# Chapter 1: The Drunkard (Part One)
Page 1 of 3 — Chapter 1: The Drunkard (Part One)
A warm spring breeze caressed the face, and the willows breathed forth their tender green. The red sun hung high, and the sunlight fell soft and mild.
The Bian River. Its waters shimmered with a clear, rippling light, gliding past like silk. Pleasure boats shuttled back and forth across the surface, and from them drifted now the delicate strains of a zither, now peals of laughter, now the resonant cadence of someone reciting verse — the whole scene alive with noise and gaiety.
Along both banks, willows swayed in graceful rows. Sunlight fell upon their pale green leaves, lending them a lustrous, jade-like sheen, as though they had just been washed with water — a sight of uncommon beauty.
The streets flanking the river were even more resplendent, bustling with an unceasing flow of people: some shouldered carrying-poles and hurried on their way, others drove donkeys laden with goods, while a number of refined scholars and gentlemen lingered by the water's edge to admire the scenery, occasionally reciting a line or two of poetry. On either side, buildings rose in close succession — teahouses, taverns, pawnshops, workshops, and the like.
This street was known as Bian River Avenue, and it could be considered the very heart of the capital, Bianjing.
On the western side of a great arched bridge stood a three-storied pavilion, its eaves sweeping outward in graceful curves, its towers and galleries commanding an air of grandeur.
Suspended from the eaves of the second floor was a large signboard bearing three bold characters in vermilion: Zuixian Ju — the Tavern of the Drunken Immortal.
As the name implied, it was plainly a wine establishment.
At that moment, beneath the eaves to the left of the tavern's main entrance, a drunkard lay sprawled face-down, motionless, with no sign of whether he lived or breathed. In recent times, with war breaking out in all directions, refugees had been flooding into the city in ever-growing numbers, and so passersby had long since ceased to find such sights remarkable. At most, they spared a brief glance of curiosity at the drunkard's clothing.
The man wore a black tunic and black trousers, with narrow cuffs and a collar folded outward, beneath which showed a white inner garment. On his feet were a pair of glossy black boots — or at least something that resembled boots, yet was not quite like any boots one would ordinarily see, which made them rather peculiar.
Outside the tavern, carriages and horses streamed past in an endless procession, the street full of life and clamor. Inside, however, it was cold and quiet, with scarcely a customer to be seen.
Separated by nothing more than a single doorway, the contrast was so stark it could not fail to arouse curiosity.
In the main hall on the ground floor stood only two figures: the proprietor and a waiter. The proprietor was a man of about fifty, wearing a yuanwai-style cap and a long robe of yellow silk, with a beard of mingled black and white. He stood behind the counter, one hand gripping a writing brush, the other working the beads of a black abacus on the table before him.
The waiter was no more than sixteen or seventeen, with a raw and youthful face. He wore a long blue gown and a small blue cap, a white cloth draped over his left shoulder, and leaned against the doorframe with an air of listless boredom.
The old proprietor had written only halfway through his accounts when he suddenly stopped, as though something had come to mind. He craned his neck and peered out through the doorway. After a moment, he beckoned to the waiter at the entrance and called out: "Liuzi."
The waiter called Liuzi, seeing the proprietor summon him, quickly stepped forward. "Uncle, what is it?" he asked.
The old proprietor tilted his chin toward the door and said quietly: "Go and see whether that drunkard has left. It's been half the day and there hasn't been a sound from him."
Liuzi replied with undisguised impatience: "Hah, Uncle, we can barely look after ourselves as it is — why bother with him?"
The old proprietor pulled a long face and waved his hand dismissively. "Go, go, go. When I tell you to go, you go. Stop your grumbling, or I'll give you a thrashing."
"Fine."
Cowed by the proprietor's authority, Liuzi let out a halfhearted grunt, hung his head, and shuffled over to where the drunkard lay. He crouched down and gave the man a gentle push. "Hey, hey, hey — are you dead yet?"
"Mmm—!"
