The next evening, at the Warrior Monk Prefecture.
Wearing a pale pink, open-front undershirt, Niu Dali sat alone in the Inner Hall, eating a lavish dinner.
On the square table, the tiger-skin pork knuckle and roast leg of lamb steamed and sizzled with fat. Four carefully prepared cold dishes had been sprinkled with fragrant oil-fried chilies, making them look especially appetizing. Niu Dali followed the martial artist lineage and had an enormous appetite. Normally, the sixteen dishes on this table-eight cold and eight hot-would have been just enough to fill him up.
But lately, Niu Dali had suffered one misfortune after another, and his official career was in jeopardy. It had spoiled his appetite, too. Today, he had barely touched the dishes, merely drinking in gloomy silence, seemingly pondering something.
Tap, tap...!
Light footsteps sounded, and a shapely woman with a charming face approached Niu Dali, carrying freshly warmed wine. "Master, drink a little less...!"
"It's fine."
Still looking thoughtful, Niu Dali waved a hand slightly, then instinctively turned toward the woman.
The instant he turned his head and saw how she was dressed, he shuddered in fright and cursed loudly, "Y-you've fucking lost your mind! Are you trying to die?!"
Beside the square table, the woman was actually dressed in snow-white mourning clothes, standing next to Niu Dali as though keeping vigil over the dead. Her face was bare of makeup, deathly pale, and even carried a trace of sorrow and misery.
Anyone suddenly confronted with such an ominous, horrifying sight over dinner would have flown into a rage, much less Niu Dali, who had never been an even-tempered man.
He shot to his feet, raised his hand, and slapped her.
Smack!
The sharp crack rang through the hall. The woman staggered, and the wine jug flew from her