The War God vs. The Bashe Slayer

Liu Qingge unrolled the blank scroll partway and dipped his pen in the ink. A focused calm settled over him, and Yang Qinghui watched admiringly as he began scribbling on the paper.

"While we wait," Madam Meng continued, "please enjoy the rest of the meal."

Servants filed out of the kitchen with steaming bowls of fried rice. The guests dug in, watching Liu Qingge with interest as he continued scribbling on his scroll. Every so often, he paused to tap his pen against his chin.

Yang Qinghui leaned against her table, gazing around the courtyard at all the guests enjoying their meal and the entertainment. The banquet was going very well. She couldn't help but preen a little.

A particularly joyous laugh drew her eyes to the Qian Cao Peak table. Zhu Huangu was covering her mouth with her hand, shoulders shaking in laughter at something Fei Nianzu had said. She tossed her head backwards, and the lantern light caught tears of laughter in the corners her eyes. An involuntary smile tugged at Yang Qinghui's lips as she watched Zhu Huangu's laughter quiet into helpless giggles. Yang Qinghui felt her cheeks warm. She couldn't look away if she wanted to, and she certainly did not want to.

"The time is up!" Madam Meng announced. The dishes were cleared away, and a break was taken between courses to hear the poetry recital.

"Please recite your poem, Peak Lord Liu," Madam Meng said.

Liu Qingge cleared his throat, a faint blush reddening his cheeks. Yang Qinghui leaned over her table, propping her chin on her hands. Setting his jaw, Liu Qingge began:

"On the north bank of the Yellow River, west of the sea, is an army.

Hammered drums and sounded bells are heard beneath the sky.

The armoured horses cry out loud, I cannot tell their number.

The red-eyed tribe of demons are moving in great crowds."

The guests murmured between themselves, mildly surprised, like Yang Qinghui, that Liu Qingge could compose half-decent poetry.

"Hmm. Not bad, Liu Qingge," Yang Qinghui admitted with a smile. "My turn."

Madam Meng lit another stick of incense, and Yang Qinghui began writing. Her pen moved quickly across the paper, scribbling and striking out, until she had a short poem in the same structure as Liu Qingge's, and the incense had burned down again.

"Please recite your poem, Peak Lord Yang."

"Red and gold paper lanterns light bright the stone courtyard.

Food, drink, and laughter are shared with martial family.

Warm hearts, full bellies, worries washed away.

The moon shines in the night near the third watch."

Again, the guests murmured in delighted surprise, and Madam Meng announced, "Both participants may eat one berry each."

Shooting a grin at Liu Qingge, Yang Qinghui popped a bayberry into her mouth. He did the same, and rolled out more of his scroll.

"Peak Lord Yang, it is your turn."

Yang Qinghui cast a glance around the courtyard for inspiration, tapping her pen on her cheek. Her eyes landed on Zhu Huangu, who was thanking a servant for bringing her the next course. Mu Qingfang leaned over to say something to Zhu Huangu, who listened and nodded, playing with her lotus pendant.

Overcome with inspiration, Yang Qinghui dipped her pen and began writing. She mumbled to herself as she scribbled – "Seven, nine, eight, twelve," – and glanced occasionally at her muse. When the incense had burned down, she held up her scroll with ink-stained fingers.

Now, scanning it over, she felt a little embarrassed. It was a cheesy, romantic poem, and she had to clear her throat several times before beginning to read.

"Summer warms the mountain peaks.

Lotus flowers bloom in the cool lakes,

like my adoration of her.

I would pick a thousand flowers, and bury her

in sweet petals and green-coin leaves,

if her black jade eyes would glance at me.

I will never look away."

She didn't use Zhu Huangu's name, nor any overly specific description – she wouldn't embarrass her like that in front of everyone. But as she spoke the final line, she looked up at Zhu Huangu, to find the other woman's eyes fixed on her.

"Zhu Huangu's affection level increased! +10 points. Current affection level: 22 points."

Zhu Huangu was already blushing, and now she scowled and turned even redder. But she didn't look away.

The rest of the competition passed swiftly by. The bayberries gradually disappeared from their bowls, and their allotted time got shorter and shorter, until they barely had two minutes to scribble out a lushi couplet. Both of them messed up, and had to watch the other gloat. Finally they reached the final round.

"No mistakes on either side," Madam Meng announced. "Both participants may eat one bayberry."

"HA! That's my final one, shidi!" Yang Qinghui crowed, snatching up her last berry.

"Hang on, mine too!" Liu Qingge cried.

"…IT'S A TIE?!" they exclaimed at the same time.

The guests erupted in shock and protests.

"No way!"

"A tie?"

"Ha! You owe me twenty bronze coins!"

Yang Qinghui and Liu Qingge glared at each other, fuming.

"We need another challenge," Yang Qinghui declared.

"I agree," Liu Qingge gritted out. "Bring the wine and a vase of arrows."

"Ah, pitch-pot. You should know, I'm an undefeated champion."

"Maybe of Zui Xian Peak."

"… Bring wine and the pitch-pot set!" Yang Qinghui hollered. "We're having another challenge!"

The guests settled into an excited buzz. The courses and dessert had all been served and polished off. Now the servants brought wine for the guests and wine for the duellers. Madam Meng herself brought the pitch-pot set to the center of the stage.

"Lu Ying, come here!" Yang Qinghui called.

