Chapter 387 Wedding Gift

Chapter 387: Wedding Gift

Cheng Ge's gaze darted around nervously. He pulled a relatively clean plain handkerchief from inside his robe and carefully began wiping the grease off the dagger.

After a few wipes, the oily sheen faded, revealing the dagger's original cold, sharp lines and the gemstone pearl embedded in the antler handle that now seemed especially conspicuous.

Cheng Ge's breath caught again. He forced out a dry, deeply guilty laugh.

His gaze flickered toward Wuliji, his voice a little shaky from nerves, and he muttered in an almost self-deceiving tone:

"Well... wh-what if I said... this dagger... I accidentally... f-found it... would you believe me?"

After speaking, Cheng Ge's ears were burning red. His eyes stayed fixed on the ground, not daring to meet Wuliji's gaze.

Wuliji: "..."

Wuliji didn't respond immediately.

The bonfire flickered and danced, its orange-red glow lighting his profile and making Cheng Ge's face grow hotter and hotter.

Cheng Ge held up the half-cleaned dagger, his arm gradually growing sore, his stomach in knots.

He could even feel the Northern Di man's probing stare, as well as the faint, curious looks coming from the onlookers around them.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly, every breath was an ordeal.

Just as Cheng Ge was about to break, Wuliji reached out and poured a bowl of fermented mare's milk.

He replied with total flatness: "Mm."

Cheng Ge: "...?"

The reaction was too calm—so calm it made Cheng Ge uneasy.

Before he could figure it out, Wuliji took the dagger from his hand.

The calloused fingertips brushed against his own, the touch so clear that Cheng Ge shuddered again.

He watched helplessly as the "evidence" fell into the hands of the "victim," his heart nearly jumping into his throat.

He thought Wuliji might suddenly lunge and stab him dead with it!

But before he could dwell on it further, a plate of sliced meat was pushed in front of him.

Cheng Ge: "..."

Cheng Ge opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but it felt like a wad of wool was stuck in his throat—not a single word would come out.

Wuliji looked at him, his gaze pausing briefly on Cheng Ge's still slightly puffed cheeks.

"...Eat slowly."

He paused, as if to confirm, then added a single, pointed word:

"...Choke."

Cheng Ge immediately looked away, nearly burying his face in the meat.

His mind was in chaos—the dagger and Wuliji's word "choke" kept spinning in his head.

Just then, a burst of crisp laughter drew near.

Tana walked over carrying a wine bowl, her face flushed with the unique blend of shyness and joy typical of a new bride.

She first respectfully offered wine to Wuliji, offering a few words of blessing and thanks.

Wuliji accepted it, downed it in one gulp, and nodded.

Then, Tana turned to Cheng Ge, her eyes crinkling into crescents, and spoke in stiff but friendly Great Zhou speech:

"Guest from afar... thank you for your blessings and gifts... I drink to you."

Cheng Ge almost didn't react in time, stunned for a second before hurriedly picking up the bowl of fermented mare's milk that Wuliji had just poured.

They clinked bowls, and Cheng Ge tilted his head back, downing it in one shot.

The sweet-sour aftertaste of the mare's milk spread through his mouth, carrying hints of dairy and alcohol, easing some of the turmoil in his chest.

He licked his lips with a satisfied smack, set down the wine bowl, and was about to sit back down to continue wrestling with the plate of meat and his tangled thoughts—

But then, Tana suddenly reached out and grabbed his wrist!

Her grip was firm, with the distinctive strength and warmth of a prairie girl.

Cheng Ge: "???" He froze solid, looking up at Tana in shock.

Her face beamed with a bright smile, her eyes clear and open—nothing improper about it, she was just... pulling him.

A young Northern Di man watching nearby immediately laughed and called out loudly in Great Zhou speech: "This is an invitation for you to dance together! Hey, guest!"

Dance?!

Cheng Ge's face turned even redder in an instant. The alcohol he'd just drunk seemed to rush straight to his head, making his ears burn and his head spin.

"I-I'm not very good at dancing... uh..." Cheng Ge tried to decline, his voice weak.

But Tana ignored him, laughing as she pulled harder, her tone bright: "It's easy... just follow everyone!"

Quite a few people around had already turned to look, cheering and clapping with friendly enthusiasm.

