Chapter 388 I’m Not Cui Ji
Chapter 388 I’m Not Cui Ji
Chapter 388: I'm Not Cui Ji
Cheng Ge declared, riding a wave of drunken resolve, and stooped to grab the Sky-Shattering Hammer nearest him.
His fingers had just brushed the icy handle when he threw his weight into it, and he actually managed to wrench the heavy weapon a few inches out of the corner!
He gasped for air, cheeks flushed red from the strain, sweat prickling at his temples.
Then, gripping the handle with both hands, he summoned every ounce of strength, clumsily imitating how he figured a weapon was supposed to be swung, and heaved it up, attempting a wrist flick—
However, the hammer's weight and momentum, way beyond what he'd bargained for, instantly turned on him!
The hammer head didn't "swing" like he'd pictured; instead, like a hunk of rooted iron, it yanked his whole body forward into a clumsy lurch!
He completely lost his balance, and he was about to face-plant with the hammer, or worse, get flattened by the heavy head!
In a flash, a figure shot past with a gust of wind!
Wuliji moved with shocking speed, his long arm snapping out to snag Cheng Ge around the waist and haul him back.
Meanwhile, his other hand clamped onto the falling hammer like an iron vise, setting it back down without a sound, as if the terrifying weight were just a feather.
Cheng Ge got yanked into a hard, warm chest, the booze and the scare leaving him dizzy.
Before he could get his bearings, Wuliji half-carried, half-steered him back to the bed and shoved him into the still-warm blankets.
"Lie still... don't move." Wuliji's voice brooked no argument, his brow furrowed, clearly pissed about the dangerous stunt.
But Cheng Ge was never one to stay put. His "toy" was gone, and the booze had cranked his obsession with learning the hammer up to eleven.
Throw in the frustration of almost eating dirt, and he squirmed like a fish on dry land, thrashing under the blanket, kicking and flailing.
The thick wool blanket got kicked into a total mess while he mumbled, slurred but stubborn: "The hammer! Mine... I wanna practice! Ugh—!"
Wuliji watched him twist into a pretzel under the blanket, face red and neck veins popping in his drunken state, knowing full well that arguing with a drunk was like talking to a brick wall.
He took a deep breath, resigned, and "dug" Cheng Ge back out from under the covers.
Moving quickly, he first grabbed his cold feet, warming them with his own bare palms.
Then he grabbed the wool socks nearby, carefully pulled them on, and laced up his boots in a hurry.
Next, he straightened the crooked, rumpled inner robe, tied it right, grabbed the heavy outer coat, and bundled him from head to toe into an airtight "ball," leaving only his face out.
Once dressed, Cheng Ge went right back to wrestling with the hammer, the head nearly clipping his own foot several times in scary close calls.
Wuliji rubbed his temples, feeling his pulse pound.
Wuliji stepped forward, hefting both Sky-Shattering Hammers like they were nothing, stashing them behind himself, completely blocking Cheng Ge's view and his plan.
Cheng Ge swayed, like a drunk reed bogged down by all the heavy layers.
He stared hard at Wuliji, his eyes foggy with booze, something in them fighting to focus.
Then, out of nowhere, he spread his puffy, bundled arms and lunged forward, latching onto Wuliji's waist in a tight hug!
Wuliji went rigid!
As if hit by the coldest ice or tied up by invisible ropes, every muscle in his body locked up in an instant, not even a fingertip budging.
A warm body, reeking of booze and a hint of sweat, pressed up tight against him.
Even through the thick clothes, the sudden, total trust and the hug hit him like a lightning bolt, leaving him completely frozen.
Cheng Ge's scent—mixed with the tent's brazier warmth and the leftover sweetness of milk wine—flooded Wuliji's senses, forceful and unreasonable.
"...Cui Ji..." Cheng Ge buried his hot cheek against Wuliji's chest, mumbling through his nose with a hint of unconscious pleading, letting out a tiny hiccup, "...teach me... hic... please..."
Warm breath cut through the not-too-thick winter clothes, scorching his skin.
That slurred, drunk, fragile "please" hit like a thin ice needle, stabbing some soft spot in Wuliji's chest, sending a sharp, aching jolt through him.
Wuliji: "..."
