Chapter Sixteen: Deep Affection, Down in One Gulp

Drunken Immortal Pavilion—by far the most luxurious inn in the county town.

There wasn’t a single empty table in the main hall; every seat was taken.

“Honored guest, if you could wait just a little, that table over there is about done. Once they leave, you can have their place. How about that?” The waiter wore a face full of smiles, bowing and scraping, gesturing obsequiously as he tried his best to retain this customer.

An Shizhu, long accustomed to throwing his weight around, glared with his beady little eyes. “I’ve never had to wait for a seat, not even at the finest establishments in Binzhou. And now, in this shabby dump, you’re telling me to wait?”

He swept the room with his small, darting eyes, spotting a table near the entrance where four half-grown boys lounged, their spread only half-filled with food and drink.

Striding over in a few steps, he declared, “I’m sitting here. Bring out your best food and wine, and make it quick!”

The waiter, sizing up this burly customer—bigger and more imposing than a black bear, with a ferocious air that suggested he could swat someone dead with a single paw—didn’t dare risk offending him. He forced a smile and turned to the boys, pleading, “Gentlemen, could you squeeze in a little for me? Let this master have a seat.”

“Who the hell are you? You don’t know your place, do you? Never had a beating, huh? If you’re itching for one, say the word and I’ll oblige!” One of the boys, lounging with a foot propped on an empty wooden stool, turned and shot back with a sneer.

The waiter’s lips parted as if to speak, but he thought better of it. These street punks were notorious troublemakers, and as a man with a family to feed, he didn’t want to cross them.

“Cheeky little brats,” An Shizhu muttered, completely unbothered by the boys and intent only on scaring them into submission. “I’ll count to three, and you’d better clear out. Three…”

“Three, three your grandmother’s ass!” spat the same boy, kicking the stool aside and, with a sudden movement, planting a hard kick square in An Shizhu’s belly.

The boy put his whole strength into it, but it was like trying to punt a massive leather ball; he bounced off and went flying backwards.

In a blur, his ankle was seized, his body suddenly weightless, his head dangling upside down, swaying in the air.

No one saw how An Shizhu moved. In an instant, he had the boy by the ankle, holding him aloft, arms extended, head down, a foot from the ground. The boy flailed and kicked, but it was no use—he couldn’t touch An Shizhu at all.

Panicked, he yelled, “Brothers, get him! Beat him up!”

Another boy snatched up a wooden stool and swung it at An Shizhu.

An Shizhu merely sneered, raised his forearm, and with a sharp crack the stool shattered into splinters.

He reached out, caught the boy’s wrist, gave a gentle tug, and sent him crashing into his own chest.

The boy smacked into An Shizhu like hitting a wall of flesh, his head buzzing, eyes rolling back as he collapsed limp against An Shizhu’s knee.

A third boy charged with another stool, but before he could swing, An Shizhu grabbed his arm, squeezing until the boy howled in pain, unable to move.

The last boy hesitated, not daring to attack, but his mouth was as quick as ever: “You big oaf, are you tired of living? Do you know who my boss is?”

An Shizhu’s small, sly eyes narrowed, his face cold and silent. These brats were so brazen that he couldn’t help but worry they had some powerful backer; if things got out of hand, it would be hard to settle, so he restrained himself from using real force.

The boy hanging upside down thought An Shizhu was scared, and blustered, “I’ll count to two. Let me go now, and when my brother gets here, I won’t let him kill you. Two…”

“One… zero. Who’s your brother, anyway?” An Shizhu sneered.

“You’d better brace yourself, don’t be scared out of your wits. My brother’s name is Lu the Donkey—no, wait, his name is Lu Hu! Lu Hu, ever heard of him?” The boy, Lu Bao, face red with indignation, hung upside down but lost none of his bravado.

“Oh, so you’re my own dear brother!” An Shizhu laughed, and with a flick of his wrist, Lu Bao landed lightly on his back.

Earlier, having pocketed some coins from his mother, Lu Bao had rounded up his little gang and come to feast and drink at the inn. The wine was flowing, and when An Shizhu tried to join their table, Lu Bao, tipsy and reckless, hadn’t cared who he was, which led to the earlier scuffle.

“What are you all staring at? Hurry up and bring my big brother the finest wine and dishes!” Lu Bao, elbows propped on An Shizhu’s shoulders, ordered the waiter with the swagger of a young overlord.

He swept the hall with a glare, then raised his voice: “What the hell are you all gawking at? Think this is a monkey show? Like what you see? Then pay up!”

The guests who’d been watching quickly turned away, suddenly intent on their own plates.