Pushed along by the lively atmosphere, Cheng Ge allowed himself to be half-dragged, half-willingly pulled to his feet by Tana.

She led him to the most lively circle by the bonfire.

Tana released his hand and began dancing to the beat of the drums herself.

Her movements weren't complicated—even somewhat casual—but every turn and every step carried the unique boldness and vitality of children of the grasslands.

Her skirt flew, the ornaments in her hair tinkled, glinting brilliantly in the firelight.

Cheng Ge watched, a little dazed, but caught up in the spirit. He clumsily copied those around him, trying to follow the rhythm—kicking, waving, spinning.

At first his limbs were stiff, moving with his arms and legs out of sync, drawing waves of good-natured laughter from the crowd.

But he was thick-skinned and didn't feel too embarrassed. Gradually he loosened up, dancing more and more enthusiastically.

People around him joined in one after another, the dancing circle growing bigger and bigger.

Cheng Ge wove through the crowd, his dance partners swapping out one after another.

Young women, sturdy men, faces he didn't know, yet at this moment they felt incredibly familiar.

The blazing fire and sweat-soaked faces chased away the winter night's chill completely.

Cheng Ge danced until he was drenched in sweat, panting heavily, yet his chest was filled with a simple, pure joy he'd never felt since coming to this world.

He laughed, spun around, and amidst the leaping shadows and the enthusiastic crowd, he briefly became a simple "Cheng Ge" who could just have fun without a care.

Cheng Ge drank a fair amount, and by the end, he was pretty wasted.

He forgot all his worries, feeling his blood boil with the drums and the laughter.

Someone pressed another bowl of wine into his hand, and without a second thought, he tipped his head back and chugged it.

The spicy, milky drink slid down his throat, leaving a burning, pleasant warmth.

He raised the empty bowl high, facing the dying bonfire and the small groups of people still chatting and laughing.

He yelled at the top of his lungs, his voice hoarse from booze and full of reckless spirit: "Keep the music going! Keep dancing—!!!"

After yelling, he burst out laughing, but his feet stumbled and he almost ate dirt.

A burly man nearby, equally flushed from drink, quickly steadied him, laughing heartily and slapping him on the back.

The night deepened, the bonfire's glow faded, leaving only a pile of dark embers and a few stray sparks.

A sharp night wind suddenly blew through, carrying off the last smell of roasted meat and warmth.

Wuliji had gotten up at some point and now stood before him.

His tall figure blocked the faint glow of the embers and the cold moonlight behind him, throwing a long shadow over Cheng Ge.

"Yuli..." Wuliji spoke, his voice heavier and steadier than the night wind, "Let's head back."

Cheng Ge swayed, his vision blurring and doubling, barely able to make out Wuliji's face, only hearing the voice buzzing in his ears.

He strained to open his eyes wide, trying to focus, but his sight kept blurring.

He shook his head, leaned in close, almost pressing against Wuliji's chest, before he could make out the man's brows and tight lips.

He stared for a few seconds, then suddenly let out a "pfft" laugh, eyes glazed, cheeks flushed.

He extended a finger, pointing shakily at Wuliji's nose, slurring his words:

"Ri... ride the horse! I... I wanna ride the horse!!"

...

There was a faint crunch of dry grass and frozen earth underfoot, and the night wind howled past his ears.

His view suddenly shot up, and he saw swaying stars and the blurry outlines of distant tents.

Cheng Ge sat there dizzy atop an unusually broad, steady "mount."

He grabbed the braid in Wuliji's hair, holding on tight, swaying with the "mount's" steps.

The cold wind hit him, waking up the booze, and he began to howl, his voice drifting far into the empty night:

"The horse-wrangling man—you are mighty and strong! The galloping steed is like... *hic*!"

He let out a loud hiccup, nearly choking himself, shook his head, and continued yelling, "Like a whirlwind—!!!"

After shouting, he felt it wasn't enough, a random burst of boldness rushing to his head.

He straightened his back, one hand still gripping the "reins," the other swinging out with a flourish.

As if facing a vast army, his words turned fancy and fierce:

"I've got a Red Hare horse that crosses water like it's flat land—what do I have to fear! The lords beyond the pass, Bu sees them as nothing but weeds!