His hands at his sides clenched tight, veins popping on the backs, his temples throbbing.
The man in his arms leaned on him, limp and totally defenseless, yet muttering another man's name.
A strange, fierce emotion surged through Wuliji's chest.
Not just anger, but something laced with bitterness and suffocation, clogging his throat.
He tightened his arms slightly, easing Cheng Ge back a little from his chest.
Gripping his puffy, bundled shoulders, he leaned down, forcing those hazy, unfocused but stubborn drunk eyes to meet his.
The tent's firelight flickered, throwing their shadows onto the felt walls, stretched long, almost blending together.
In the dim light, their faces were inches apart, every eyelash flutter visible, their breaths quietly tangling.
Wuliji's gaze was heavy, boring into the drunken fog in Cheng Ge's eyes.
Word by word, his voice low and rough but clear, dead serious in a way he'd never been, trying to cut through the booze: "I... am not Cui Ji."
Cheng Ge, jolted by his stern tone and stare, blinked blankly, his thick lashes fluttering like startled butterfly wings.
He seemed to dig through his scrambled brain, searching, identifying, sorting.
The heavy alcohol fog seemed to lift a little under the weight of the serious mood and that focused stare.
A faint sliver of clarity fought its way up from the depths of his memory.
He stared at Wuliji for a long few seconds, his look careful, slow, almost sizing him up.
It drifted over his brow, the bridge of his nose, his pressed-together, unusually hard lips, and the features the prairie winds had carved.
Then, like he'd finally fit the right pieces together from a jumble of fuzzy fragments.
His lips curled up, slow and easy, and he said with a bright smile: "I know..."
He dragged out his words, his voice soft and syrupy from the booze, but his tone was rock-solid sure.
Wuliji's heart slammed in his chest, some unexpected premonition tightening his throat, his pulse skipping a beat.
He stayed quiet, not answering, just his gaze going deeper, like he was trying to see straight through the drunk.
Cheng Ge's smile grew, his eyes curving into pretty crescents, catching the dancing firelight.
He leaned in again, held back by the size difference and the fact that he was bundled up like a ball.
The warm breath, still carrying the lingering scent of wine, sprayed all over Wuliji's neck and the hard line of his jaw, sending a faint but impossible-to-ignore tingle through him.
He tipped his head back, beaming, like he was letting him in on a secret only the two of them shared.
Slowly, clearly, word by word, like he was chanting some ancient, mysterious spell:
"You are... Wu, Sa, Qi."
Wuliji: "..."
Time itself seemed to snag on something invisible, grinding to a halt.
The fire crackled. The north wind howled outside the tent.
Wuliji's eyes locked onto Cheng Ge's face—so close, flushed with drink, that smile blazing bright.
He had no idea which other random guy Cheng Ge had picked up somewhere "Wu Sa Qi" was, and the sour knot in his chest was impossible to put into words.
They stayed like that, pressed close, Cheng Ge still looking up at him, the flush from the wine still burning on his cheeks, his eyes wet and shining with drink and mirth, startlingly bright.
He inched up on his toes (not that it did much good), closing that last tiny gap until their breath practically tangled together.
"You..." His voice came out barely above a whisper, but his eyes were dead serious, staring straight into Wuliji's. "...teach me to wield the hammer."
Wuliji's whole body went taut as a drawn bow, every muscle pulled to the breaking point.
The man in his arms was soft, burning up, all over the place—yet every word, every move hit exactly where he least expected it, where he had no defense, turning his usual cool-headed composure into total chaos.
Swinging a hammer in the middle of the night? Was the guy out of his damn mind?
But the refusal was already sitting on the tip of his tongue—he could feel his jaw muscles twitching from the strain, teeth clenched so hard they ached.
Yet—
Just as he was about to spit out that "no," Cheng Ge made another move.
Not content with the distance between them anymore, he tilted his head and, with total trust, pressed his hot, sweat-damp forehead into the hollow of Wuliji's neck.
It was a pose of complete surrender, almost clingy, like he was asking to be sheltered.
Then, still pressed there, he tilted his face up—from that angle, all he could see was Wuliji's clenched jaw and the sharp bob of his Adam's apple.
