Chapter 122 — The Altar
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 4 of 7
Whether she understood him through her drunkenness, he could not tell, but hearing Ming Li's voice at her ear, she did not open her eyes. A gentle smile crossed her face, bewitching beyond words, and she said nothing—only the hand clutching his clothes tightened by another degree.
Ming Li was helpless. This was, after all, an unfamiliar place, and Xiaobai was drunk to this state; to leave a woman here alone would leave him uneasy at heart. A thought turned over in his mind, and at last he sighed, reached out and gathered her up, supporting Xiaobai as they walked up the mountain together.
Tu Magu led the way ahead; Ming Li walked supporting Xiaobai. Her body was still soft and limp, and her steps were light and floating, most of her weight resting on Ming Li's arm. Ming Li frowned, an indescribable feeling in his heart. Suddenly something occurred to him, and he turned to look.
Sure enough, Xiao Hui had still not stirred. He sat where he was, eating fruit and drinking strong liquor, giving an occasional squeaking laugh, so happy he had forgotten to go home.
Ming Li kicked at his feet and sent a banana flying up, and it struck Xiao Hui right on the head, giving the monkey a fright. The monkey head whipped around, and he raised a hand to rub the spot where he had been hit.
"Time to go," Ming Li said sourly. And with that he went on supporting (holding??) Xiaobai and following Tu Magu toward the altar on the mountain.
Xiao Hui scratched his head, stood up, and dropped the fruit in his hand (which was in fact mostly eaten anyway), then shook the wine bag. That soldier a moment ago had held his liquor well and had already drunk a great deal; besides, the bag had fallen to the ground and much of the wine had spilled. After the monkey had drunk from it a while, it was already down to the bottom.
Xiao Hui tossed the wine bag to the ground and was about to follow Ming Li when his body suddenly lurched. He gave a drunken hiccup, and a flush slowly spread across his monkey face. It seemed the Miao strong liquor was no ordinary brew after all; the effects were only now beginning to creep up on him.
But Xiao Hui was, after all, a spirit creature. Though his face was reddening, he still moved as usual, and he hurried off to catch up with Ming Li.
Only, as they went up the mountain path behind, the Miao soldiers who had been standing guard had collapsed here in great numbers, drunk; the ground was strewn with drunkards and wine bags. Ming Li, supporting Xiaobai, went past first, and Xiao Hui, walking along, suddenly stopped. He picked up another large wine bag from the ground, raised it to his ear and shook it—glug, glug, it sounded—and it seemed there was quite a lot left inside, to the monkey's great delight.
At this surprise, Xiao Hui was instantly overjoyed. He picked up a wine bag to the east and shook it twice; picked up a wine bag to the west and shook it twice. He picked them up as he walked, but alas, a monkey has only two hands: for every one he picked up, he dropped another. Yet Xiao Hui's greed knew no bounds, and he would not let any go. He gathered up the seven or eight wine bags he had picked up east and west and put them together, but he could not carry them all at once, and he was so frantic that he began to squeal.
He was just about to look up and beg help from his master when the sight gave him a fright: his master, following that old Miao man, had already gone far ahead, nearly at the altar on the mountain. Xiao Hui squealed wildly, hopping this way and that, scratching his ears and cheeks, frantic as an ant on a hot pan. At last he steeled himself, snatched up two wine bags at random, dragged them behind him along the ground with both hands, and ran desperately up the mountain.