I would raise a fierce army, behead them all, and hang their heads at the city gate!"

He paused, as if recalling something, then suddenly raised his voice and roared: "Fangtian Halberd—come!"

With that "come," his free hand shot up, then—with a resounding, crisp smack—slapped down hard on the head of the "mount" below!

"Yah—!!!"

This "yah" rang out with full vigor, crystal clear in the silent winter night, startling a few barks from dogs in nearby tents.

Wuliji's steps paused barely noticeably.

Cheng Ge on his shoulder, jolted by the slap's recoil and his own force, lurched backward, nearly toppling over.

Wuliji's hand, which had been steadying his waist, tightened instantly, pulling him back securely and plopping him back on his shoulder.

Instead of calming down, Cheng Ge got even more hyped up from the rescue.

He tugged at the braid in his hand, as if urging a horse, slurring, "Run... run!"

He squirmed and leaned forward restlessly on Wuliji's broad shoulder, trying to create a "galloping" effect, making Wuliji hold him steady.

The night wind grew fiercer, making Cheng Ge's booze-soaked head spin even more, yet bringing a reckless thrill.

He felt the "mount" speed up a bit. It wasn't a "whirlwind," but the steady bounce and the faster wind in his ears gave him a kid-like thrill.

"Yes! Just like that! Run!" he shouted excitedly again, grabbing the "reins" with both hands, his body swaying gently with the rhythm.

Wuliji did break into a light jog. His strides were small but steady and powerful, enough to let the drunk on his shoulder enjoy the "ride" without risking a fall.

One hand remained firmly on Cheng Ge's waist, the other held out a bit for balance.

The cold moonlight spread over the endless grassland and winding trails.

Two figures—one tall, carrying another who flailed and babbled drunkenly—"ran" through the winter night's wind in a weird scene.

Cheng Ge finally content, stopped shouting, and just slumped over Wuliji, letting him carry him back to the warm tent.

Wuliji carefully lowered him from his shoulder and set him down on the couch.

Cheng Ge, deeply drunk, curled up as soon as he touched the soft blanket, muttering nonsense but not waking.

Though the tent was warmer than outside, the winter chill still seeped in.

Wuliji frowned, bent down to remove his dust-and-grass-stained shoes and socks, then pulled over a woolen blanket, wrapping him up carefully and tucking in the edges.

The customs of the Northern Di tribe differed from those of the Great Zhou; even the Chief often handled matters personally, and weren't used to having a bunch of servants do everything for them.

Wuliji was used to self-sufficiency, and though not meticulous in caring for others, he was steady and thoughtful.

Cheng Ge was naturally frail, and even inside the tent, his hands and feet quickly turned cold.

Wuliji touched his forehead—it was slightly cool.

He got up, intending to light the charcoal brazier in the corner of the tent to warm it up.

He picked up charcoal and a flint, and had just pushed aside the heavy felt curtain and stepped back in when he stopped in his tracks.

There was Cheng Ge, who had been sprawled out drunk moments ago, somehow up on his own.

He was now swaying unsteadily by the corner of the tent, huffing and puffing as he... dragged something.

The thing was dark and heavy, glinting cold and metallic in the dim light. It was sizable, and Cheng Ge was painstakingly inching it out of the corner.

Drunk and weak as he was, the dragging was a real struggle—his cheeks flushed red from the effort, and even fine beads of sweat broke out on his temples.

Wuliji recognized it at a glance—it was his usual battle pair, the Sky-Shattering Hammers.

These hammers were brutally heavy, nothing like ordinary weapons—massive heads, jagged edges, forged entirely from refined iron.

They still had dark, stubborn stains that wouldn't wash off, and just looking at them sent a chill down your spine, radiating menace.

Afraid they'd scare Cheng Ge, Wuliji had deliberately stashed these fierce weapons in an out-of-the-way corner of the tent, even covering them slightly with a piece of felt cloth.

But somehow, this drunkard had gone and found them.

"..." Wuliji frowned slightly, set down the charcoal and flint, and strode over.

Cheng Ge didn't seem to notice anyone was there, still wrestling with the heavy hammer, muttering under his breath:

"...Cui Ji... won't teach me... I'll... practice on my own..."

As he spoke, he tried to kick the unmoving hammer handle with his foot.