He blinked, and his long lashes practically swept across the skin of Wuliji's neck.
In a voice so quiet it was almost just air, but perfectly clear, he whispered: "...Can I?"
Wuliji's hand clenched. His knuckles gave a faint crack from the force.
The emotion churning in his chest finally smashed through the last dam of reason, turning into a scorching flood that swallowed him whole, down to the marrow of his bones.
"Can I?" Those two words dropped like the softest feather, yet sent waves crashing through the still lake of his heart.
Like the sharpest hook, they slipped through every guard and sank straight into the most hidden part of him.
A draft slipped through the gap in the felt curtain, bringing a chill, but it couldn't cut through the thick, scorching air inside the tent.
Wuliji lowered his head, so slowly it was almost painful, his dark gaze like iron chains, locking onto the face of the man in his arms—tipped up, flushed with drink, full of pure, naked expectation.
Wuliji's Adam's apple bobbed hard, but the refusal never made it out.
He slowly unclenched his fist, but his arm stayed wrapped around Cheng Ge's waist.
He guided Cheng Ge back two steps, putting some distance between them and that pair of heavy Sky-Shattering Hammers.
Cheng Ge went with him, face still lifted, eyes still foggy but stubbornly fixed on him, like he was waiting for an answer.
Wuliji didn't look at him. His gaze swept over the weapons in the corner, then moved to the pile of junk on the other side of the tent, like he was looking for something.
A moment later, he let go of Cheng Ge, walked over to the pile, dug around for a bit, and pulled out a pair of things.
They were a pair of short-handled hammers, a lot smaller and lighter, with round, smooth heads.
No vicious edges like the Sky-Shattering Hammers—just plain, solid iron.
They looked more like training tools or something ceremonial—no killing aura at all, and they were even dusty from sitting around unused.
Wuliji brought the little hammers back and stopped in front of Cheng Ge. He didn't hand them over right away—he held them himself, tested their weight, then looked up at Cheng Ge.
"Watch... learn." His voice was low, flat, but dead serious.
Cheng Ge's eyes went wide, fighting to focus. The drunkenness seemed to fade a little at this sudden "lesson," leaving only total concentration.
Wuliji didn't say anything else. He planted his feet, took a deep breath, and his eyes went sharp and focused.
Even with the much lighter training hammers, his whole presence shifted in an instant, like he was still holding the mountain-cracking Sky-Shattering Hammers.
He settled into a stable stance, dipped his waist and back, stretched his arms out—then he moved.
The movements weren't fast—slow, deliberate, and clean.
He ran through the most basic moves: lift, swing, smash, block.
Every move drove force straight through the handle—steady, powerful, with clean lines, carrying the stripped-down precision of a thousand hard repetitions.
The training hammers were light, but in his hands they felt heavy as hell, the air cutting low and oppressive with each swing.
There was a faint edge of battlefield bloodlust to it, but it was held in perfect check—not wild, just commanding.
No flashy tricks—he just showed, as plainly as possible, how power starts in the waist and legs, runs up through the shoulders and arms, and lands in the head of the hammer.
The dim firelight threw his swinging silhouette onto the felt wall, stretched and shifting, like some giant hunter out of an ancient mural.
Cheng Ge watched without blinking, barely even breathing.
He had this weird natural gift for anything to do with raw power—the alcohol didn't dull his senses, it sharpened some instinct instead.
His eyes tracked Wuliji's every move, fingers unconsciously tracing along his own thick-clothed thigh, copying the angles and paths of the force.
Wuliji finished the demo, stopped, looked at Cheng Ge, and handed him one of the training hammers.
Cheng Ge took it—way lighter than the Sky-Shattering Hammers, sure, but for someone drunk and running on empty, it still had some heft.
He copied Wuliji's stance from a second ago, called up the moves he'd just watched, and tried to swing it.
At first, predictably clumsy—feet unsteady, arms weak, form all over the place, almost sending himself sprawling more than once.
Wuliji stood off to the side, not saying a word, just watching with that calm gaze, and only occasionally shooting a hand out to steady him or catch the hammer before he dropped it or went down.
"Happy New Year to everyone in advance—hope you all stay healthy in the coming year. And a little extra love for those who create from the heart."