Chapter 138 — Decadence

Boss He was naturally delighted. He hurried to bring wine and food. But beyond his expectation, this guest and this monkey had truly stayed in his inn a full three days and nights, and even today showed no sign of taking the road.

The man's spirits were plainly very poor. In three days, Boss He had not once seen him speak a word or smile. Each time he brought wine and food to the table, the man only gazed mutely at the wine pot and slowly drank.

Only, the guest's capacity for liquor seemed exceedingly poor. Each time he drank a little—Boss He reckoned less than half a pot—the man would collapse onto the wine table, dead to the world. And in contrast to his master, the three-eyed monkey the man had brought left Boss He staring, dumbstruck.

To be honest, Boss He, keeping his inn here, was a man of some experience—the place was out of the way, but many merchants passed through. Yet in these three days he had sworn to himself countless times that he had truly seen the greatest drinker, the mightiest capacity for wine, of any monkey in his life.

In the space of a single day and night, the monkey had drunk dry every jar of fine wine in Boss He's stock—including a jar of strong nu'erhong he had buried beneath the old locust tree behind the inn.

And the monkey still looked far from satisfied. It scratched its ears and cheeks, glanced all about, capered a while, then chattered "zhi zhi" at Boss He without pause. Boss He did not speak monkey, but even a fool could tell what the creature meant. He had meant to pay it no heed—but the monkey was cunning as a ghost; it had secretly filched back the silver Boss He had put away, and now waved it back and forth before his eyes.

Boss He had no choice. Besides, the man had already paid silver enough. He had no choice but to send a servant to Little Pond Town to fetch wine overnight. At first he had been rather annoyed, but as time passed he found himself slowly growing fond of the monkey. And apart from its fondness for drink, the three-eyed monkey had no other bad habits; indeed it was often at play about the inn, and when in good humor would even perform a few tricks—such as conjuring a cluster of flames from its empty palm. Boss He gawked at that, and the merchants passing through these days were all delighted, lingering longer in his inn, which earned him more silver still.

The master of the grey-furred, three-eyed monkey was the very opposite of his lively beast. Most of the time he lay sprawled in a reek of wine, asleep; now and then he woke, only to stare blankly about him. Occasionally, when the monkey ran back to his side, a little light would come into his eyes; he would lazily reach out and rub the monkey's head, then, as though recalling some grief, take up the wine pot and drink again, and before long be lost once more in dreams.

Sometimes Boss He secretly wondered whether the man might be mad. Yet though he was only an ordinary innkeeper, he still sensed that this man was unlike the other travelers who passed. For one thing, during the three days the man had lodged in the inn, the mosquitoes that at this season had always been thickest by night had all suddenly vanished. What was more, each deep night the ghostly wailing that used to echo from the wilds along the ancient road outside the inn seemed to have been frightened off by something—all of it gone. And so Boss He, long accustomed to those wails and howls, found that in the sudden quiet of these three days he could not sleep.

That evening at dusk, Boss He stood behind the counter of his inn, closed the ledger he had just finished balancing, and heaved a long sigh. Then he looked out over his little inn.

Beyond the window, the setting sun still cast a faint afterglow, reddening the evening clouds and slanting in through the inn's windows, stretching the shadows of tables and chairs across the floor—as though time itself were quietly passing through.

A sudden strangeness came over Boss He, a pang of bewilderment at heart. By his reckoning he was past fifty now. The hired boy always said he looked no more than forty, but he knew himself that his body was slowly failing.

Time spares no one. Was this all there was to a life?

He stared blankly at the lengthening shadows of the tables and chairs upon the floor. When he lifted his head, he saw again the mottled, peeling marks upon the four walls of the inn.

The lonely setting sun fell upon his face, bearing a nameless weariness of the world.

He sighed and shook his head. Best not to think of such things. Boss He gave a bitter smile, picked up the ledger, and walked toward the only guest in the inn and his monkey.

That guest always sat at the table farthest in. Now, as ever, he lay sprawled upon it, dead drunk and motionless. His monkey squatted on the table, wine pot in its left hand, right hand snatching delicacies from the several dishes laid out—a sip of wine, a bite of food; the creature was living well.

Boss He came before the guest, coughed once, and cleared his throat—but his eyes could not help darting first to the monkey. The three-eyed monkey plainly did not care about his arrival; it glanced at him once, then returned its attention to the wine pot in its hand. Boss He sighed. This monkey was truly the most liquor-loving creature he had ever seen, and it carried a large wine sack on its back—though now flat, one could well imagine what it had held.

Boss He withdrew his gaze. For some reason his heart was a little uneasy, though he could not have said why. He coughed a few more times, then said cautiously, "Honored... guest."

The man before him did not stir.

Boss He felt somewhat awkward, but pressed on. "Er—honored guest, it's like this. The silver you paid three days ago is now used up. This humble inn runs on small capital and thin profit, so perhaps..."

Whether the man was truly drunk or not, he lay there without the slightest movement.

Boss He sighed and mumbled, "In truth, honored guest, the silver you paid was no small sum—enough for three days in my inn, or even five. Only... only your esteemed beast is truly too formidable, its capacity too great. In these three days alone it has drunk up every drop of wine in my stock, and the four jars I had sent for in two separate trips—it has drunk those too..."

At this point Boss He glanced again at the three-eyed monkey, which merely glared back at him and pulled a face.

Boss He said humbly, "Might I ask you to pay a little more silver? Er—yes, and the silver you paid three days ago, your esteemed beast stole it back, and it has not been returned to this day. I..."

Before he finished, there came a "ding"—a silver ingot bounced twice on the table and appeared before Boss He. Boss He looked closely: the monkey had fished out the stolen silver from somewhere and tossed it down before him.

Boss He hastily pocketed it, tucking it into his breast. But after a moment's hesitation, he glanced at the monkey, took the silver out again, opened his robe, and slipped it into the garment against his skin.

Just as he had put the silver away and was about to speak to the man again, a voice suddenly came from the inn's doorway:

"Is anyone here?"

Boss He started and turned. Three people stood in the doorway—two men and a woman. At their head was an old man holding a bamboo pole from which hung a white cloth bearing four characters: "The Immortal Points the Way." Beside him stood a girl of seventeen or eighteen, lovely of feature, a faint smile on her face.

Of these two, old and young, the elder had the air of a Daoist immortal; the younger was fair and delicate. Behind them stood a middle-aged man carrying all the bundles—a strange-looking fellow, taller by more than a head than the pair before him, with a face like a wild dog's, repulsive to look upon.