The soldiers charged with guarding the altar had all fallen drunk, sprawled every which way across the ground, and the air was thick with the reeking fragrance of strong liquor. In the distance the Miao folk crowded round in layer upon layer, watching, and now and then someone burst out laughing. As for the two visitors from the Central Plains, the man was at least still standing in place, though his expression was rather grim; the woman, however, seemed already drunk, her face flushed a vivid, dazzling red, her whole body leaning against the man—though she could still stand, and in that she was far better off than the Miao warriors sprawled across the ground.

Even the strange three-eyed monkey they had brought was sitting at their feet, eating a bite of fruit and washing it down with a sip of strong liquor, joyous and in high spirits.

Tu Magu was no fool. After a few more glances, and a look at the wine sacks scattered over the ground and the expressions of the watching Miao, he understood that this was no scheme of the two Central Plains folk, but the failings of his own men.

Seeing the chieftain come down, someone had already run up, bent to his ear, and briefly recounted what had happened.

Looking at the drunkards strewn over the ground, Tu Magu was so furious he could have choked. He thought these good-for-nothings had actually put the great matter of guarding the altar out of their minds. Worse still, a dozen or twenty men had drunk a frail young woman under the table—if word of this ever got out, the Miao would lose all face and be mocked to death in secret by the other four tribes of the southern border.

Resolving in his heart that he would certainly deal with these worthless Miao once he returned, Tu Magu forced a smile onto his face and, pretending to take no notice of the mess on the ground, walked toward Ming Li.

Ming Li, too, now saw Tu Magu approaching, and his heart gave a thud. Though this drinking contest had not been fought with blades and spears, anyone could see that the fallen Miao had cost the Miao people great face. When Tu Magu had come down the mountain a moment ago, Ming Li had seen from afar that his expression was wrong—plainly he was furious.

Though he now came forward with a forced smile, Ming Li knew well enough that he was displeased, and could not help inwardly blaming Xiaobai for stirring up such trouble.

When Tu Magu drew near, Ming Li forced a smile and said awkwardly, "Elder, my—my friend here, she—she truly doesn't know the customs, and that's how this..."

Tu Magu shook his head and said to him, "Say no more. I know it all. Truth be told, it's my own men who are useless."

Ming Li fell silent, then ventured cautiously, "Then—will the great shaman be willing to see us?"

Tu Magu glanced at him, then at Xiaobai, who leaned against Ming Li with her bright eyes half closed and her breath coming soft and quick. He gave a bitter laugh and said, "Go on up. The great shaman has agreed to see you."

Ming Li was overjoyed. "Many thanks, elder," he said again and again.

Tu Magu said blandly, "I am the chief of the Miao here. You may simply call me Tu Magu."

Ming Li was taken aback. He had seen that the old man commanded great respect among the Miao, but he had not expected him to be the chief of the whole Miao clan. He nodded at once. "Then I thank you, Chief."

Tu Magu shook his head. "Go on up, quickly! The great shaman is still waiting for you!"

Ming Li answered and was about to stride toward the altar halfway up the mountain, but Xiaobai, beside him, tangled him up. That supple, boneless body had gone limp against him; if he simply walked off like this, she would surely fall to the ground.

So he said softly to Xiaobai, "Xiaobai, I have to go see the great shaman. Stand up on your own and wait for me here, all right?"

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.

Luckily the wine bags the Miao sewed were thick and sturdy, or being dragged about like that they would long since have burst. Seeing the monkey's amusing antics, the crowd of Miao gathered at the foot of the mountain burst into laughter that carried far off and echoed through the valley of Qili Cave.