Chapter 195: Dragon-Phoenix Assembly

Meanwhile, Qing, having gotten up on her own, dusted off her robes and spoke.

“Oh my, Miss Murong? Are you perhaps drunk? Why are you suddenly rolling on the floor? You startled me so much I jumped right up. Ah, or perhaps that was your unique way of trying to help me up?”

“The—the floor is a bit slippery," Murong Juhui said. "Miss Ximen is surprisingly... quite heavy, it seems. I lost my balance pulling on something so hefty! Like a lump of iron, so heavy! Miss Ximen didn't look it, but her weight...! Oops, apologies. I misspoke. I certainly meant no harm.”

Yesterday, Qing had relentlessly targeted her weaknesses, leaving her defenseless, but Murong Juhui’s sharp tongue wasn’t easily bested either.

Qing thought.

Weight is something only women fret about. Does she think I care about something like that? It doesn’t hurt me at all, I’m not even annoyed.

You should know your opponent before picking a fight, you… you stupid, empty-headed, damn wench.

Seriously, not even a tiny, minuscule, infinitesimal fraction of me is bothered, you know? Who gets worked up over such childish insults, anyway?

Completely unfazed, Qing replied.

“Not at all. Why apologize for the truth? It’s because I’m carrying these heavy lumps of flesh on my chest. I truly envy you, Miss Murong. Your shoulders must feel so very, very light.”

Qing's superhuman hearing didn't miss the sound of Murong Juhui grinding her teeth.

“Ah! Oh dear!" Qing exclaimed. "Are you alright!? Even if I fall, I have something to cushion the blow. But Miss Murong, you don’t have that, do you? It must hurt much more than it hurts me. I feel so sorry… it’s because these are so heavy. Ugh, you naughty things," Qing patted her chest reproachfully, "if only I could share them with you.”

Veins pulsed distinctly on Murong Juhui’s forehead.

“I—I don’t need them! Ugh. Fine! Today, let’s drink ourselves to death. Let’s see this through to the end.”

Murong Juhui’s voice trembled.

She desperately tried to console herself.

Endure it. Just endure.

Anyway, ahead of the drinking contest, I’m drinking tea while that stupid wench is cluelessly guzzling alcohol.

After returning to her seat and downing about two more bottles, the woman who had gone downstairs earlier returned to announce that the preparations for the drinking contest were complete.

Qing tilted her head.

There’s nothing here, what preparations are done?

Then, Murong Juhui, with a triumphantly wicked expression, puffed herself up and declared pointedly.

“Shall we now proceed to the real contest?”

In the Central Plains, drinking capacity was a crucial matter directly tied to a man’s pride.

Take Zhang Fei, for example.

What ultimately became of Zhang Fei after his drunken rampages?

While drunk and asleep, when a blade touched his neck, he thought it was a mosquito landing on him and slapped the back of the blade with all his might, cleanly cutting off his own head in a single stroke.

In other words, it wasn't an assassination, but suicide.

How utterly baffling must it have been for the two assassins who had risked their lives to come and behead him?

One could say his two older brothers, who hadn't disciplined their younger brother's habits earlier, were the ones who killed Zhang Fei.

Despite him constantly stuffing his face with alcohol, what did his brothers do?

They acted like overly protective parents, saying, “A hero can surely get drunk and act out a little, why dampen our brother’s spirit?”

Because drinking capacity was a man’s pride, and the younger brother’s pride was the sworn brother’s pride.

Thanks to this, he evolved into a complete asshole, whipping any subordinate he saw whenever he drank.

Only then did Liu Bei pretend to intervene—

Warning him that acting like such a dog could get him stabbed in the back, urging him to restrain himself—even that was actually out of concern for Zhang Fei.

The lowly subordinates whipped into near-death by his sworn brother? If they died, he could just get new ones. But his one remaining brother couldn't be replaced.

To Liu Bei, even his own son was a trivial existence that could simply be replaced by having another (not that he was the one giving birth), so what did he care about some nameless soldiers?

One must not forget that Liu Bei became the worst kind of ruler, discarding all his officials and subjects like trash after losing both his brothers.

In any case, whenever Zhang Fei drank, his sworn brothers would applaud and praise him, “Truly, our brother is the strongest!” They would deploy him at every banquet to firmly establish dominance through drinking capacity, targeting both enemies and allies alike.