The young disciple scrambled excitedly off the dais and stood in front of Yang Qinghui.

"Hold these arrows for me, would you?"

"Sure, shizun!" Lu Ying took the two arrows and stood dutifully off to the side.

Liu Qingge called Sun Ru down and gave him the same task.

When everything was prepared, Madam Meng reminded them of the rules. "Whoever has the least amount of points must drink a measure of wine. How many rounds will there be?"

"Six," Liu Qingge said.

"Nine," Yang Qinghui said at the same time.

"Eight it is," Madam Meng said smoothly. "Peak Lord Liu, if you'll begin…"

Sun Ru passed his shizun an arrow, and Liu Qingge stood the proper few paces away from the vase. Narrowing his eyes, he drew back his arm, and launched the arrow forwards. It clattered into the vase.

"Ten points for Peak Lord Liu," Madam Meng announced.

"Beginner's luck," Yang Qinghui said with a teasing grin, taking the arrow Lu Ying offered. With ease, she tossed the arrow at the vase, and it landed neatly inside the vase.

"Five points for Peak Lord Yang."

Liu Qingge missed the next arrow, but Yang Qinghui got hers, earning her twenty points. Sullen, Liu Qingge drank a cup of wine, and on they went to the next round.

By the eighth round, Yang Qinghui couldn't tell if she was spinning or the world was spinning. Uproarious laugher echoed through the courtyard, as nearly everyone had indulged in a few cups of wine. Miraculously, Yang Qinghui got an arrow in the vase.

"Five points to Peak Lord Yang!" Madam Meng announced, still standing primly by the vase.

"What's that? Do I win?" Yang Qinghui stumbled over to Liu Qingge, who leaned heavily against the dais. She patted him on the back and he nearly fell over. "Oi, Liu Qingge. Did I win?"

"Does it matter?" Liu Qingge groaned. "I can't feel my face."

"… Does it matter?" Yang Qinghui's brain felt fuzzy. Every coherent thought seemed to slip away from her fingers like fog. "You know what, I think you're right. It doesn't matter what we call each other, does it? Doesn't matter whose shidi or shixiong or shijie or – " Yang Qinghui hiccupped – "or whatever. We're family, xiongdi."

Liu Qingge looked up at her, his eyes unfocused. "Family?"

"Yeah!"

"…You're right," Liu Qingge mumbled. Tears prickled in his eyes. "We're f-f-family."

"Aww, xiongdi!" Yang Qinghui started crying too, and scooped Liu Qingge into a hug.

"As adorable as this is," came a fondly amused voice, "I believe it's well past time this banquet came to an end. Shimei, will you close the banquet?"

Sniffling, Yang Qinghui looked over at Yue Qingyuan, who smiled warmly. "Yeah, alright." She patted Liu Qingge on the back and addressed the guests: "Thank you all for coming, I hope everyone had a good time!"

If the resounding cheers and laughter were anything to go by, the banquet had been a true success.

The guests began filing out, some more upright than others, all pausing to briefly bow and thank Yang Qinghui. Zhu Huangu's cheeks were red with slight drunkenness, and she leaned close to Yang Qinghui to whisper, "I liked your poem," before being gently helped away by Mu Qingfang, who called his thanks over his shoulder.

When everyone but the servants and the Bai Zhan guests had taken their leave, Yang Qinghui pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to clear her head. A quiet calm had fallen over the courtyard.

"Hey, where's my disciple…?" She spun around, looking, and regretted the sudden movement. But she spotted Lu Ying.

She and Sun Ru had fallen asleep on the steps of the dais, slumped against each other and snoring gently.

"Awwww!" Tears pooled in Yang Qinghui's eyes again, from sheer cuteness. "Xiongdi, look!" she whisper-shouted to Liu Qingge. She looked over to find Liu Qingge with a rare smile on his face.

"Madam, shall I get the little one to bed?" Madam Meng asked.

"Oh, sure, thank you. Try not to wake her."

"Of course, madam."

Ji Jue, looking remarkably not-drunk, appeared beside Liu Qingge. "Liu-shixiong, I can carry Ru'er to the carriage."

Liu Qingge nodded. "Thanks."

"Hey, who won, anyway?" Yang Qinghui called after Madam Meng.

"Erm…" Madam Meng exchanged a glance with Ji Jue. "I'm afraid the challenge devolved a bit at the end, madam. I don't think there was a clear winner, per se."

"Oh, great. Another tie. What are we going to do?" Yang Qinghui asked Liu Qingge, tossing her hands in the air. "What do we call each other now?"

"Well, Peak Lord Yang," Ji Jue said, gently lifting Sun Ru, "you call Liu-shixiong "xiongdi" all the time. Why don't you call each other "xiongdi" and "jiemei"?"

"Hmm." Yang Qinghui pushed out her bottom lip thoughtfully. "What do you think?" she asked Liu Qingge.

"It's a little more personal than how martial siblings usually refer to each other," Madam Meng piped up, picking up Lu Ying with the experienced ease of a parent, "but you two certainly act like true siblings."

"Very well," Liu Qingge gave in. "Thank you for hosting this banquet… jiemei."

"Glad you enjoyed it, xiongdi." Yang Qinghui grinned and held out her arm.

Liu Qingge grasped her forearm with another smile.

Yang Qinghui felt like she was floating on a cloud – and not just because of the wine. Yes, this banquet had indeed been a success. Things were looking up!

She should've known better than to trust it would last.