Chapter 158: Shizun Drinks Wedding Wine

In the great sects, weddings were a three-day affair of feasting and

 wine. On the evening of the first day, before the ceremony itself, the hosts

 held a welcome dinner to receive all the guests arriving from afar. The

 evening's biggest attraction, however, was not the drinking table but the

 hunting grounds outside the hall. In adherence with custom, shortly after

 sunset a high-ranking elder would lead three spiritual deer with antlers

 bound in red silk into the forest. The groom's father would then select

 twenty-two unmarried men and women to pursue them. Any guest who

 felled a deer would receive a prize of ten million gold. Ultimately, only

 filthy rich sects like Rufeng and Guyueye could afford to stage such opulent

 displays.

 Poetry Hall was expansive, with soaring rafters and exquisite tiles

 adorning its towering rooftops. From within the hall, one could look out

 over the nearby hunting grounds shrouded in the twilit glow of the sinking

 sun.

 The guests filed in one after another, each congratulating Nangong

 Liu. Their host courteously returned each greeting regardless of the guest's

 status and invited them to take a seat. It took an hour of hectic activity to

 seat all the guests. The ringing of bells heralded the start of the evening

 feast.

 "I wonder which guests Nangong-zhangmen will send down to the

 forest for the hunt."

"Aren't they drawing straws? Anyone who gets picked is real lucky.

 Think about it—bring down one deer and you'll win ten million gold. Even

 the hunters who don't will have their pick of the other spiritual creatures or

 magical fruit in the forest. What could be better?"

 Amidst the hubbub, the doors of the hall swung open. Nangong Si

 and Song Qiutong stepped onto the mezzanine together, a striking pair in

 interweaving red and gold. Hand-in-hand, they approached the sect leader.

 Nangong Liu rose to his feet and nodded with a smile. In a clear and

 carrying voice, he announced, "Honored guests, you've come from far and

 wide, from every sect and mansion, to attend my son's wedding here at

 Rufeng Sect despite your manifold commitments. This humble one is truly

 fortunate."

 "Sect Leader is far too courteous," the guests below recited

 obsequiously.

 "The young master and mistress make a beautiful couple; it's a match

 made in heaven!"

 Hear! Hear!

 These words of flattery were near identical to those of Mo Ran's

 fanatical supporters at his wedding in the past life. Hearing them again now,

 he felt a wave of yawning boredom. He absently scanned the crowd and

 quickly spotted Ye Wangxi sitting beside the Shuanglin Elder.

 Ye Wangxi's eyes were downcast, his appearance unpretentious as

 ever. He seemed wholly focused on his meal, never once lifting his head to

 look at Nangong Si. Both his expression and manner were as usual, or

 maybe even more placid than usual. Perhaps it was because he'd faced so

many hardships that he had already resigned himself to his powerlessness

 against fate.

 Mo Ran suddenly thought of a pagoda lantern he used to like at the

 night market when he was young. The make of that lantern was exquisite,

 every eave and tile crafted in fine detail. But because the artist demanded a

 considerable asking price, he had been unable to sell the lantern despite its

 beauty.

 Needless to say, Mo Ran couldn't afford it either. But almost every

 night, he'd wait for the night market to open, then run over to the artist's

 stall to gaze at the lantern. The shadows fled from its light, its radiance

 solemnly illuminating his pitch-black eyes.

 One day, a young man and woman arrayed in fine silks came to the

 market. The young woman took a fancy to the lantern. The instant she coyly

 voiced her admiration for the trinket, the young man beside her produced

 money to buy it.

 Mo Ran had craned his neck to watch the artist take down the pagoda

 from the wooden stand where it had hung for so long. He passed it to that

 young woman with both hands. The lantern's flickering light spilled over

 Mo Ran's wistful face one last time. Then it gradually vanished along the

 night market's main avenue, lighting the steps of that beautiful couple.

 At the time, Mo Ran had been miserable, but he hadn't made a fuss.

 He was not unlike the Ye Wangxi of the present. In truth, from the moment

 they laid eyes on the pagoda lantern, they knew that such a precious object

 could never be theirs. In truth, each night when the pagoda's light shone

 over them, they were already readying their hearts for all the ways they

 imagined they would lose that brilliance. It wasn't that they had come to

terms with the impending loss. Rather, they had known all along how things

 would end, so they had never dared claim it in their hearts to begin with.

 "Come come, it's time to draw straws, come now!" Rufeng Sect's

 head servant carried a great bronze vessel engraved with swirling branches

 up to the elevated dais. With a wide grin, he held it above his head as he

 presented it to Nangong Liu. "Sect Leader, the time is most auspicious.

 Please do the honor of drawing the lots!"

 "Let's go! Nangong-zhangmen, go on and draw!"

 Nangong Liu laughed. "Then this humble one has no choice but to

 accept. I shall pick twenty-two bamboo straws, and I ask those twenty-two

 young heroes to do me the honor of participating in our hunt tonight. If

 anyone wishes to decline, please speak up now. Thank you, thank you!"

