Chapter 655: Joint March (11)

In the end, among all these tables, only one has real guests.

Of course, no matter how united the faithful are, not everyone can beat instinct.

The Celestial Majesty—the master of their bodies and hearts, the incarnation of the sun blazing over the human world—is right here; the long-yearned-for visage they dreamed of seeing just once is truly present, so how could their eyes not stray?

So the whole room keeps darting glances, again and again, which is a behavior as suspicious as it gets.

Even so, Qing didn’t particularly think it was suspicious.

Because her face was bare.

She carried herself as if, the moment she showed her face, obviously everyone in the world would look.

Which wasn’t exactly wrong.

And the long-awaited face they finally beheld did not betray the faithful’s expectations: surpassing everything they had imagined, a beauty that made them involuntarily renew their worship—indeed, worthy of the exalted title!

Thus, as for the way eyes snapped to her face—or slid lower—Qing, by now, was used to it enough that it didn’t much bother her.

She herself still sometimes flinched when she caught her reflection; how much worse must it be for others?

At any rate, the faithful could only count themselves very lucky.

No sooner had Qing’s party sat than servers filed in, one after another, bearing big platters to lay dishes across the table.

Huh? We didn’t even order.

Is this one of those pay-what-you-eat places?

“Um, we haven’t ordered yet.”

“Ah, the party with the reservation has already placed your entire order.”

Only then did Qing remember the Main Gate Guard who had bolted like the wind to secure Azure-Sky Pavilion—Ji Han-ru.

“Ah. Right. Where’s Guard Ji?”

At that, the server hesitated, then, with extreme deference, raised a report.

“F-forgive me for speaking so boldly, but Senior Guard Ji Han-ru is not a Ji—”

“No, that’s correct! I, Ji Han-ru—please, call me simply Han-ru from now on!”

In a rush, Ji Han-ru cut the server off and appeared.

That his three-character name could also be read as “Zahir” was a triviality—who cared.

When the Exalted One calls a weed by name, a weed becomes a flower; if the Celestial Majesty calls him “Mr. Ji,” then he shall live as Mr. Ji from that moment on.

From now on there is no Zahir; there is only your loyal servant, Guard Ji!

At last, the fake guests caught the meaning, and envy glinted in their eyes.

Unbelievable!

The Celestial Majesty personally bestows a surname!

Qing felt itchy about it.

Didn’t someone just say he wasn’t a Ji?

And now he himself says he is?

“Uh... is that right?”

“It is right. Now, I heard you are versed in the way of spirits and enjoy fine aromas; since you have come to Gansu, you must of course taste Gold-Emblem Liquor!”

“Ah—Gold-Emblem!”

Qing’s eyes sparkled.

She had a rough bead on good liquor from this land.

Gold-Emblem is praised as the Western Fragrance, meaning it represents the west among the four quarters.

Of course, the hometown pride of these people is fearsome—almost a religion that leads easily to knife fights.

Call it a hometown famous spirit, and everyone drowns it in florid praise to insist it’s best under heaven.

“May I—dare I have the honor of offering you a cup?”

“Sure. Snacks are here, too, so a cup.”

Glug-glug—cheerful notes as the narrow bottle’s mouth poured out a thin stream.

Only, Guard Ji’s hands were shaking—what, tremor?

Then again, hands shaking while pouring is common enough.

“Here, Guard Ji, you take a cup too.”

“Gasp.”

THUD—a knee hit.

A kneel so violent it threatened to crack either the knee or the pavilion floor.

Head lowered to show only the back of his skull, he raised the cup with both hands—an etiquette for one too low to gaze upon the exalted face.

“You can just take it normally.”

“No! This is what’s comfortable for me!”

“Uh-huh. Well. Take it, then...”

In chorus, all the fake guests snatched up their bottles and scrambled to fill their own cups.

So much for refined drinking; it became a ghastly rush to top up their glasses.

As Qing made a round to pour for her friends, a tiny hand pinched her sleeve.

“Mm? Jayeo? Not for you.”

“Ah.”

Jayeo’s shoulders hunched at once.

Qing had always given her whatever she asked; hearing a firm no, she searched Qing’s face, fearing she’d done something terribly wrong.

Qing stroked her head to reassure her, and her rigid body seemed to loosen a bit.

“Why—curious?”

“Smell. It smells good.”

Jayeo sniffed again.

As with that previous elixir, she seemed to like these clear, medicinal aromas.

Qing’s eyes flashed.

In that case—now is the time.

She dripped a few drops into a spoon.

Feeding a niece a spoon of liquor is, back home, an age-old tradition—and a one-time-only chance per niece.

Miss that chance and you’ve practically betrayed your cultural identity.

“Blehh.”

And Jayeo delivered exactly the reaction Qing had hoped for, to Qing’s great satisfaction.

“What’s with your face, Jayeo?”

“Tastes bad... s-sour...”

“What? Liquor tastes bad? I think it’s great. My constitution likes it—like a sweet soft drink. All right, a toast then. Thanks for coming, everyone—and, mm, thanks, but you all need to train harder. What? Superlative? Ugh, you’re killing the flavor. Oof—before my appetite dies any further, let’s drink. Cheers!”

—Cheers!!!!!

There were four at the table excluding the minor; add the temporarily adopted kneeler, Guard Ji, and that made five.

Yet the resounding toast seemed to make the whole floor shake.

“Eh?”

What is this—freeloading on someone else’s toast?

If so, how did they all coordinate so perfectly?

Even the faithful disguised as guests couldn’t hide their fluster this time.

When the Celestial Majesty toasts, how could one hold back?

So each thought, “It’s fine if it’s just me,” and, “Won’t it look like good timing?”—a miraculous breath shared by you, me, and all of us as one.

