Chapter 34: The Wine Sword Immortal

It was clear that he had seen through the Fox King’s non-human nature, yet he chose not to expose him. This was solely because the Fox King emanated an aura of lightness and grace, entirely unlike the bloodthirsty fiends of legend.

The swordsman, upon noticing Xu Xuan and his companion, proved himself to be a man of generous spirit. With a hearty laugh, he invited them:

“Chance meetings are better than formal invitations. I too am only passing through and lodging here for the night. Our encounter today is fate—if you do not mind, let us drink together.”

Xu Xuan smiled and replied, “In that case, I shall gladly accept your invitation.”

He fetched some provisions from his trunk, found a wooden plank to serve as a table, and the three of them sat around the campfire.

The bright moon hung high, shining as clear as water. They exchanged names, and Xu Xuan learned that the bearded swordsman’s surname was Zhao, given name Wuji.

Zhao Wuji hailed from Qianjing, a man who delighted in roaming mountains and rivers, unbound by rules, treading the ordinary path, yet always standing against injustice.

Xu Xuan was not familiar with the name Zhao Wuji, but the Fox King, hearing the swordsman announce himself, was visibly shaken.

“Zhao Wuji! Could it be that you are the Sword Immortal of Wine, one of the Five Absolutes of the Demon Suppression Bureau?”

“Indeed, that is I,” Zhao Wuji replied with a nod.

At this admission, the Fox King immediately stood and bowed in respect. As a spirit who had cultivated for many years, the Fox King could discern Zhao Wuji’s true power—a master of the Martial Saint realm, rare even in the vast Qian Dynasty, and a native of Qianjing. Only one man fit this description: the Sword Immortal of Wine from the Demon Suppression Bureau.

The Demon Suppression Bureau was a special department established by the Qian Dynasty’s court, dedicated to quelling rogue demons and spirits. Zhao Wuji, as one of the Five Absolutes, had slain countless fiends with his sword. His name was legendary among monsters—famed as the shadow cast by a great tree.

Only now did Xu Xuan realize that this seemingly unrestrained swordsman possessed such an illustrious background.

“My apologies!” Xu Xuan cupped his fists, apologizing upon learning Zhao Wuji’s identity.

“Ah, tonight let us set aside rank and titles; let us speak only of fate and fortune. Here, this is a twenty-year-old carved-flower wine, a fine vintage. One sip will invigorate the body, promote circulation, and prolong life. Please, both of you, try it.”

Zhao Wuji smiled and handed the warmed wine to Xu Xuan and the Fox King.

Xu Xuan did not hesitate, downing the wine in a single draught. It burned fiercely at first, then a wave of warmth spread through his limbs and bones, filling him with a comfortable, cozy sensation.

“Excellent wine! A peerless immortal brew!” the Fox King praised, a flush blooming on his handsome face.

“Good wine deserves heroes. The song just now was bold and unrestrained, brimming with heroic spirit—truly worthy of the Sword Immortal of Wine.”

After just one cup, Xu Xuan already felt a pleasant buzz.

The two men and the fox sat together, drinking in silence. Each possessed a bold and upright character, and soon they felt the camaraderie of kindred spirits, as if a thousand cups would not suffice.

The monk’s quarters were dim, the call of an old owl echoing outside. The faint firelight from within cast eerie shadows across the courtyard, giving the place a sinister air. Yet inside the hall, it was a different world—heroism, chivalry, and righteousness filled the space.

Their conversation grew animated; as the wine flowed, they began to address each other as brothers. Zhao Wuji had wandered the world and seen much; the Fox King, with centuries of experience, had stories even stranger. Most of the time, it was the two of them speaking while Xu Xuan listened intently, especially to the tales of Zhao Wuji’s adventures with sword in hand.

Slaying villains, ridding the world of evil—he embodied that spirit of “striking down a man every ten steps, never lingering for a thousand miles.” Truly, the Sword Immortal of Wine lived by his whims, drawing his sword at the sight of injustice. For him, there was nothing that could not be settled by a single stroke of the blade—if there was, then he would strike again.

The exploits Zhao Wuji recounted stirred Xu Xuan’s blood. What man does not harbor the dream of a wandering hero? Who does not long to travel the world with sword at their side?