 After a few moments, the parents of some girls from minor sects

 went up to ask Sect Leader Nangong to remove their daughters' names

 from the vessel on account of their low cultivation and little courage. Xu

 Shuanglin looked over at Ye Wangxi and asked with a lazy smile, "Does

 Little Ye-zi want to play? If you do, I'll pull some strings."

 "I don't," said Ye Wangxi. "Yifu, I must trouble you to request the

 sect leader take my name out of the running."

 "That won't do. You'll get ten million gold if you win."

 Ye Wangxi gave him a long, silent look.

 Xu Shuanglin's temperament was wilder than his foster son's. After

 some thought, the corners of his mouth curled in a devious smile. "If you're

 not willing to go, then I will."

 "Yifu…you're already over forty…"

"So what? I look young enough. Watch me take all three deer and

 rake in thirty million gold. Never turn down easy money."

 Wrapped up in his own plans, Xu Shuanglin failed to notice his foster

 son's crestfallen mood. He pulled on his shoes and sauntered over to

 Nangong Liu, then whispered some words in his ear. Everyone was under

 the impression that he was withdrawing Ye Wangxi's name. Who would've

 thought his love for money was such that he wanted a go himself?

 Nangong Liu drew the names of guests for the hunt. The Shuanglin

 Elder stood beside him, taking the wooden sticks from the sect leader's

 hand and languidly announcing them one by one. "Shen Feng, Lin Sheng,

 Qu Yanran… Oh? Impressive—the darling of the heavens, Xue Meng."

 Twenty-one hunters were quickly named. Before the last straw could

 be drawn, the shameless Shuanglin Elder blithely raised a hand. "I'm the

 last one, me and my old bones. Please go easy on me."

 Nangong Liu knew this elder's personality and didn't try to stop him.

 He just laughed helplessly and handed each participant a firework.

 "Hunters, these fireworks will serve as your signal. When three have gone

 off, all three spiritual deer will have been felled, concluding the hunt," said

 Nangong Liu. "I'll be waiting at Moonwhistle Fields to welcome you back

 and bestow a prize of ten million gold upon the winners."

 At this, the audience burst into raucous applause and shouted

 encouragement at their kin and acquaintances.

 Still smiling, Nangong Liu continued, "In addition, on behalf of my

 son, I will award ten faewolves to the first-place winner. Seal a blood

 contract and they're yours to take home!"

Faewolves! These precious spiritual beasts were almost impossible to

 procure, even on the black market. And ten of them, no less. The entire hall

 burst into life. Someone jumped up and yelled to his sectmate who had been

 selected: "Shixiong, it's all up to you! If you win, I'll polish your boots for

 a year!"

 The whole room erupted in laughter.

 Not to be outdone, a lady cultivator cried brassily, "Take them all

 down, Shige! If you win, I'll dual-cultivate with you!"

 "Wow—now that's amazing, ha ha, where's this spicy lady cultivator

 from?"

 The cheerful laughter inside Poetry Hall bubbled up to the heavens.

 Even those who had been indifferent at first now lifted their wine cups to

 watch the spectacle, eyes shining with anticipation.

 Amidst the buzz of voices, Mo Ran rose from his seat and said to

 Chu Wanning, "Shizun, I'll go with Xue Meng to the hunting grounds. You

 can stay here and enjoy the feast. Wait for me to come back."

 "Go ahead," Chu Wanning replied. "Tell Xue Meng to be careful—

 he's always too rash."

 "Okay."

 Mo Ran and the twenty-odd hunters passed beneath the bright

 lanterns of the magnificent hall. Chu Wanning watched the gallant figures

 of those young men and women fade into the vast, dark night and tipped his

 head back to down his wine in a single draught. Thirty million gold was

 practically at their fingertips. Sisheng Peak would soon have the money to

 pave roads of spiritual stones in the lower cultivation realm, he thought. He

 had utmost confidence in his disciple.

Minutes after the youths entered the forest, before Mo Ran had even

 returned from seeing off Xue Meng, the first bright red firework burst in

 raucous colors in the sky. Nangong Liu clucked in surprise and sighed.

 "Would you look at that. I haven't finished this cup of tea, and someone's

 already caught the first deer. I wonder whose disciple it is? Heroic, truly

 admirable!"

 Bitan Manor's Li Wuxin was sitting at Nangong Liu's elbow. He

 stroked his mustache and said with a smile, "If my distinguished fellow

 guests are so inclined, how about a spot of genteel betting? Out of these

 twenty-two talented youngsters, to whom will the deer fall in the end? I'll

 raise fifty thousand to liven things up for Nangong-zhangmen."

 The crowd voiced its hearty assent, and twenty-two wooden sticks

 were shortly arranged along the length of the table, each marked with a

 contestant's name. Placed below them were strips of red silk on which the

 gamblers would write their wagers.

 Xue Zhengyong turned and muttered to Chu Wanning, "How is Bitan

 Manor only putting down fifty thousand gold? Is that Li geezer so poor?"

 "Small bets beget cheer, large bets beget ruin," replied Chu Wanning.

 Xue Zhengyong chuckled. "How about some cheer then?"

