Chapter 106: The New Eight Immortals of the Drunken (Part V) — After the Eight Immortals, I shall write no more of poetry, wine, food, or lodging...

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In the dead of night, beneath a silver moon hanging low over the western trees, within a courtyard shaped like the character for “field,” pale light gleamed like frost on a sword, occasionally flickering with fireflies.

A woman danced gracefully with her sword, her silk scarf fluttering delicately. Her blade traced unusual arcs through the air, slicing cleanly and forcing all who circled her to retreat.

She turned, spinning the sword back, then thrust again, cleaving the air with a sharp whistle.

Jewels at her neck tinkled softly, while a keen sword at her waist was drawn once more. With both hands, she wielded the blades—fierce as a tiger, fluid as a descending dragon—her movements accompanied by rising and falling winds, the clash of steel ringing out sharply as her swords struck the void, coming to a synchronized halt.

Li Shisan could not help but applaud enthusiastically, but this drew a sidelong glance from Lady Gongsun, who had just finished her own sword dance. She bowed her head and drew her sword again, moving with a gentle hum, lacking Lady Gongsun’s brilliance and vigor, and without the aura of a true sword dancer—more like a child learning to walk.

“Shisan, swing your arm wider, step stronger! You’re the most outstanding disciple I’ve taught. Women are naturally gentle; to master sword dance, you must use softness to gain strength. Your last strike wasn’t straight enough, nor swift enough…”

As dawn broke, mist curled over Qujiang Pond. Wu Yueling had just awoken by the bridgehead when she heard lively noises from the pavilion. Several scholars and poets had gathered, and vendors were selling Hu-style pancakes and flatbreads.

She cupped a handful of clear water, splashing it freely on her face, then rubbed it with soap powder. After washing, she picked up a toothbrush and toothpaste and rinsed by the broken bridge.

After breakfast, Wu Yueling boarded a small boat, reclining amid the lotus blossoms. Occasionally, she watched white-robed scholars who bravely dared to try the potent liquor, only to collapse after a single bowl. It was somewhat regrettable that Li Bai drank without crossing the bridge—whether he truly desired the title of “Immortal of the Eight” remained a mystery.

Picking a lotus seed from a pod, she suddenly thought to provoke him—what if she diluted her own strong liquor with some water? It might be a trick, but could work, since Li Bai’s great reputation was paired with a certain pride: though a capable drinker, he refused to cross the bridge.

Landing from her boat, she arranged matters and found Li Bai chatting with Prince Ruyang. From afar, she heard Li Jin’s voice.

“Brother Taibai, the title of Drunken Immortal surely belongs to you. Why not join me in crossing that wooden bridge and enjoy the fame?”

“An empty honor. Taibai has long seen through it.”

“Then what do you seek? Though this wine is meant to soothe, I too drink because my heart is heavy. I seek to drown my sorrows in revelry!”

“What Taibai seeks is the realm and its people. The court has lost its mirror; all are false!”

“Alas... the princess arrives!”

Wu Yueling smiled, bowing with cupped hands, thinking to herself how these two men were so melancholic. “Taibai, you say the people suffer greatly! What means do you have to save them?”

“Ha ha ha!”

Stroking his long beard, Li Bai laughed heartily, shaking his head. “If Taibai had a way to save them, he wouldn’t spend his days drinking and singing!”

“I do have a way!”

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At these words, both Li Bai and Li Jin’s expressions shifted, their eyes turning inquisitive toward the princess.

“What way?”

“I, the Immortal, say: it cannot be spoken!” Wu Yueling shook her head playfully, imitating a bookish scholar.

“But…”

Seeing the princess’s mysterious pose, Li Bai grew impatient. If there was truly a way to rescue the people from misery, why not speak it at once? “Princess, speak freely. Li Bai is eager for ways to bring peace and save the people!”

“First, a challenge: each drink three bowls of strong wine, then cross the Eight Immortals Bridge together!”

A faint, graceful smile revealed three parts feminine charm and seven parts heroic spirit. Their mingled auras astonished the two men—was this a mere woman? She seemed both woman and not, perhaps some kind of spirit?

“Agreed!” Li Bai rose with resolute ease and strode toward the wine table.

Wu Yueling followed, arranging six bowls in two neat rows.

Onlookers, puzzled, murmured among themselves. They were a mix: poor folk who earned by weaving straw sandals, aristocratic youths, and many self-important scholars. Beggars lingered at the edges, not driven off by the princess’s grace, even receiving porridge from her.

