Chapter 471 Drink

Chapter 471: Drinking

The eunuch bearing the edict stood on the marble steps, holding a bright yellow scroll, and stepped forward.

His voice was shrill, dragging a long tail, echoing across the empty square.

"By the grace of Heaven, the Emperor decrees:

I hold that the peace of the state rests upon loyal ministers; the court's authority must rely on the brave and loyal.

Thus, you, Cheng Ge, are upright by nature, sharp-witted and discerning, unflinching in adversity, and devoted in times of crisis.

In investigating the Yuanzhou case, you did not shy from the powerful, swept away long-standing abuses, and set things right at the root.

During the palace upheaval, when rebels breached the gates, you led a lone force, fought without retreat, your loyalty and valor reaching the heavens."

The eunuch's voice paused, each word hammering into the ears of the assembled officials.

Cheng Ge bowed his head before the steps, the cloud patterns on the stone bricks were worn smooth in most places, leaving only faint traces.

The eunuch's voice rose again, higher than before, as if it struck the crimson walls and echoed back, layer upon layer.

"I have heard that when ancient emperors rose, they always had ministers destined for greatness, whose loyalty blazed and whose deeds shone bright.

I rely on you to secure the state, and you have shielded me with your own body. Your merit lies with the nation, and your deeds are engraved on bronze vessels of honor.

Therefore, I hereby bestow upon you the title of Marquis of Taining, with a fief of three thousand households, a suit of gold armor, fifty thousand taels of silver, three thousand bolts of silk, and two imperial steeds.

In addition, you are appointed Commander of the Five Military Commands, Superintendent of the Capital Garrison, with the rank of Junior Guardian of the Crown Prince.

Furthermore, in recognition of your outstanding deeds, which ordinary rewards cannot fully match, I bestow upon you an Iron Deed, pardoning all crimes except treason.

You are granted a python robe and a golden belt, and may enter court bearing a sword, walk at your own pace, and be addressed by name without formal titles.

Also bestowed is a marquis's mansion outside Chongwen Gate, five hundred mu of fertile land in the suburbs, and a plaque reading 'Taining Marquis Mansion,' to be built under the supervision of the Ministry of Works.

May you stay vigilant and not fail my favor. Thus decreed."

As the last word fell, the square fell silent for a moment.

The wind picked up again, and the bronze bells at the hall's corner chimed once, then fell silent.

The eunuch rolled up the edict and stepped back.

Zhou Mingqi's voice came from above—not loud, but each word crystal clear: "Cheng Ge, receive the edict."

Cheng Ge bent his knees, swept his robes aside, and knelt, raising both hands over his head to receive the edict.

"Your servant thanks the Emperor for his boundless favor—!"

Cheng Ge held the edict and rose slowly.

A sudden gust swept through, rushing all the way from the Meridian Gate, catching his crimson robe and sending it flapping like a banner.

His sleeves billowed, the silver-threaded patterns flashing in and out of the sunlight, rustling loudly.

The sound was immense—so loud it seemed it might tear his robes apart or lift him off the ground.

He stood there, at the wind's crest, his crimson robe blazing like fire in the sunlight.

…

Outside the Meridian Gate, the long street lay quiet, the sunlight bleaching the blue-stone pavement white.

The locust trees on either side had not yet budded, their bare branches reaching skyward like withered hands.

A roadside tavern hung its banner, swaying gently in the breeze.

Cheng Ge stopped, glanced at the banner, and went in.

When he came out, he was carrying two jars of wine.

The jars were coarse pottery, their glaze yellowed, the red cloth seals faded and fluttering in the wind.

He carried the jars, swaying as he walked along the street.

The jars jostled in his hands, the wine sloshing against the walls with a dull, rhythmic thud.

He opened one himself, tilted his head back, and took a gulp. The wine was strong, burning his throat and making his eyes sting.

He took another gulp, and the liquor trickled from the corner of his mouth, ran down his chin, and dripped onto his crimson lapel, leaving a dark stain.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and kept walking.

The jars swayed in his grip, the dull sound echoing down the empty street.

He stopped at the Donghua Gate.

The gate tower stood tall, its vermilion pillars casting a dull glow in the sunlight.

Rows upon rows of door studs covered the gates, dense and countless, like a host of closed eyes.

The guards at the gate stood at attention, hands on their sword hilts, eyes fixed straight ahead.

Cheng Ge stood there, staring at the gate for a long while.

His gaze moved from the pillars to the studs, from the studs to the lintel, and from the lintel to the glazed tiles on the tower.

The tiles gleamed in the sunlight, brilliant gold, forcing him to squint.

The guards' bodies slowly stiffened.

They stood there, his gaze like needles at their backs, making their spines tighten and sweat bead on their foreheads.

