It's the Booze That's the Problem
Then again — whatever happened to that scrap of Unorthodox rabble who started this whole mess in the first place?
"He slipped away the second we looked elsewhere? Sheesh... from the way he was carrying on earlier, you'd have sworn the man meant to plant his bones right here."
"Unorthodox types are always like that, sir."
"Makes a man wonder if we did all that for nothing..."
Apparently, while Uncle Hawun had been cutting Giyeong off with one flashy technique, the fellow had quietly slipped away. So stealthy was his escape that of all the bystanders merely standing about, supposedly only a single soul managed to catch his flight properly...
In any event, once night fell, the guests who had only stopped by the inn for a meal paid up and went on their way, and the surroundings soon grew quiet.
"Agh... try tying it properly, would you!"
"Like this, you mean?"
"YOWCH!"
My sister had long since returned to the inn, and only now had Dang Hawun finally gotten around to wrapping a bandage around his injured hand. Naturally, having judged that someone else doing it for him beat fumbling one-handed, he had requested the favor of Dang Mulin...
Snap—
Unlike Mulin, who was quite sure that was cinched tight enough already, Dang Hawun kept up his chant — "Tighter! A little more! Just a hair more..." — and the moment Dang Mulin yanked with everything she had, the payment that came back to her was a fist of love.
She had gone to the trouble of hunting down a bandage and even tying it with her own two hands, only to receive a welt as her thanks, and she wore a thoroughly sulky face because of it. And yet—
"You brat! If you'd wrapped that around my neck instead of my hand, it'd have been straight-up assassination!"
After all, didn't that old man's temper rank among the very worst in the entire Dang Clan? Boy or girl, the lot of you grew up getting your heads knocked around day in and day out under the fine name of 'martial artist.' And yet, should a child bearing the Dang name ever come home beaten by outsiders—
"Who DARES lay a hand on someone else's precious child!"
—was he not the very man who would blow a stranger's front gate to splinters and raise hell, demanding they produce the culprit that very instant? Even when it was the Dang brat who threw the first punch, even when the Dang brat landed the most blows, he wouldn't so much as cover the repairs to the door — and thanks to that piece of family legend, the days of Dang Clan children coming home battered vanished from Sichuan for good.
Grumbling and prickly on the surface, yet warmer underneath than anyone — truly, he was an old man impossible to hate. The only trouble was that every now and then, the warmth overshot into scalding.
"And so! Back when I was young..."
"Of course, of course. Though it has gotten quite late, sir — wouldn't it be best to turn in for the night?"
"Tch! When an elder is speaking..."
The night had deepened, and the only people left on the inn's ground floor were the Dangs. Empty bottles lay tumbled across the table, and a beet-red Dang Hawun was busy scolding the long-suffering Dang Mulin.
As for why a drinking party had broken out at this hour of night...
"Hand's ruined anyway — about time I poured some liquor down it, I say."
"Uncle, what in the world does an injured hand have to do with alcohol..."
"Don't you know about disinfecting? You get hurt, so you disinfect — simple as that, no?"
"Sis, we're riding in the carriage anyway, so does it really matter?"
"Haah... well, no, but..."
"Hall Master, if we're drinking regardless, how about some Crane's Cry Liquor?"
"Giyeong, my boy, you truly know your drink. We'd come all the way to Yunnan, after all — it would have been a shame settling for Bamboo Leaf Green."
The moment liquor entered the conversation, hall master and squad leader fell into perfect rhythm — a sight that left Dang Mulin looking distinctly queasy...
There's no way something's going to blow up again. Granted, something DID blow up last time we drank ourselves stupid, but...
A sudden prickle along my scalp sent up an ominous flag, and I waved it off without a second thought. I didn't know then that I should have taken my sister's side and shut this down no matter what it took.
"And so... back when I went down the Yangtze..."
I honestly no longer knew which telling of that line this was.
We were sailing along on a boat...
"We were sailing along on a teensy little boat—!"
...when suddenly the Shuiluzhai bastards showed up...
"—when suddenly the Shuiluzhai bastards came bearing down on us aboard ships big as Mount Tai!"
I'd heard it so many times now I could recite it from memory. A glance around: my sister was bobbing her head with hollow, vacant eyes, and Dushik...
"Bravo!"
...the wretch was actually clapping along, responding with real relish.
Come to think of it, wasn't the one truly responsible for this never-ending loop not Uncle Hawun, but Dang Giyeong? They do say the mother-in-law who beats you is less hateful than the sister-in-law who brings her the wooden club...
Holding onto my sanity by a thread — one hard yank from staging a full runaway — I called out to Giyeong.
"Dushik..."
"Huuh...? Wh-what issit, Young Mashter?"
A face red enough that Guan Yu himself would have bowed and addressed it as "elder brother," and a tongue curled enough that a water snake would have worshipped it as "Father"... a genuine spectacle without equal.
One look at that state told me hinting was a lost cause. Just as my head began to ache all on its own and I dug my knuckles into my temple—
"E-excuse me, sirs? We're all out of the Crane's Cry Liquor."