Of course, Qing did not find this suspicious.

How could she possibly think that everyone but her were fake guests, faithful of the Celestial Demon Church gathered to sneak a meal without making a scene?

If someone could think like that, the concern wouldn’t be about intelligence but about mental illness—paranoia.

Well. Maybe it’s a local custom in Gansu—or Lanzhou.

Customs vary wildly across this land.

Or a house rule at Azure-Sky Pavilion.

Drinkers are always merry over drinks, aren’t they?

The trouble is a certain breed that becomes unmerry after the drinks.

“All right, pour on your own. Guard Ji, sit here. Since you’ve come all this way, you should take some back.”

At that, a single tear rolled down Guard Ji’s cheek.

“Kh-hrrk, how can you be so merciful...”

“Wait—doesn’t the Seol Trading Company pay a monthly wage? Sure, this is a high-end restaurant, but is it touching enough for tears...”

Anyway—begin the meal.

Qing chomped away.

The little one in her arms chomped away.

From the looks of it, despite the child falling a little short of the mother in looks, they did look enough like parent and child.

Hee-mae, as always, reached first for the steamed fish, deftly lifted the flesh, and laid it on Qing’s plate.

The most decorous eater, relatively speaking, was Peng Daesan.

And the least decorous was neither Qing nor Jayeo, but someone else.

“Hah, hat, hh-up, hoo, hhmb.”

Truth be told, Seol Iri’s way of eating wasn’t far off from Qing’s method of shoving food into both cheeks.

But Seol Iri targeted boiling-hot porridges and soups.

Normally, when it’s hot, don’t you blow on it first?

Why try to cool it after putting it in your mouth?

Still, Qing wasn’t the type to nitpick how someone else eats,

so long as it wasn’t filthy or disgusting, like spitting half-chewed food back out.

And honestly, the way she made pleasant little sounds while sweating buckets was nice to watch; a tad embarrassing, but that embarrassment wasn’t Qing’s to bear.

If she enjoys it, that’s what matters.

Then it happened.

“Hot, hh-up, hoo, hah, hak.”

Those food-coitus moans—came from inside Qing’s arms!

“Gasp—Jayeo! What are you doing! Good grief, when you eat, be quiet. Who makes lewd noises while eating? No. That’s not allowed.”

“Hot—hot, hot.”

“Here—ah, don’t spit. You do not spit food out in front of others. Unless it’s poisoned, or even a little spoiled. There, cool.”

A long white finger slipped into Jayeo’s mouth and blasted crisp cold.

The famed Ice-White Divine Palm from the northern sea—cooling a child’s scalded mouth—an utterly glorious application.

Anyone watching would say, If you learned a divine art just to use it like that, hand it over to me instead.

“Jayeo. No noises while eating.”

“But Mom does it every day...”

“Mom is Mom, and you are you. This is why they say never even sigh in front of children—ah.”

Qing finally glanced at Seol Iri.

A plaintive, sorrowful beauty with slightly drooped eye-tails looked down at the table with dewy eyes.

“Still, Iri, you’re fine. Keep eating. Keep making those i-I mean, those... moans.”

“You just said it was lewd.”

“Lewd is fine. I actually like it. It’s your charm. Honestly, I look forward to it at every meal. I think it’s great—good to watch, good to hear. When a beauty does it, it’s a picture.”

Seol Iri’s brows rose and fell.

Should she like that or not—apparently both, wavering.

It sounded nice—beauty, charm—but also meant it was, after all, lewd.

In the end she must have taken it the good way; her volume dropped a lot, but—hah-ugh, hht—she started ladling in the hot porridge again.

The lower volume somehow made it even lewder.

Qing whispered in Jayeo’s ear.

“You mustn’t do that, Jayeo. Okay? Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Don’t just say it—make a promise. Here, promise—like this.”

She tickled the spot over Jayeo’s heart.

Hooking pinkies was from Qing’s homeland (technically from the islands to the east); here, a promise is expressed by setting your hand quietly over your own heart.

Perhaps it tickled; Jayeo’s body twisted and a breathless little laugh whickered out.

If only she laughed like a proper child—shriek like a dolphin, and such.

To be honest, her eyes were a bit dull like frozen fish, with dark smudges beneath; she was somewhat—no, quite—no, extremely gloomy and didn’t laugh well.

“Tsk.”

Qing lifted her cup.

Suddenly, the liquor tasted a touch bitter.

“Um, miss. Might I—may this lowly one beg pardon to ask—who the little miss here is? Is it impertinent to venture the question? I am ashamed that I do not know what is proper...”

Guard Ji slipped in the question, excessively cautious.

As Qing understood it, the more sensitive the topic, the longer the trailing...ending?—whatever you call it—the more padding.

But it wasn’t particularly sensitive.

If anything, had she wanted secrecy, she wouldn’t be parading the child in her arms.

To give Jayeo certainty, more people had to ask and be answered.

“Ah. This is Ximen Jayeo. I took her in as my daughter.”

“Gasp!” “Gasp!” “Gasp!”

One person asked, yet sharp intakes of breath popped from all over.

What now—are drinking manners here a mess? Eavesdropping on other people’s table?

Still, the glances sneaking toward Jayeo sparkled with obvious affection, so Qing let it slide.

Anyone gathered here like this was already a dyed-in-the-bone fanatic, past normal thought.

Heavens—if the Little Celestial Majesty has already been welcomed, then the radiant Sage-Deity has bestowed yet another great grace upon the world!

If anything, the exclamations were few for the shock—most of them had forgotten even how to breathe.

Anyway, for the fake guests on the top floor, it was a meal like a dream.

They renewed their resolve to spread this holy banquet (not) bestowed by her, to testify to this grace far and wide.