They didn't know what he intended, why he stood there, or why he stared at this gate.

They dared not move, dared not speak, even their breathing grew shallow.

Cheng Ge stood motionless.

The wind blew, the jars swaying gently in his hands, the wine sloshing against the walls.

The sound was faint, so faint it was like a sigh.

Just as the guards were about to break and step forward to ask, Cheng Ge moved.

He walked toward them, unhurried, limping slightly, each step landing firmly.

The guards' bodies tensed further, hands gripping their sword hilts, knuckles going white.

Cheng Ge walked to the door, bent down, and set the unopened jar of wine at the corner of the gate.

The jar landed on the ground with a soft thud.

Then he straightened up, glanced at the jar, turned around, and walked off with the half-empty jar in hand.

His figure grew increasingly distant in the sunlight, the crimson robe fluttering wildly in the wind as he swayed his way toward the far end of the street.

The guards stood by the gate, exchanging bewildered glances.

They looked at the jar of wine, then at the retreating figure, then back at the jar—none of them spoke.

Wind blew in from the palace gate, stirring the red cloth sealing the jar.

After a long while, one guard muttered under his breath: "Is this... him inviting them for a drink?"

No one answered him.

The jar lay quietly in the corner of the gate, its coarse pottery gleaming with a muted sheen in the sunlight.

On the distant street, the crimson figure had already vanished around the alley corner.

………

Inside the Emerald Cloud Pavilion, candlelight cast a warm, rosy glow.

In the main hall, the sound of strings and flutes drifted on endlessly. Guests sat in small clusters, arms wrapped around the courtesans, drinking and laughing.

The curtain of the private room on the second floor hung half-rolled, muffling the commotion downstairs, letting in only bits of laughter and the clink of cups.

Cheng Ge rested one foot on a chair, swinging it lazily, the other planted on the floor.

He wore a moon-white robe made of fine Hangzhou silk, with dark embroidery at the collar and cuffs—Lü Rou had just made it.

The robe fit him perfectly, making him look lean and sharp.

A fine jade pendant hung at his waist—a gift from Zhou Mingqi, worn for the first time today.

Star Frost stood at his side, wine pot in hand. She poured a cup and handed it to him carefully.

Cheng Ge took it without looking, tilted his head back, and downed it in one go.

The wine went down warm, with a lingering sweetness.

He set the empty cup down, tapping his fingertips on the table in time.

His gaze wandered to the small stage.

A girl in green sat there with a pipa, her fingers plucking gently at the strings.

Her voice rose, soft and sweet, like a wisp of smoke curling from the candlelight, winding around the room before slipping out through the window cracks.

Cheng Ge half-closed his eyes, tapping his fingers on the table, as content as a cat in the sun.

The song ended. The pipa went quiet, the last notes echoing off the beams for a moment before fading.

Cheng Ge clapped—not hard, but the sound was clear in the quiet room.

"Well done, well done."

He reached for the pouch at his waist and dug around inside.

The girl's eyes lit up, her smile growing more eager.

Then she watched him pull out a few copper coins and set them on the table.

The coins clattered on the wood, rolled a bit, and stopped.

The girl glanced at the coppers, her mouth twitching just barely before she caught herself, giving a practiced smile and a slight bow, her voice soft and sweet: "Thank you kindly, Marquis."

Cheng Ge raised a finger and wagged it.

"Could you have someone grab me two big steamed buns? All this music's made me hungry."

The girl's mouth twitched again—so slight it was almost invisible.

She nodded, gestured toward the curtain, and a maid hurried in.

She whispered a few words, and the maid nodded and left. Cheng Ge flashed the girl a grin.

It was a small smile, just the corners of his mouth turning up, but the warmth spread up his cheeks and into his eyes.

His whole face lit up, soft as if washed with water, like it could melt into the candlelight.

Most of the customers at the Emerald Cloud Pavilion were big shots and nobles, but few were easy on the eyes.

This Marquis of Taining only came for the music and nothing else, and he tipped like a miser, but that face of his was something else.

A hell of a lot better looking than those fat, stuffy officials—the girls all liked having him around.

The girl composed herself, gripped the pipa tighter, and said with a smile:

"Marquis, someone wrote a new song recently. Let me sing it for you today."

Cheng Ge's smile widened, his eyes crinkling into crescents, his lashes throwing a faint shadow in the candlelight.

"Good, good." His voice went up at the end.

He put his foot down, leaned back in the chair, and closed his eyes.

The pipa started up. Notes tinkled like water over stones, like rain on roof tiles.

He listened, tapping his fingers on the armrest, swaying with the rhythm.

The words came out soft and lingering, like a silk thread slipping into his ear and winding through his head.