The drunkard muttered something in his sleep and turned his head toward the corner of the wall.
"Well, he's sleeping soundly enough, I'll give him that."
Liuzi found the sight both irritating and faintly amusing. He called out a few more times, but getting no response whatsoever, he returned to the counter and reported: "Still asleep."
The old proprietor sighed and shook his head. "All right, all right. Go on then."
---
Page 2 of 3
Busy?
Liuzi glanced left and right at the empty hall, his face a picture of gloom. He would have liked to be busy — but there had to be something to be busy with.
"Waiter! Waiter!"
Just then, a shout rang down from the second floor.
Surely not — could it really be that timely?
Liuzi broke into a cold sweat.
"What are you standing there gaping for? Get up there and attend to the guests!" the old proprietor snapped, seeing Liuzi frozen in place.
"Yes, yes, yes!"
Liuzi gave a start, snatched up a pot of tea, and hurried upstairs.
The situation on the second floor was little better than below. Only the innermost table, the one beside the window, was occupied — by two young men in the dress of scholars. The one seated on the inside wore a long white robe; the one on the outside wore green.
Liuzi approached the table, bowing slightly, a smile spread across his face. "Gentlemen, how may I—"
"Bang!"
Before Liuzi could finish, the scholar in white suddenly slammed his palm on the table and leapt to his feet, his face flushed with anger. He jabbed a finger at the three dishes on the table. "You impudent waiter — how dare you make a fool of me! Tell me, what in heaven's name is this you've brought us?"
Liuzi flinched with a start. His sharp black eyes darted over the three dishes, and he murmured quietly: "Lotus seed soup, braised beef in sauce, and stir-fried duck feet." He furrowed his brow, thought for a moment, and said with some trepidation: "Sir, I don't believe I've brought the wrong dishes — those are indeed the three items you ordered."
"Hmph. The dishes are not wrong," the scholar in white said with a cold smile, his tone shifting sharply. "But this lotus seed soup is so sweet it makes one's teeth ache. This braised beef is so salty it's impossible to swallow. And as for these stir-fried duck feet — they are harder than stone. I would not call this fit for human consumption; in fact, I daresay it falls below the standard of pig's slop. This is absolutely outrageous."
The scholar in white spoke with such vehemence that spittle flew from his lips; Liuzi listened with cold sweat streaming down his back.
A few years ago, he might have assumed the two men had come simply to cause trouble. But now, the moment he thought of that bald old man in the kitchen, his heart began to pound with dread. "This — this, sir," he stammered, "I wonder if there might perhaps be some misunderstanding?"
"Misunderstanding? It seems you won't shed a tear until you see the coffin."
The scholar in white gave a cold laugh, snatched up the chopsticks before him, and flung them at Liuzi's feet. "Taste it yourself," he said curtly.
"Yes, yes, of course! Right away, sir!"
Liuzi picked up the chopsticks from the floor and gazed at the three dishes, swallowing hard, a flicker of dread in his eyes. He ladled a small spoonful of the lotus seed soup into his mouth — it was indeed so sweet he thought his teeth might fall out. He grimaced, then picked up a piece of beef and placed it in his mouth. The moment he began to chew, his eyes clenched shut and his brows knotted together so tightly they nearly merged. This was not beef — it was pure salt.
He did not dare chew further and forced himself to swallow it whole. But the moment it went down, his stomach heaved, and with a wretched sound he brought it back up again.
The scholar in white watched with a cold smile. "Well? Have I slandered you unjustly?"
"I am so sorry, so sorry! I will have it replaced at once!" Liuzi bent low, apologizing repeatedly.
"That won't be necessary," said the scholar in white, shaking his head. He pointed his folding fan at the three dishes, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "You need only eat every last bit of these three dishes, and I shall say no more about the matter."
To eat those three dishes would be no better than fighting a pig for its feed.
Liuzi went pale as a sheet, his legs trembling beneath him.
