Chapter Sixty-Nine: When Life Is at Its Best, One Must Celebrate to the Fullest

“Come, come, let’s keep drinking. Let’s get drunk while the wine lasts,” Qin Yi broke the heavy silence, then turned with interest toward Old Jiang and smiled, “Old Jiang, you can’t play favorites! Someday, you’ll have to give me some pointers on the art of talismans as well.”

Old Jiang, holding the wine jug just about to take a swig, looked at Qin Yi with amusement and said, “So now you finally believe in your grandfather’s prowess, huh?” He paused, as if struck by a thought, and asked, “Weren’t you practicing the way of the sword? Why are you suddenly interested in talismans?”

Qin Yi nodded, “Yes! Otherwise, wouldn’t my physique go to waste?”

Upon hearing this, Old Jiang scoffed, “Have you ever seen someone master two paths at the same time?”

Qin Yi shook his head, smiling, “Of course not.”

Old Jiang rolled his eyes, “That’s just it. Even if you’re a supreme Dao seed, in my opinion, it’s better to excel in one path.”

“Hah!” Qin Yi suddenly gulped down a mouthful of wine, let out a long sigh, and stood up, his spirit soaring, “Then I shall be the first—unprecedented and unmatched!”

The others reacted to his declaration, each with their own expression.

Jiang Fengnian fell into deep thought, seemingly pondering the possibility.

Old Jiang, instead of his usual eye-rolling, showed a hint of admiration in his gaze. He remembered an old acquaintance—someone he bore some resentment toward, yet could not deny a certain mutual understanding.

He Anjian worried that Qin Yi might be too fickle, wasting his talent, but still held back from interfering.

Jiang Yao and Zhang Chen naturally supported Qin Yi’s ambition.

The old coachman understood nothing, simply content to drink and eat.

After a long while, Old Jiang took a heavy swig of wine and laughed heartily, “Alright! If you want to learn from me, I won’t be stingy. Otherwise, some basics of the Celestial Talisman might disappear from the world altogether.”

“Celestial Talisman,” Old Jiang suddenly uttered, surprising everyone. Wasn’t it said that the Celestial Talisman had vanished with the ancient human master of the Celestial Sect? Even its fragments were rare.

Old Jiang scoffed, “Do you think only Jade Spirit Peak of Taiyi Mountain has the sole remnant of the Celestial Talisman? The world is vast and full of wonders. There’s so much you kids don’t know!”

Qin Yi and Jiang Yao were at a loss for words.

Zhang Chen suddenly understood, “No wonder I felt a sense of familiarity when you taught me, senior. That explains it.”

Jiang Fengnian, humbled, said, “I was narrow-minded, only reading thousands of books and forgetting to travel ten thousand miles. Your lesson is well taken. From now on, I shall read widely and travel further.”

The old man in the straw raincoat chuckled at Jiang Fengnian’s words, shaking his head with delight, “The boy can be taught.”

Qin Yi asked curiously, “Old Jiang, why not just take us to your friend, the talisman master? Wouldn’t that be better?”

Old Jiang grew a little forlorn, “That fellow is already dead.”

Qin Yi was stunned, falling silent.

After a long pause, Old Jiang said regretfully, “Though we were close, and he knew the Celestial Talisman, I never thought his talisman craft surpassed my way of the sword, so I didn’t pay much attention. I only remember a little. But even so, I dare say—if you grasp the essence of the Celestial Talisman as I teach it, unless your comprehension is abysmal, your progress in the art will be swift.”

Qin Yi feigned worry, sighing, “Oh! Then I’m doomed. Someone once said my talent was ten thousand leagues inferior to his when he was young!”

Old Jiang burst into laughter, and after a while, said cheerfully, “You rascal, don’t think being a supreme Dao seed means anything. You’re playing coy after getting the advantage. Know this: if I criticize your aptitude as being ten thousand leagues beneath mine, that’s the highest praise I can give you!”

His words grew louder and more exaggerated with each sentence.

Qin Yi, gnawing on a golden lamb leg and drinking the purple rice stew wine, rolled his eyes repeatedly.

Everyone laughed heartily at the scene, even the old coachman.

Under the dim moonlight, beside a modest river, around a fire that flickered but never blazed, these cultivators drank and feasted, their laughter echoing through the night.

If only time could freeze here, perhaps all would be content.

But as the poem goes, “The moon waxes and wanes, people meet and part…”

After the laughter subsided, Jiang Fengnian staggered to his feet, raising his nearly empty wine jug, smiling broadly, “When life is good, make merry! Come, let’s finish this jug together!”

“Drinking? I’ve never feared anyone!” The old man in the straw raincoat rose immediately, less wobbly than Jiang Fengnian, but his thin face was already flushed red, thanks to the honest drinking—no one relied on cultivation to cheat tonight.

He Anjian, usually solemn, was all smiles tonight. Perhaps because tomorrow he would see his estranged daughter, or perhaps tonight’s joy was simply genuine. He rose smartly, raised his wine jug, and laughed, “Jiang’s words are sound. When life is good, make merry!”

Qin Yi and Zhang Chen stood up together, lifting their jugs, and Jiang Yao picked up hers, though she had barely touched the wine.

Just as everyone rose, Old Jiang hurried over to the old coachman, who was still munching on golden roast lamb. He gave him a swift kick, sending him sprawling. After rolling a few times, the coachman scrambled up, clutching his jug tightly, and before he could complain, Old Jiang laughed and said, “Old He, why aren’t you joining us?”

The old coachman, unfazed by the kick and the scolding, picked up his jug and grinned, “Drinking, is it? Sure! Old He can’t read or cultivate, but when it comes to drinking, he’s second to none!”

Old Jiang beamed, slinging an arm around the much shorter coachman’s shoulders, leading him toward the group with a smile, “Old He, you said it yourself! Come, let’s have a contest!”

The coachman just grinned widely, saying nothing.

Qin Yi, curious, pointed at Old Jiang and asked the coachman, “Old He, he kicked you—don’t you resent him?”

The coachman shook his head, waving his hand with a radiant smile, “No, not at all! The master says he’s an immortal. To be kicked by him is a joy!”

Qin Yi was stunned by the answer, gazing at the coachman’s brilliant smile. He wasn’t sure if the man truly bore no resentment, but at that moment, his happiness was genuine, and Qin Yi saw only pure simplicity in that smile.

Qin Yi thought, if all cultivators in this world, regardless of their numbers or their strength, could be like the old coachman—even in their twilight years, possessing such a pure heart—how wonderful it would be.

With the last gulp of wine, everyone was thoroughly drunk. The purple rice stew wine’s potent aftereffects had arrived, and even Old Jiang and the coachman, who had boasted about their prodigious tolerance, now lay lazily on the ground, fast asleep.

He Anjian, always strict and proper, abandoned all restraint tonight.

Even Jiang Fengnian, usually so fastidious about his appearance, succumbed. Who knows what he’ll think of his multicolored robes when he wakes tomorrow.

Only Jiang Yao remained sober, carrying the drowsy Qin Yi to the carriage.

Under the dim moon and gentle breeze, by the modest river, all was silent except for Old Jiang’s snoring.

The campfire continued to burn, casting the only light on this moonlit night by the river.