He listened, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint smile, like the song had hit a ticklish spot.

"...Crimson robe shed, spring nights run short; cold gleam of gold armor falls on the fair one..."

His fingers went still.

"...Red string tied at the wrist, a vow for three lifetimes; white hair and black locks on one pillow..."

He opened his eyes and stared at the girl.

The girl sang on, lost in it, eyes half-closed, lashes fluttering, fingers flying over the strings, not noticing a thing.

"...Jade trees and silver boughs come in the dead of night; who knows who's out beyond the door..."

“…The dragon bed may be warm, yet not as warm as this; one pillow on the spring mountains until dawn…”

Cheng Ge: “???”

“…The blade’s edge still gleams with fresh blood, yet they say the crimson robe outshines the evening glow…”

“…Since ancient times, passionate hearts are left only with regret—the blood of the Northern Di Khan staining the dust…”

Cheng Ge shot upright.

The chair toppled backward with a harsh screech, and the pipa music came to an abrupt halt.

The girl flinched, clutching her pipa as she stepped back, staring at him.

Cheng Ge’s face was a twisted mask of fury, candlelight flickering across it in shifting shadows.

He looked like a coal just pulled from the stove—glowing red, then purple, then black.

Her legs went weak, and she nearly collapsed to her knees.

“My… My Lord, please don’t be angry!” Her voice cracked, her hands trembling as she gripped the pipa. “I… I didn’t mean to…”

Cheng Ge took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in his throat.

His voice ground out through clenched teeth, hoarse and strained: “Where did you get these lyrics?”

The girl froze for a moment, then cautiously glanced up at him before quickly looking down again.

“They’re… from the latest *Fengyue Xinhua*…” Her voice trailed off into a whisper.

“It’s… it’s from the bookshop south of the city—the one that’s been all the rage lately…”

Cheng Ge’s brow knitted into a tight knot. “What the hell is that?”

Seeing his expression, the girl quickly turned and pulled a small booklet from behind the desk, holding it out to him with both hands.

The booklet was small and thin, with a few characters printed on the cover—*Fengyue Xinhua* (*Tales of Wind and Moon*).

The ink was still fresh, clearly printed only a few days ago.

Cheng Ge took it, flipping through it. On the title page were a few lines: *Special Edition—Chronicles of the Marquis’s Love Affairs*.

His eyelid twitched.

He turned another page, and the chapter titles in the table of contents grew more outrageous by the second.

*“The Crimson Robe Undone.”* A brief line followed: *On the night of the palace coup, the Marquis and the General embraced amidst the bloodshed, bound by life and death.*

*“The Red Thread Bound.”* Another line: *The Prince gave a red thread as a token of love, and they stayed in bed for three days without rising.*

*“The Midnight Visitor.”* Brief text: *A handsome young man knocked at the Marquis’s back gate at night, candlelight flickering until dawn.*

*“The Warm Dragon Bed.”* Brief text: *A secret tryst in the palace, a night of passion, a jade pendant given as a token.*

*“The Blood on the Blade.”* Brief text: *His Highness took an arrow for the Marquis, staining his war robes with blood, and the Marquis cleaned the wound with his mouth.*

*“Smoke Beyond the Border.”* Brief text: *The Marquis traveled a thousand miles to find his love, sharing a pillow in the Khan’s tent.*

Cheng Ge’s face shifted from red to pale, then from pale to purple, changing back and forth like a crumpled piece of cloth.

The girl shrank into the corner, barely daring to breathe, clutching her pipa as if she could vanish into the wall.

Cheng Ge stared at the booklet, his fingers digging into the pages until his knuckles turned white.

He took a deep breath, about to ask the girl who had written this book—

“Woof woof woof woof woof—!”

A streak of yellow burst through the curtain, four legs pumping furiously, tongue lolling, running as if its life depended on it.

Dahuang slammed into Cheng Ge’s shin, tail spinning like a windmill, its barks urgent and frantic, each one faster and more panicked than the last.

Cheng Ge’s heart dropped. “Damn it!”

He bent down, grabbed Dahuang by the scruff, and lifted it off the ground.

Dahuang’s four paws flailed in the air, still barking nonstop, eyes wide with desperation.

“Who is it this time?” Cheng Ge asked in a low voice.

Dahuang barked a few more times, jerking its head desperately toward the east, tail whipping back and forth.

Cheng Ge’s face went pale. “Shit—it’s the Crown Prince!”

“How far out is he?!” Cheng Ge demanded, voice low.

“Woof woof woof—!” Dahuang barked again, tail thrashing wildly.

Cheng Ge’s face went from white to green, then from green to purple, his eyes snapping wide: “He’s at the door—!”

“Help Dian Dian find love—!”