It was the first time in my life that "we're out of liquor" had ever sounded so sweet — or that an innkeeper had ever looked this welcome. Back when Sooksoo and Jeomsoi both clocked out and he was left ladling up some sad excuse for a dish all by his lonesome, I'd pegged him as a money demon through and through —
"It HAS gotten rather late, after all..."
Seeing him now, I understood — not a money demon at all, but a man of sterling professional devotion...
"Then bring out the Bamboo Leaf Green."
"At once, sir. Should you need anything further, do call for me at any hour."
Yep. Money demon, confirmed.
I watched the innkeeper bow with impeccable courtesy and then dash off at a dead sprint, and my face went slack.
"Muyeong, your cup's empty. Here, take it!"
"Yes, sir..."
The very moment I raised my cup, forcing the corners of my mouth upward—
Wham—
—my sister went face-first into the table, out cold. Seizing the opening, I swept her up onto my back and—
"I'll just lay her down in her room and be right back."
—made for the stairs at a run. But the words Dang Hawun called after me turned the whole world dizzy:
"Hurry back once she's tucked in. Take too long and I'll come up myself."
Even if I stayed, all I'd contribute was the occasional nod — so why this obsession? Had the man simply never had anyone to talk to?
"...Huh?"
Come to think of it, I wasn't sure I'd ever seen him share so much as a single meal with the other hall masters. Was he friendless, and so clinging this hard to anyone who'd listen? Or friendless because he was like this?
Wrestling with the great chicken-or-egg question, I steered Mulin up the stairs.
In any case, I had just laid my limp sister on the bed and was on my way back down when I doubled back, leaned close to her ear, and murmured:
"Sis. I know you're not asleep."
The instant the words landed, Mulin flinched — her body confessing for her. Her heartbeat hadn't changed one whit; as if I could fail to see through acting that transparent.
"You owe me one favor later. Deal?"
At my whisper she gave a faint nod, and I flashed a grin, shut the door behind me, and left.
Back downstairs, yet another bottle had already been drained — one more dead soldier sitting on the table...
"...And so, like I was saying, there I was on the Yangtze—"
I pressed a hand to my forehead as the story rolled on.
Ugh... why can't I just get drunk...
When the drinking had begun, Uncle Hawun had growled a warning that anyone who dared sober up on the spot would answer to him personally...
"Uncle? I'm built so I can't get drunk, though?"
"What kind of body can't even— ah. Right, the Ten Thousand Poisons Immunity, was it? Perfect, then. Drink with me straight through the night."
Alcohol was, at the end of the day, merely another poison: no matter how much I poured down, the farthest I ever got was a pleasant buzz. With my clear, level eyes and milk-pale complexion, faking it the way Mulin had wasn't even worth considering.
What truly puzzled me was how on earth Dushik had managed to get THAT drunk...
Letting Uncle Hawun's endless tales of his salad days wash past one ear, I applied myself to that line of inquiry.
At some point, the darkness blanketing the sky had begun its slow retreat. However many times the table had been cleared, a dozen-odd empty bottles still lay strewn about it.
..........
Only in the moments before sunrise did Uncle Hawun's mouth finally grant us silence. Worried he might actually have died, I pressed a finger beneath his nose — mercifully, breath still stirred.
"Dushik. Load the Hall Master into the carriage just as he is. He's not waking this morning, that's certain — the sun rises, we roll out."
"Eheheh..."
What in the world was so wonderful that the man kept snickering away to himself...
In any case, leaving behind the sight of a half-disembodied Giyeong hauling Uncle Hawun out the inn door on his back, I went to wake Mulin.
"Sis, sleep in the carriage. We leave the moment the sun's up."
"Mmmnh..."
Adrift between dream and waking, Mulin rose and shuffled down the stairs on her own two feet. I roused the dozing innkeeper, settled our bill in full, and stood outside watching the sun come up.
The cool pre-dawn breeze brushed past me, and for no reason at all, my mood lifted. I drew the long-stemmed pipe I'd bought back when we purchased the carriage out of my coat and set it between my teeth—
"Young Master, here's your light."
At some point Dushik had strolled up beside me; he fished a flint from inside his coat and struck a flame for me.
"Haaah..."
I exhaled a ribbon of white — smoke or sigh, even I couldn't have said — and spoke quietly.
"Time really does fly, doesn't it..."
"It does. Several seasons have come and gone, after all."
"This one was genuinely rough, wasn't it?"
"Young Master, name one journey with you that ever wasn't."
"Heh..."
My snort of laughter made Giyeong narrow his already-slit eyes into knife lines as he asked:
"Did something happen while I was gone?"
"Well... who's to say?"
My answer, vague as fog, brought a brief silence. A little while later, Giyeong spoke again, breezily changing tack:
"But you're happy, aren't you?"
To that question, I answered with an easy, unhurried smile.
"Who knows?"
After that short exchange, the chill wind came sweeping through once more—
"Dushik, it's cold. Let's get to the carriage."
"Already?"
"Sun's up. Time to move."
"Somehow that feels like a waste, doesn't it..."
"Oh, right — the driver was only hired through yesterday. Congratulations, you're driving."
"Pardon?!"
"I'm heading on ahead!"
"Young Master! I have never once driven a carriage in my life!"
After the two of them had gone, all that remained where they had stood was the cold air of dawn.