This is what drinking capacity meant to a man of the Central Plains.

In truth, this wasn’t limited to the Central Plains; it was the same across the world.

Thus, drinking capacity could be called an instinct connected to the essence of manhood, transcending cultural boundaries.

Therefore, drinking contests in the Central Plains had a somewhat established system.

The rules of a drinking contest were as follows:

A large liquor bowl was placed on the table, and beside it, a ladle floated in an even larger liquor crock.

You could only touch the rim of the bowl with your lips once. Afterward, you had to tilt it over your head and pour any remaining liquor onto yourself.

If your upper garment became soaked, you lost. Therefore, it was crucial to drink it cleanly without spilling after the first sip.

There were several other conditions for defeat.

The one who backed down saying they couldn’t drink anymore lost.

Breaking the liquor bowl due to inability to stand straight also meant defeat.

The one who vomited lost.

Using internal energy to push out the alcohol during the bet was considered the act of an utter scoundrel if caught.

If the alcohol ran out, they waited, and the first person to go urinate lost.

Naturally, going to the latrine before the alcohol ran out resulted in immediate disqualification.

This was the true trap Murong Juhui had prepared. The friend (lackey) she had sent to make preparations had gone around each floor, loudly publicizing the drinking contest between the Golden Sun Sword Flower and the Veiled Woman.

Incidentally, the very choice of wording, "Golden Sun Sword Flower versus the Veiled Woman," was truly malicious—a brilliant move to frame it as a battle between one of the Five Flowers of Murim, a supreme beauty, and a veiled ugly woman.

Thus, a dueling ground was set up on the first floor.

Members of the Dragon-Phoenix Assembly's Heavenly Martial Team, Earth Dragon Team, and even aspiring successors from minor sects who didn't belong yet flocked over, forcing them to clear away all the dining tables and chairs.

And why wouldn't they? It was a formal drinking contest between women, something one might witness only once in a lifetime.

In a world where it was rare even to hear women boast of their drinking capacity, they were going to have a public showdown right in front of everyone.

And so, Qing and Murong Juhui faced each other across the table bearing the liquor bowl.

And between them—Qing tilted her head.

Who is this person acting as the referee in the middle?

The answer was the owner of the tower.

However, like Qing, nobody else cared enough to know.

“Alright, one cup!”

The tower owner scooped liquor from the crock with a large ladle—a du, the kind used for grains or liquids—and filled the bowls.

Murong Juhui was brimming with confidence.

She had already more or less secured victory on the seventh floor; if anything, diligently gulping down tea had been the real ordeal.

Compared to that, wasn't that wench coming here after downing seven bottles of that potent Dukang liquor?

Qing was simply somewhat impressed.

So this was the plan she was building towards.

Not just to catch me drunk and mock my weaknesses, but to make a complete spectacle of me in front of everyone.

However, she had picked the wrong opponent.

Sun Tzu, who preached knowing oneself and the enemy, was continuing his legendary streak of consecutive victories, undefeated in a hundred battles.

Just as Qing was about to lift her bowl.

“Wait! Miss Ximen," Murong Juhui called out. "Shouldn’t you remove your veil? If you keep it on, isn’t it too disadvantageous for me? Even if you leave a little behind over your head, if the veil absorbs it, I feel that puts me at a disadvantage. The more precious the brocade silk, the more liquor it will soak up.”

Brocade silk referred to veils woven from silk.

This was coming from the woman who had been drinking tea while making Qing guzzle alcohol.

At that, the gazes of the crowd focused on Qing.

“Hear, hear!” someone shouted.

Qing chuckled softly and retorted.

“Shouldn’t Miss Murong endure at least this much? After all, even if you spill while drinking, Miss Murong, your top won’t get wet, will it?”

Qing made a gesture as if stroking a beard.

In reality, she was mimicking the appearance of water droplets falling from a chin, and people quickly understood her true meaning.

The crowd’s gazes darted back and forth between Qing’s chest and Murong Juhui’s chest.

“That’s also true!” Someone shouted again, causing a burst of laughter to ripple through the crowd.

Murong Juhui’s clenched fists trembled violently.

And so, one bowl.

“Two cups!”

And two bowls.

“Three cups!”

“Four cups!”

“Five cups!”

By this point, some spectators began to show pale faces.

