I like this wine just fine. I don’t want any of that throat-burning stuff—must be as unpleasant as eating raw chilies,” Ma Xue’e retorted, sipping her wine in defiance.

Seeing her displeased, Xiang Yinglong quickly tried to appease her. “Yes, yes, this wine is wonderful. They say it’s good for a young lady’s complexion, too…”

“Wine has many uses—warming the body, easing fatigue, lifting the spirits, venting emotions… What matters isn’t how strong it is, but the mood in which you drink it. The best wine is the one suited to the moment,” Luo Changning said as he drank, his manner graceful as a nobleman’s.

Xiang Yinglong shook his head, focusing on the wine: the pot was small and split among four—it wouldn’t last. He’d better drink up quickly. With the others sipping so slowly, that suited him just fine!

Ma Xue’e reached for a fourth cup, but a hand intercepted her—Ma Qingyun, silent until now, took her cup away.

“You’re still young—three cups is enough,” he said sternly.

“Oh, when will I ever be grown up…” Ma Xue’e looked at her brother’s stern face and knew acting cute wouldn’t help, so she obeyed him and gave up.

Xiang Yinglong watched her cheeks flush pink from the wine, her fair face bashful and charming. For some reason, he felt a wave of heat, a strange tingling rising from his tailbone, making him shiver. His own face turned red and hot.

He shook his head, muttering inwardly: What’s going on? Is there a delayed kick to this wine? Why do I feel so odd and feverish all over…?

But as the saying goes: ‘It is not the wine that intoxicates, but the heart that is drunk…’

No one else noticed Xiang Yinglong’s strange reaction, and the pavilion was filled with laughter and harmony.

The wine was soon gone, and the group turned to tea and the snacks they’d packed earlier.

The big, clumsy bear, returning from restocking in the kitchen, eyed the food hungrily and reached out a paw—only to be shooed out of the pavilion.

It gazed mournfully at the feasting foursome, then flopped down in the grass, sulking, and flattened a patch of flowers beneath its bulk.

Turning grief into appetite, it stuffed strips of dried meat into its mouth with astonishing speed.

Luo Changning ate a sesame ball and sipped a cup of green tea from Cangshan, his gaze falling on the red clay stove still glowing with coals on the table.

He suddenly recalled his previous life on Dalong Continent, and the poem by the renowned poet Bai Juyi—“To Liu Shijiu”: “New brew with green foam, small red clay stove. Evening comes, snow is in the air—would you share a cup with me?”

The wine was not rice wine, and the weather was fair and far from winter, but nonetheless, the poem came to mind.

In his former life, he’d had no family—crippled, scorned, and abused, the only person who’d ever cared for him died young and tragically.

But fate had given him a second chance in another world, to live a different life. Now, he had family, a sister, close friends, and sworn brothers—he was no longer alone.

He glanced at the “corpse” sprawled in the distance—right, there was also a foolish bear…

“To share a cup?” Now, at last, he had someone to ask that question—a privilege denied him before, when his frail body forbade even the taste of wine, let alone the company to share it.

Luo Changning silently vowed to protect everyone he cared for—and everyone who cared for him.

All was peaceful in the flow of time; the only imperfection was that he remained a novice in martial arts—and his great revenge still unfulfilled…