After three rounds of wine, everyone was flushed and warm to the ears. The green-clothed boy sat at the table with Old Immortal Jing, the Dragon Kiln master, and the potters, helping entertain the guests. By now, Chen Lingjun had become extraordinarily familiar with those "elders" and had begun shouting drinking-game calls. They all used the local dialect of the small town, accompanied by hand gestures—six sixes bring good fortune, a hall full of red, the cries rising and falling one after another. The guests at this table had initially been incomparably restrained, but after the green-clothed boy stirred things up, and Liu Xianyang and the others came over to toast them and told them to drink freely, they finally let themselves go completely.
Earlier, seeing that Chen Ping'an had not even taken a seat at the main table, Jing Hao tactfully refrained from going over to curry favor with the two Temple of Literature leaders and Jiang Taigong of the Martial Temple. Besides, there was no need for him to show such solicitude toward the Central Plains Confucian Temple over this sort of matter. At Jing Hao's age in the Dao and level of cultivation, talking about attending to every aspect would simply have been wrong.
The old cook took off his apron and sleeve guards, only for Zhong Qian to drag him forcibly from the kitchen to the wine table. Unable to resist the leader of the late-night-snack lineage, Zhu Lian dusted his sleeves and asked with a smile, "Is the seasoning all right? Not too salty or bland?"
With a toothpick between her lips, Zhong Qian said, "Once we return to Luopo Mountain, our midnight meals must be kept to this standard too."
Zhu Lian raised a foot, and Zhong Qian sighed. "Who knows why, but the