Chapter 68: Drowning Sorrows in Wine (Part 1): Master, You Make Me So Sad

Her fingertip hooked onto the rim of the rice wine jar as Shang Shan muttered lowly, “I definitely won’t look for you.”

“And,” Mu Qian Tan recalled the original plot and picked out some details, “when you get drunk, you’ll go out and go crazy, shouting and yelling as you run around, wrestling and rolling on the ground with people, losing all face. I won’t come save you, so be mentally prepared.”

This string of accusations sounded perfectly plausible, as if it had really happened. Shang Shan furrowed her brows and said strangely, “I haven’t even drunk yet. How do you know I’ll get drunk and embarrass myself? What if I don’t get drunk after a thousand cups?”

Mu Qian Tan let out a cold laugh. She could tell by the smell that it was about right—no way she could handle a thousand cups. She said, “Then drink. Best cover your face too, so no one recognizes you later and comes to embarrass me.”

Stung by the disdain dripping from her tone, Shang Shan clung to the wine jar and shouted, “I won’t lose face! I’ll drink right here! I’m not going out!”

Since she was dead set on courting death, Mu Qian Tan stopped trying to dissuade her. She gave it one last glance, flicked her sleeve, and returned to her room. The moment she stepped inside, she slammed the door shut tight, slid two bolts into place for security, and pulled the windows closed without leaving a single gap, lest this troublemaker wormed her way out from somewhere and kept making noise nonstop.

She had already bathed and felt fresh and comfortable all over. Her stomach refused food, and she was too lazy to go downstairs. With evening approaching, it seemed there was nothing to do but sleep.

She removed her boots, socks, and outer robes, took out a book, and leaned obliquely against the headboard as she flipped through it idly.

She had only looked for a short while when her eyes stung like they had been pricked by needles, and the wound in her abdomen grew restless. She furrowed her brows slightly, a trace of impatience appearing on her face. After a moment of silence, she reached up and removed the Crane-Gazing Orchid Step-Shake from her hair, combing through it with her fingers to let her waterfall of long hair cascade down.

Jet-black strands flowed over her shoulders and neck. The woman slid her body downward until she lay completely flat. She placed the open book over her chest, rested the back of one hand over her eyes to block the light, and slowly exhaled a long breath.

This return to the sect meant she would have quite a long stretch without advancing the main storyline, leaving her with plenty of free time. Of course, she would recuperate from her injuries, but should she also work on training her body while she was at it?

From the perspective of an immortal cultivator, this body was pathetically weak.

But she could not even find a method for cultivation, so body refinement was beyond her abilities as well. If she wanted to train, should she go ask Panxiang Yin?

She should be able to provide a training regimen suited to the original host’s constitution.

As she mulled over these scattered thoughts, someone hurried past her door with fast, heavy footsteps—like a horse thudding along—drawing unavoidable glances.

No need to go look; she knew it was that Brain-Damaged Dragon, drunk and going berserk. Fortunately, those two warnings had gotten through, and she had run outside instead of coming to bother her. That was tolerable enough; let her make as much racket as she wanted.

She closed the book and set it aside, found a position that would not press on her wound, lay on her side, closed her eyes, and planned to rest for a while.

Darkness had just descended before her eyes when that charred corpse materialized in her mind. The recollection was even more vivid than the live scene: the uneven carbonized surface, the melted eyeballs, the curled posture—every detail tested the endurance of her stomach.

Mu Qian Tan pressed two fingers together and rubbed her temples rhythmically, forcibly dragging her thoughts astray and clawing that bloody image out of her head.

In its place came the image of Wen Yu seated in a wheelchair, plunging a dagger into Wen Wu’s chest.

Back then, she had struck with the unyielding resolve to perish together, her face a blank expanse like untouched snow. That expression landed like a tiny hammer tapping Mu Qian Tan’s heart, its echo lingering endlessly.

She had never imagined that the first person she could empathize with in this world would be that little madwoman.

To the point that she had unprecedentedly spoken a few extra words to a stranger.

Sleepiness gradually rose, like a vast white feather enveloping her, gently rippling as her thoughts drifted away.

The familiar dreamscape unfurled slowly.

Her lungs burned with explosive pain from the rapid influx and outflow of frigid air, her throat so parched she could not swallow, her lips split with red cracks. The woman staggered through the snowfield as the black night sky rained down salt-like flakes that battered her head low and rooted her feet in place.

She had not run far, but her recent exhaustion from overwork made even cooking feel impossible, so this brief sprint had nearly drained her meager reserves of energy.