The scholar in green, seated nearby, felt a pang of sympathy at the sight of the young waiter — he was still practically a child. He rose and clasped his hands in a respectful gesture. "Brother Changyuan, please calm yourself. There is no need to quarrel with a waiter over this. How about this: let me be the host, and we shall invite a few friends to join us at the Feicui Pavilion across the way, share some wine and compose some verses. What say you, Brother Changyuan?"
---
Page 3 of 3
The scholar in white considered this and found it reasonable enough. After all, he was a man of letters — to bicker with a mere waiter was beneath his dignity. He clasped his hands in return. "Well said, Brother Shaoguan." With that, he gave a long sweep of his sleeve and descended the stairs with the scholar in green.
Before leaving, the scholar in green set a few coins of silver on the table.
These men of culture held themselves in high regard and were keenly sensitive to matters of face. Even if they had walked out without paying a single coin, no one could have faulted them — the food had been inedible. But they would never allow a meal's worth of silver to become a source of gossip and ridicule.
Once they had gone downstairs, Liuzi let out a long breath of relief. He stared blankly at the three dishes still sitting on the table and sighed: "Well. That's that — everyone's gone."
---
Night had deepened, and a chill wind stirred the darkness. Aside from the pleasure quarters, where music and laughter never ceased, every tavern and teahouse had shuttered its doors.
"Ah — when will any of this ever improve?"
The old proprietor of the Tavern of the Drunken Immortal finished tallying the day's accounts at the counter and could not suppress a sigh. The entire day had yielded a single transaction — and even that customer had been driven away in anger. A revenue so pitiable was enough to make one weep.
"It's nearly the third watch. Liuzi, close up the doors." Then, as if remembering something, the old proprietor added: "Oh, and Liuzi — take those leftover scraps from the guest's meal and bring them out to that drunkard at the door."
"Yes, Uncle."
Liuzi answered and headed toward the kitchen, muttering under his breath: "I really don't know what Uncle is thinking. We've got no business as it is — and keeping that drunkard sleeping at the entrance will only drive away whatever customers might still come."
His voice was low, but the old proprietor caught every word. He heaved another long sigh.
Liuzi carried out from the kitchen the three nauseating bowls of leftover food and set them on the ground in front of the drunkard. "Hey, hey, hey," he called out without much grace. "Food's here."
The drunkard shifted, let out a few grunts, then suddenly snapped his eyes open. In an instant he scrambled upright, seized Liuzi's arms in both hands with a grip like iron, and asked in a tense, urgent voice: "What is today's date? Where is this place?"
"Ow, ow — let go of me first, you're hurting me!" Liuzi yelped, pain shooting through his arms.
His cries seemed to jolt the drunkard back to his senses. He released his grip at once and looked Liuzi over with bloodshot eyes. The intensity in his gaze faded into a dull, hollow dimness.
Liuzi rubbed his arms, scowling with displeasure. "I've told you how many times already — this is Dongjing, the city of Bianliang. The date is the seventh day of the second month, in the fourth year of Xuanhe."
In all his years, Liuzi had never encountered such a peculiar drunkard. The man would drink himself into a stupor, and upon waking would behave like a madman, grabbing anyone nearby and demanding to know the date and his whereabouts. When told, he would sink into a deep dejection — and then proceed to drink himself senseless all over again.
At the sound of Liuzi's cry, the old proprietor hurried out to see what was happening. He found the drunkard standing with his head bowed, swaying unsteadily on his feet, murmuring something over and over under his breath.
The old proprietor first waved Liuzi inside with a quiet gesture.
Liuzi cast a glance at the drunkard and went back into the tavern.
Once Liuzi had gone, the old proprietor called out gently: "Young man. Young man."
The drunkard looked up with a slight start. "Uncle, are you calling for me?"
The word "uncle" made the old proprietor smile. He nodded. "Forgive an old man's presumption — may I ask your name, young man? And where do you hail from?"
"Oh — my name is Li Qi. My home is—" He stopped. His voice caught in his throat, and his eyes grew moist.
(End of Chapter)