Du Fu and Gao Shi stood among the beggars, holding bowls of porridge as they watched the scene by the pavilion.

“Look, it’s Li Hanlin!”

“What is the princess up to?”

“Wait and see…”

“Friends, Yueling will drink with Taibai to see who falls first and fails to cross the Eight Immortals Bridge!” Wu Yueling declared after pouring the white wine.

Her words stirred the crowd! Some ran about shouting, a storyteller among them proclaiming the news—no one knew which tavern he came from.

“The Protectorate Princess is challenging Li Hanlin to a drinking contest!!!”

Visitors around Qujiang Pond flocked to watch. Such a rare sight: a princess drinking, and with strong liquor that could fell a man in one bowl!

The commotion drew crowds, soon packing the bridgehead densely.

Hearing “strong liquor,” Zhang Xu, riding a donkey, spurred his mount forward eagerly. Two bandits followed on horseback, having never passed the city gates of Chang’an because of strict inspections.

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“Please!”

“Princess, please!”

Wu Yueling lifted a bowl of watered-down wine to her lips. The burn raced from throat to chest. Eyes closed, she downed it in one gulp, then squinted at Li Bai, who was similarly affected.

“Let’s go, Taibai!” she called, leading the way toward the Eight Immortals Bridge.

Li Bai shook his head, summoned his breath, and followed. At first, he felt no oddity, but soon noticed the princess’s silhouette ahead seemed to split into two—then three.

Sweat beaded on Wu Yueling’s brow. The aftereffects of the wine were potent; though she had only drunk about one and a half bowls by calculation, dizziness pressed hard. She was clearly not a strong drinker—not one destined to become an immortal.

Stepping onto the bridge, warm sunlight bathed her, while a cool breeze stirred the wooden planks. She exhaled deeply, her hair flowing, and glanced down at the lake below, recalling the bridge stood about ten feet above the water.

She pressed forward, sweat pouring, and descended the bridge. Wan’er came to steady her, and Wu Yueling leaned on her soft figure. Too dizzy to mind the crowd, she tilted her head and cast a glance at Li Bai, who had collapsed just after stepping down, resting against Wan’er’s ample bosom and falling asleep.

In her drunken dreams, her head brushed against Wan’er’s softness, hands reaching up unconsciously as if clutching a pillow.

Wan’er’s ears flushed crimson, unsure how to respond. She simply allowed the young lady’s actions and gently cradled the not-too-heavy figure, moving her to a nearby carriage.

When Wu Yueling awoke from her stupor, she saw Cen Shen and an old man drinking and then rushing toward the bridge.

Cen Shen moved with light steps, finally leaping and tumbling at the bridgehead. Though martial training helped him suppress dizziness, he still collapsed—had it not been for the leap, he might not have become one of the Drunken Immortals.

The old man lost control after drinking, running madly on the bridge. His shoes fell into Qujiang Pond, as did his wooden hairpin; his hair disheveled, he sprinted back like the wind, grabbed a brush from the donkey’s saddle, unfurled a scroll, and flung ink wildly. Raising his head in a howl, he collapsed amid heavy snoring.

Wu Yueling approached, noting the old man’s shabby state—his worn clothes stained black with ink. But the scroll on the ground astonished her!

Though the calligraphy was messy and illegible, it resembled mountains, stones, and trees—a wild, unrestrained sweep with no restraint. Most importantly, the characters were incomprehensible; rather than writing, it was more like a painting.

From that day forward, the streets of Chang’an buzzed with tales of Qujiang Pond. Shoe sellers, cloth merchants, mischievous children, and wandering scholars all spoke of the event. The Eight Immortals Bridge still awaited two more immortals to claim their spots, and the people’s view of the Protectorate Princess was forever changed: though a woman, she could drink with the best, matching Li Taibai and Prince Ruyang in prowess.

News of these events reached Chancellor Li Shizhi’s ears. The crafty Li Linfu invited Wang Lizhi for the first time. In the Moon Hall, one plan failed but another was born—he intended to test the three bowls of strong wine himself, and have eight white jade cups prepared as a gift for the Drunken Immortals.

Under the moonlight, Li Shisan, who had just begun to dance, heard her fellow disciples talk of the next day’s trip to Qujiang Pond.

Thus, the tale of the Drunken Immortals continued to unfold.