 Chu Wanning leveled him with a piercing look. The hairs on the back

 of Xue Zhengyong's neck stood on end and he shrank back. "Okay okay,

 I know you don't like it, so—"

 "What good is cheer?" The Yuheng Elder untied his money bag and

 tossed it onto the table. "If you're going to bother at all, go for ruin," he

 said, face devoid of expression.

 Xue Zhengyong stared at him like he'd seen a ghost. "How much?"

"Three hundred thousand."

 "…That much? What if you lose?"

 "I can't lose," said Chu Wanning. "Do you want to pave the roads

 with spirit-refining stones or not? With the money we win, we could pave

 more of them in the villages that are badly afflicted by miasma."

 "Are you sure? What if Xue Meng fails?" Xue Zhengyong asked.

 "He won't. You should know your own son better than I."

 Taking in Xue Zhengyong's uneasy silence, Chu Wanning declared,

 "If I lose, it's on me. If I win, it's all yours. Go ahead."

 One after another, the silks filled with names. Even the small sects

 that hadn't intended to wade in were tempted in the end, putting in a bit of

 money to try their luck.

 Amused by the sight, Nangong Si stood to place his own bet. Song

 Qiutong held him back. "Husband, why are you playing too?"

 "I'll win some money to buy you jewelry."

 Song Qiutong fell silent and slowly lowered her jewel-like face.

 A lock of raven hair fell over her forehead, and she looked endearingly

 abashed. Chu Wanning happened to catch this sweet scene between the

 betrothed couple and immediately turned away in embarrassment. Thus did

 he miss the brief unease that flitted over Song Qiutong's face.

 Nangong Si took the brush with a grin and walked the length of the

 table. He had leaned over to record his pick when he heard a shrill noise

 behind him. Nangong Si's reflexes were sharp as any wolf's; he whipped

 around in an instant and leapt back, dodging a flash of snow-white light that

brushed his cheek as it flew past. It burrowed into the golden redwood of

 the hall's main pillar, showering the floor in powdery splinters.

 "What is it!"

 "An assassin!"

 "Watch out! Sound the alarms!"

 Sharp whistles wailed all across the seventy-two cities. Poetry Hall,

 which had moments ago resounded with song and warm chatter, was

 thrown into disarray as guests drew their swords.

 Nangong Si's gaze was stormy, eyes glinting with ferocious light. He

 swiped at the blood on his cheek, strode over to the pillar, and looked up.

 An ordinary arrow had somehow nailed itself deep into the solid redwood.

 It bore a small bamboo tube, which Nangong Si removed with a grave

 expression. When his sharp canines tore at the wax seal, a letter fell out.

 Stiffly, Nangong Si unfolded it and began to read. Suddenly his expression

 changed completely. He gripped the letter as he read it over and over again

 in disbelief, his whole body trembling, fingertips tearing through the paper.

 "Si-er, what's wrong?"

 Nangong Si raised his head and wrinkled his nose. The countenance

 he showed to the hall was ferocious, almost panther-like in its savagery.

 "Slander!" he cried, moving quickly to destroy the letter.

 But Nangong Liu was a step quicker. He lifted his hand and

 immobilized his son with spiritual energy. "What's all this? Let me see."

 "Don't look at it, Father, it's complete nonsense!"

 Nangong Liu paid him no heed. With a wave of his hand, he

 instructed an attendant to take the letter from Nangong Si's paralyzed

fingers. After taking it in hand, he glanced down to read. Immediately he

 shot an ugly glance at Song Qiutong. Without waiting for the crowd's

 reaction, he tossed the letter into the fire, where it turned to ash. He

 proclaimed with a dry laugh, "My son is right, that paper is filled with

 falsities. I can't imagine who would pull a prank so tasteless, it's really

 too…"

 "Really too what?" A stranger's low, husky voice rang out from a

 corner of the eaves.

 Everyone paled. Ye Wangxi drew his sword and moved in front of

 Nangong Si. Chu Wanning rose to his feet as well, eyes fixed on the corner

 the voice had come from.

 Rufeng Sect had pulled out all the stops for such an important

 occasion and had charged their most accomplished disciples with the hall's

 security. Yet this person had somehow made it to the very top of Poetry

 Hall, alerting neither gods nor ghosts and leaving no one the wiser until he

 spoke. Plainly this was no ordinary man, and he couldn't be underestimated.

 "Nangong-zhangmen, my kind reminder not to let your son marry

 such a faithless woman was clearly given in vain. Not only do you refuse

 my counsel, you even say my letter is full of lies. Rather eye-opening."

 His last words were still ringing through the hall when a black

 shadow flashed. By the time the onlookers registered it, a man was standing

 in the center of the great hall, hands clasped behind his back amidst the

 crowd.

 "Aahhhh!"

 "Run! Quick, run!"

Those nearby turned pale with fright and backed away like a receding

 tide. A wide berth instantly opened around the man. Shixiong shielded their

 shidi and shimei, sect leaders shielded their disciples, and those in their

 prime shielded the young.

 That black-garbed man wore a sinister bronze mask and a cloak black

 as ink. "Why are you running?" he asked dryly. "If I were here to kill

 someone, this hall would be a bloodbath. Just stay where you are."