How much farther?

Where could she even run to?

She could not run anymore. She felt like she was dying, and lately that sensation had grown ever stronger. She wanted to surrender to it, end it all in one go, but she could not truly die—not when there were far more deserving souls out there. Why should she be the only one to die full of resentment?

Why…

Why?!

Endless snow poured from the vast expanse, and amid the wind and blizzard behind her came the heart-rending wail of a middle-aged woman.

“Qian Tan! Qian Tan!”

Her legs ached as if snapped in two, yet she dared not stop. Mu Qian Tan gritted her teeth and muttered to herself, “Get lost… just get lost…”

Her vision blurred into an endless white void. She failed to notice the sheet of solid ice underfoot and pitched forward onto the ground. “Ugh!”

Her knees and chin slammed hard; her wrist seemed sprained, or maybe not—too many pains blurred together.

The woman’s voice drew nearer from behind, her cries shaking heaven and earth. “Qian Tan, where’s your sister? Why is she gone? Did you send your sister away? You just want to live happily with your sister, don’t you? You don’t want your mother anymore? Oh heavens, how did I birth such a heartless monster?”

Perhaps from the bone-chilling cold, Mu Qian Tan actually found the snow beneath her warm, though she still shivered uncontrollably. She pushed herself up from the ground, pried open her bloodshot eyes, and growled low, “Stop following me! I let you off easy by not calling the cops to haul you to jail!”

The figure finally emerged from the shadows into her line of sight.

It was a woman emaciated beyond human form, her hair a matted, half-shed mess under a ragged hat, her teeth rotted nearly to stumps, her palms and cheeks riddled with festering sores of unknown origin. She smiled, baring her red-rotted gums and mouth. “Doesn’t Qian Tan love her mommy the most? How could you bear to just abandon Mommy like this?”

Cold sweat prickled across her back. Mu Qian Tan’s eyes burned redder, her voice trembling. “How long are you going to torment me? You’ve already ruined my life—just let me go!”

The woman gave no reply. Her mouth split wider and wider. Heaven and earth spun in a dizzy whirl. When Mu Qian Tan refocused, she found herself kneeling on the ground, the hopelessly rotten woman sprawled beneath her—from the inside out.

And her own hands were clamped around the woman’s throat.

“I…” Her palms registered no living warmth. Mu Qian Tan’s mind went blank; she nearly screamed but could only gape her mouth and murmur repeatedly, “I… what’s happening to me?”

Her voice turned abruptly hoarse, her hands searing with fiery agony. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t!”

Realization dawned, and her scalp prickled as if exploding. Panic seized her, freezing her in place like a block of ice, unable to flee.

The woman, who should have rotted away in the snow, smiled slowly and mouthed the words one by one:

“You can’t shake me off.”

Mu Qian Tan bolted upright.

Her face was drained of all color, her chest heaving violently, cold sweat trickling down her back.

Her ears rang with her own subdued breaths as the nightmare ebbed away like retreating tidewater—like the black cloth draped over her head yanked aside. Her body gradually warmed. She sat rigidly motionless for a long while before sensation returned.

She leaned back against the headboard, propped up one leg, tugged the quilt over herself, buried her face in her palms, and quelled that faint tremor.

Enough of this.

The surroundings were utterly still, wrapped in evening’s unique tranquility. Waking alone at this hour usually left a hollow ache in the chest. Yet Mu Qian Tan felt as if rescued. She lowered her hands, tilted her head back, and sighed, coldness flooding her eyes.

Can’t shake me off?

Come chase me here if you’ve got the guts, you restless scumbag ghost.

The nap had been fitful; her forehead throbbed in waves, but her appetite had recovered somewhat. Mu Qian Tan rose from bed, draped on some clothes, and went downstairs for a light bite. Two bowls of hot tea and soft steamed buns warmed her stomach completely.

She folded the hand towel and dabbed her lips before asking the waiter, “Did a drunkard come out wandering around earlier?”

The waiter, clearing plates, replied, “Yes, honored guest. There was a girl, face bright red, who dashed out like a streak of smoke. She came back not long ago and went upstairs again.”

Just as expected—she had thrown her fit.

Mu Qian Tan nodded and headed upstairs. Before returning to her room, she remembered she still needed to check if that Brain-Damaged Dragon’s leg qi apertures had opened.

The Brain-Damaged Dragon had just finished her rampage outside, her energy spent; she ought to be snoring away now. Checking would not risk getting pestered. Mu Qian Tan hesitated a moment, then turned and walked toward another room.