Before they realized it, night had grown deep and there was still wine to spare. Xu Xuan glanced up at the moonlight streaming through the window and smiled:

“Such fine wine must not be drunk in vain. Since I have enjoyed Brother Zhao’s wine, allow me to offer a poem in return.”

“Splendid idea!”

“We are all ears!”

Zhao Wuji and the Fox King awaited Xu Xuan’s verse, eyes shining with anticipation.

“Zhao rides with a trailing crimson tassel, Wu’s blade gleams like frost and snow.
A silver saddle on a white horse, swift as a shooting star.
Every ten steps, a foe falls; a thousand miles, and he leaves no trace.
When his work is done, he brushes off his robe, hiding his name and form.”

...

“Though he dies, the fragrance of a hero’s bones endures, unashamed before the world’s best.
Who can record your deeds, save for the white-haired sage with his arcane scripture?”

Xu Xuan recited the lengthy ode to chivalry with a flourish.

Zhao Wuji’s eyes shone with delight; he murmured, “Though he dies, the fragrance of a hero’s bones endures, unashamed before the world’s best. Truly exquisite! Excellent—wonderful!”

Hearing Xu Xuan’s “Ballad of the Swordsman,” Zhao Wuji’s whole body trembled, savoring every line, a heroic spirit welling up within him. He could not help but burst into laughter:

“We who pursue the martial way, our hundred years flash by in an instant. We do not seek immortality—only to restore clarity and justice to the world, and cut down all that is wrong!”

In high spirits, this mysterious Sword Immortal of Wine lifted his purple gourd and drained three great gulps. Turning to Xu Xuan, he said:

“Tonight we drink, and none leaves sober! For that poem alone, you are my friend—your words have struck a chord deep in my heart. Rare indeed to find a kindred spirit in this wide world!”

With that, Zhao Wuji handed the wine gourd to Xu Xuan, inviting him to drink. Xu Xuan did not stand on ceremony, taking the gourd and downing three hearty swallows. The wine filled him with warmth and left him delightfully intoxicated.

Xu Xuan then passed the gourd to the Fox King, who also drank deeply—handsome and carefree, thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Hanqing, what brings you here? This place is far from peaceful,” Zhao Wuji asked quietly, glancing out the window.

“It’s a long story…”

Thereupon, Xu Xuan told Zhao Wuji about their plan to deal with the Old Ancestor of the Black Cloud.

Upon hearing this, Zhao Wuji’s eyes lit up and he laughed heartily:

“I happened to pass through and heard there was a great demon here preying on innocents. I came to rid the world of it—never expected you two were after the same foe!”

Xu Xuan instantly understood. Before setting out, his master, the City God, had cast a divination and foretold that although this journey would hold hardships, a noble helper would appear, ensuring their safety against misfortune.

The most formidable obstacle, naturally, was the Old Ancestor of the Black Cloud. To encounter the Sword Immortal of Wine tonight was clearly the fulfillment of his master’s prophecy.

“Since our goals align, why not join forces tonight and rid the world of this demon together?” Xu Xuan proposed, emboldened by the wine.

“Ah, but this is a ghost-immortal of great power, and this is its lair—we must not be reckless. Allow me to scout the situation first.”

With these words, Zhao Wuji took up his sword and strode out of the monk’s quarters, disappearing in the blink of an eye.

As a master of the Martial Saint realm, even if he could not defeat such a demon-immortal, Zhao Wuji could certainly escape unscathed.

With Zhao Wuji gone, Xu Xuan and the Fox King could only wait in peace. Each found a room to rest in; the lair of the old locust tree was nearby, and the air was heavy with a chill.

Pale moonlight filtered through the broken window, and Xu Xuan could not shake the feeling that the temple was haunted.

Though he had drunk a fair amount of wine, sleep eluded him. He considered seeking out Zhao Jinqian for conversation, but the events of the previous day left him uneasy. The girl had not appeared at all today, likely embarrassed as well—better not to disturb her.

Lost in thought, gazing at the moonlight outside, he was suddenly startled by a sound—a faint, ambiguous noise, part whisper, part low chant, almost a ghostly laugh. Whatever it was, it did not sound human.