“Brother, have a seat.” Lu Bao hopped down, took An Shizhu by the hand, and with a quick glance, wiped the stool clean with his sleeve before patting it invitingly. “Brother, please sit!”

An Shizhu nodded and sat himself down with great ceremony.

Just as his ample rear was about to touch the seat, Lu Bao lashed out with a kick, sending the stool skittering away.

This was his signature prank—he dared to trick anyone except his father and mother, and never once had it failed. Anyone who fell for it would end up flat on their backside, a move proudly dubbed “Fatty’s Dumpling Drop.” Even his own gang had fallen victim countless times, never daring to sit beside him without caution.

As the stool flew out, all four boys stared wide-eyed, waiting for the fat man to fall for it. Their bellies quivered in anticipation, ready to burst into laughter at the inevitable “thud” and accompanying wail.

But for once, Lu Bao’s streak of success was broken. The hulking man squatted there in a horse stance, steady as a mountain.

“Pick up the stool for my brother—who the hell sabotaged him? My brother’s no one to be tricked by the likes of you!” Lu Bao recovered instantly, looking around and feigning outrage to shift the blame.

An Shizhu fixed him with a narrow, glinting stare, cold as a knife. Lu Bao shivered involuntarily.

He hurried to retrieve the stool, stuffing it back under An Shizhu.

“Come on, set the table! Sit, everyone, sit! Don’t just stand around—pour the wine, fill the bowls, let’s drink!” Just then, the waiter arrived with a steaming tray of four hot dishes. Lu Bao barked orders, keeping his boys busy and smoothing over the awkward moment.

He uncorked a wine jar, filled a bowl for An Shizhu, then filled one for himself. Lifting his bowl with both hands and striking the pose of a seasoned drinker, Lu Bao proclaimed, “Brother, your generosity and martial prowess inspire true admiration! Here’s to you—I’ll down this in one!”

With that, he tipped the bowl to his lips and gulped it down in one long draught, displaying the empty bowl for all to see.

His eyebrows shot up, his expression brimming with bravado, and the hall erupted in cheers.

“Good lad, you’ve got guts!” An Shizhu exclaimed, genuinely impressed. He refilled Lu Bao’s bowl, clinked his own against it, and barked, “Cheers!”

The two of them drank like thirsty donkeys, downing their bowls in a single gulp.

Lu Bao let out a resounding belch, the wine roiling in his belly. His head spun, his vision blurred, and his legs gave out—he slumped against An Shizhu and began snoring.

An Shizhu, unconcerned with the grease running down his arm, tore into a beef shank, biting off huge mouthfuls and gnawing contentedly, swallowing each chunk before tearing into another.

He drank and ate with abandon—no amount of wine could slow him.

Earlier, he’d raced through the county yamen chasing Lu Hu, gulping in cold air until his belly was full of it. Now, with food and drink settling in, that cold air churned inside him, trapped with nowhere to go.

But An Shizhu was nothing if not forthright. He said what he thought and never held back, not even his bodily functions. Why restrain himself?

Crowded hall or not, he was a straightforward man who never stood on ceremony.

He bore down and let loose.

“BANG!” A thunderous report echoed through the hall, crisp and deafening.

“Who the hell just called me?” Lu Bao jolted awake, bleary-eyed and tongue-tied from drink.

No one answered. Everyone held their breath, struggling not to inhale the “fragrant” air.

“What’s that stench? Big Bro, did you crap your pants?” Unaware and emboldened by wine, Lu Bao showed no respect, giving An Shizhu no face at all.

An Shizhu, wholly absorbed in his meat, paid him no mind as if it were nothing but a passing breeze.

“Who? Who’s the bastard with more guts than brains, daring to bully my brother? Show yourself, you sons of bitches!” Seeing An Shizhu eating in silence, Lu Bao thought he was cowed and immediately found his courage, straightening his neck and bellowing at the hall.

He was a sight to behold—swaggering and bold.

His shouting stirred up all the wine he’d just managed to keep down, and suddenly it surged up with irresistible force.

He doubled over like a mantis shrimp, mouth gaping impossibly wide, and vomited forth the contents of his stomach—like the surging waters of the Yangtze, unstoppable.

Chunks of rotten meat, wilted vegetables, and a riot of colors splattered into bowls, onto the table, and everywhere else.

The nauseating stench spread rapidly.

The hall’s patrons, all well-lubricated themselves, couldn’t resist the urge once the smell hit. They opened the floodgates in unison.

For a moment, the hall was a sea of retching and chaos, a symphony of “urghs” and “waaahs” echoing from every corner.