The door stood slightly ajar. She pushed it open and saw both windows flung wide, gorgeous sunset hues flooding the room amid a thick wine fragrance. The girl in her wide-sleeved robe—patched everywhere—lay sprawled on the floor in an utterly casual pose.

What was this? Drunk to death?

Mu Qian Tan stepped inside. Her footsteps creaked faintly on the floorboards, startling the tree shadows across the ground. She waded into the sunset glow, stopped in front of the girl, hiked up her own skirt hem, and squatted down. With clear distaste, she pinched the girl’s hem between two fingers and lifted the fabric.

The girl’s two long legs were slender and perfectly proportioned, crossed together, her toes pressing red indents into the floor. Glancing ahead, she was indeed sleeping soundly; even with her clothes lifted, she showed no sign of noticing. Her small face, buried in a tangle of curls, flushed a deep crimson, wreathed in wine fumes.

While she slept, Mu Qian Tan placed her hand on the girl’s knee and slowly channeled spiritual power into it.

Moments later, several round golden rings emerged at her knee, ankle, and the juncture of thigh and waist. A qi meridian connected them, flowing with faint golden motes of light, pulsing as if alive.

The qi apertures had opened.

Likely during her drunken rampage outside.

Mu Qian Tan withdrew her hand, her mood indescribable.

This must be the talent everyone envied—a sure path to the peak, as if afraid the Brain-Damaged Dragon could not soar there.

She had once considered hijacking the female protagonist’s growth trajectory, but now it was clear: even treading the same path, slaying the same demons, consuming the same medicines, she could never match this one’s achievements.

Her thumb slowly pressed against her fingertips as Mu Qian Tan’s gaze darkened inscrutably.

“Master…”

Mu Qian Tan’s eyes sharpened as she looked ahead. The girl, who had been snoring moments ago, sat up and blinked her clear yet hazy eyes. “What are you doing?”

“…” Mu Qian Tan said, “Weren’t you asleep?”

Shang Shan’s skin was already pale and thin; now flushed from drink, it looked ready to bleed red. She mumbled, “I felt you come in.”

Sunset light flowed quietly through the room. Mu Qian Tan said, “Do you know your leg qi apertures have opened?”

Shang Shan reacted sluggishly, pausing before letting out a small “Ah” and hugging her knees. “They have?”

Mu Qian Tan said, “Yes.”

The motion of hugging her knees was too vigorous; her toes left the floor, and Shang Shan toppled backward. Her spine hit the ground, limbs splaying out. She blew at a few strands of hair across her face and sighed, “That’s great. I can get stronger now.”

Mu Qian Tan bit down lightly on her molars, her long lashes quivering faintly as she prepared to stand and leave. Shang Shan spoke again. “Master, you say such harsh things.”

Mu Qian Tan glanced at her. “What did I say?”

“You know, earlier today, in that… banquet hall. You wronged me, saying I didn’t want to kill because I feared the karma of taking a life.” Shang Shan rubbed her eyes with both hands. “I never thought that way.”

She had known this one would dredge up old grievances later. Mu Qian Tan scoffed. “You were the one hiding the facts. I was just speculating.”

Shang Shan said, “What if I speculated about you like that? Would you be happy?”

Mu Qian Tan said, “I’d beat you senseless.”

“See?” Shang Shan flailed her hands in dissatisfaction, complaining, “When it happens to you, you can’t tolerate it at all.”

A half-bowl of rice wine sat near the girl’s face. Mu Qian Tan picked it up. “Why didn’t I go straight after You Lianmeng for doubting me like that? Simple: I can’t beat her right now. But you? I could crush you with one hand. Why put up with you?”

Shang Shan pouted, huffing indignantly. “So you’re just bullying me because I’m not strong enough!”

Her words slurred, her tone wobbling drunkenly. “Then once I’m strong enough, you won’t be able to bully me anymore! I’ll bully you instead!”

With a splash, she upended the wine bowl, drenching the girl’s face in rice wine. Mu Qian Tan snorted coldly. “You even dream of ascending to the heavens.”

“You got it in my eyes…” Shang Shan patted her face with her hand and used her sleeve to wipe away the liquor as she chattered complaints from her mouth: “This is so dangerous. Eyes are very important. If they get damaged, how will I see things anymore?”

So delicate. What disaster could come from a mere splash of wine?

Mu Qian Tan didn’t want to deal with her. She braced her hands on her knees and moved to leave.

The girl suddenly turned her head and grabbed the hem of her skirt, her eyes shimmering with tears: “Master, you make me so sad.”