Murong Juhui, setting down her bowl, swayed slightly before managing to regain her balance by taking a step back.

“Oh my, Miss Murong?" Qing asked innocently. "Aren’t you pushing yourself too hard? I’m only just beginning to feel a slight buzz. How could someone so delicate challenge someone to a drinking contest?”

“Who said… I’m drunk," Murong Juhui slurred. "I’m not drunk! Next cup!”

She’s drunk. Definitely drunk, the onlookers thought.

“Six cups!”

“Seven cups!”

At this point, the outcome began to seem clear.

Murong Juhui’s narrow-sleeved red jeogori was half-soaked and clinging to her body.

In contrast, Qing’s martial uniform was pristine, without a single drop of moisture.

“Miss Murong," Qing said gently. "Wouldn’t it be better to acknowledge your limits and withdraw at this point? Lest you show an unsightly appearance before all these people…”

“Shut up! Who said… I’m drunk…”

“I didn’t say you were drunk," Qing replied. "But Miss, you seem quite intoxicated…”

“Next cup! Bring the next cup!” Murong Juhui demanded.

“Eight cups!”

The tower owner declared, starting to ladle out the liquor.

Qing let out a deep sigh.

Of course, the intention to humiliate her in front of so many people was utterly contemptible, but things looked like they might genuinely get out of hand.

If the wench had accumulated bad karma, Qing would see it through to the end right now. But that wasn't the case, and disgracing a perfectly fine woman wasn't something an adult should do.

Qing lifted the bowl, drank, then suddenly let go. A loud crash and shatter echoed through the room.

“Oh dear. It seems I have lost," Qing announced. "Miss Murong has won the drinking contest, so I shall withdraw now.”

Though Qing said this, none of the spectators believed it.

It was obvious to anyone that she was feigning defeat out of concern for her opponent, withdrawing gracefully. Murmurs spread through the crowd about how the veiled woman must have a truly kind heart.

Ugh. I’m so full I could die.

Qing fought the urge to rub her stomach as she headed for the stairs.

Even in retreat, she had to take the collapsed Gongson Yoye with her, didn't she?

She needed to go to Mucheon Pavilion and ask for some hangover soup. She was debating whether a clear broth or a spicy one would be better.

“Hey! You! Stop right there! What is the meaning of this!” Murong Juhui shrieked.

“Isn’t it customary for the loser to withdraw silently?" Qing asked calmly. "I'm finding it hard to stand straight today, so I'm heading back. As the victor, please grant me some leniency.”

“You, you! Are you mocking me!? Just because you have slightly bigger boobs, you think you can act high and mighty! Fine, I’m a flat-chested wench! I have no breasts, so what!? Did you contribute anything to them!?”

It was a spectacular self-destruction.

Good grief, I stepped back to avoid seeing this mess.

Qing sighed deeply.

“Miss, you are very drunk.”

“Right, this is all fake too! So what!" Murong Juhui raged. "You damn evil wench! Rubbing salt in people’s wounds. Tch, what use is any of this!”

She then thrust her hand into her chest, pulled out a padded, stitched bundle, and hurled it away.

Then, letting out seething breaths, tears suddenly started streaming down her face.

“Hmph. Me too, like this, hmph…”

Worse still, she had only removed the fake breast padding from one side, leaving her lopsided—one side modestly curved, the other flat like a man’s chest.

If she had removed both, it might have been different, but the contrast made the flat side look even flatter.

Finding it unbearable to watch, Qing spoke again.

“Perhaps Miss Murong’s friends could…”

The group, who had been standing around uncertainly, rushed towards Murong Juhui.

“What! Let go! Let go of me!”

“Juhui, stop it," one friend pleaded. "We all know how you feel, we’re upset too, let’s not do this, let’s just go upstairs first…”

“How would you know!" Murong Juhui cried. "You guys have at least a little! Nobody understands how I feel! Nobody! Besides, do you think it’s just my chest that’s small! I have big things too—mmph!”

One of her friends, unable to bear listening any longer, clamped her hand firmly over Murong Juhui’s mouth.

Held firmly by both arms, her mouth gagged from behind, the completely subdued Murong Juhui was dragged away.

Afterward, a solemn silence descended upon the hall.

Thanks to that, only the muffled sounds of Murong Juhui still struggling and screaming could be clearly heard.