Soul lost

Yunqi answered with a cheerful laugh, flipped down from the roof, and landed after a few bounds before making his way to the bonfire.

He sat down beside the village chief. It was the only place he could sit, really, since he could not understand anyone else.

As soon as Yunqi sat down, the old chief handed him a wooden stick skewering the mountain rabbit he had caught that day. The chief had a stick of his own, apparently strung with cured meat, but most people were roasting something Yunqi had never seen before.

It was golden yellow and shaped like a thick rod. The short ones were five or six inches long, while the long ones reached a foot. Kernels lined its surface in neat rows, three or four hundred of them by his estimate. He had no idea what it was.

"Corn."

Seeing Yunqi staring at the corn, the old chief handed him an ear.

Yunqi took it and held it close to the fire to roast. It gave off a fresh, delicate fragrance.

With a wooden stick in each of Yunqi's hands, the old chief rose and rattled off another string of words he could not understand.

Once the chief finished, the people around the bonfire stirred. A man wearing a crown of chicken feathers stood and approached with an earthenware bowl and an ox horn.

The old chief told Yunqi that the man was called Zao Huonai, the village's foremost warrior. His feather crown was made entirely from the longest tail feathers of roosters. Only the foremost warrior could wear it, for whenever someone had to leave the village at night, he was the one sent out.

Yunqi planted his wooden sticks in the ground and stood up. Only then did he realize that "Nai" was actually their surname.

The man passed the earthenware bowl before Yunqi to show that it was full, then drained the liquor in a single gulp.

Everyone cheered.

Then, to Yunqi's surprise, he brought the ox horn to Yunqi's lips.

At first, Yunqi did not understand what he meant. Only when the aroma of liquor rushed into his nose did he realize that the horn, too, contained alcohol.

Beside him, the old chief gestured for Yunqi to open his mouth.

The boy found it amusing and opened wide.

"Pfft-"

The liquor sprayed straight out of Yunqi's mouth and onto the bonfire, sending a pillar of flame shooting up.

"Cough! Cough!"

Watching the rising flames and feeling the searing heat in his mouth, Yunqi could not help wondering whether he had just drunk liquor or molten fire.

In Camphor Fragrance Town, he had drunk clear rice wine, and on Three Pure Ones Mountain, he had drunk nectar made from fruit. When had he ever tasted liquor this strong?

"Ha ha ha ha ha!"

Everyone burst out laughing, with the old chief laughing hardest of all.

Yunqi's eyes reddened from choking, and he laughed inwardly. Isn't this fire within water? So the union of water and fire means strong liquor!

Steeling himself, he opened his mouth again and motioned for the man to pour it straight in.

"Gulp!"

The fiery liquor went down his throat. That burning sensation truly made him wonder whether it had blasted open his Twelve-Storied Tower.

"Whooo-!"

Everyone began to cheer.

Zao Huonai went back, and Tang Huonai came forward, likewise draining his liquor in one go. Yunqi understood now: this circle around the bonfire was a battle of successive challengers!

After seven or eight people had drunk with him, the village warriors saw that their guest from afar had gone red in the face. They paused to give Yunqi a moment to catch his breath.

A little dizzy, Yunqi sat down. The strong liquor churned through his belly like rivers overturning and seas surging. The Daoist, who had abstained from grain and drunk dew throughout his journey, now felt unbearably hungry. By then, the corn had browned slightly, its irresistible aroma setting his mouth watering.

He picked up the stick skewering his corn and asked the chief how to eat it.

The chief demonstrated, blowing on his corn twice before biting into it, gnawing off the kernels to expose the cob.

Yunqi understood and eagerly took a bite.

Crisp outside and tender within, it was sweet, fresh, and juicy.

Yunqi's eyes lit up, and he hurriedly took several more bites.

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed several children staring at the rabbit roasting in front of him. Looking around, he found that almost all the meat was being eaten by the burly men, while the elderly, children, and women were mostly gnawing on corn. Even the small portion of cured meat in the old chief's hand had been shared among several half-grown children.

At the sight, Yunqi immediately offered his mountain rabbit to the old chief, glancing toward the children.

The old chief understood, but seemed embarrassed and merely rubbed his hands without accepting it.

Yunqi pressed the stick into the chief's hand. "Munaigong, I have already learned to abstain from grain. I have no need for meat. From now on, just save some of this corn for me."

Gripping the wooden stick, the chief said "good" over and over, then rose to divide the rabbit among the children.

Many others saw this, and a second round of toasts began.

After the second round, Yunqi was actually sweating. He asked the old chief, "Wood Duke Nai, what liquor is this? Why is it so strong?"

The old chief told Yunqi that their liquor was brewed from corn, though they used a white variety. They brewed it from the last batch of white corn to ripen in autumn, making the resulting liquor especially strong and sharp on the tongue. They called it "White Knife."

Sometimes, when someone was afflicted by an evil spirit and developed a fever or chills, they would give them this liquor. It warmed the whole body and helped them sweat.

The liquor Yunqi had drunk from the ox horn was reserved for honored guests: aged White Knife, with an even fiercer bite.

Everyone was in high spirits when a man suddenly ran over, shouting anxiously and shattering the lively mood.

Yunqi saw the old chief's expression change.

The old chief told Yunqi to sit a while; he needed to go and take a look.

Yunqi immediately offered to go with him.

It seemed urgent. Without saying more, the old chief nodded and left. Several men followed, while those remaining lost all interest in eating and drinking. With sorrow on their faces, they sat quietly warming themselves beside the bonfire.

The group followed the messenger into a house. The smell of medicine hung thick inside, accompanied by the sound of sobbing.

They entered a room, and Yunqi saw a child lying on the bed, his eyes tightly shut and his face the color of gold paper. The woman beside the bed was presumably his mother. She held his hand with her lips pressed tightly together, her tears dripping onto the bed and soaking a patch of the sheet.

The man who had brought the news was presumably the child's father. His face was filled with grief.

The old chief stepped forward, felt the child's pulse, then pulled his eyelids open to examine his eyes.

He shook his head.

Several warriors wearing chicken-feather crowns gathered around the bed without being told.

At this, the child's parents could no longer restrain themselves and broke into anguished wails.

Yunqi quietly asked the old chief what had happened.

The old chief explained in a low voice. A few days earlier, the child had stayed out playing and failed to return to the village by nightfall. The villagers had gone out together to search for him, taking roosters along.

By the time they found the child in the fields, he had already lost his soul.

The villagers immediately slapped the roosters, and their crowing called the child's soul back. But after his soul returned, the frightened child cried for a while, then fell unconscious. This was now the fourth day.

The village had little means of dealing with such cases. Once a soul was lured away, if the person was lucky, it still lingered near the body, reluctant to leave. In that case, a couple of days' rest after its return would set everything right. If they were unlucky, however, the soul would wander far away and might already be getting gnawed on by some sinister entity. Even once it was called back, all they could do was see whether it could recover inside the body. If it did, the person might suffer frailty and frequent dreams afterward, but at least their life would be saved. If it did not, their life would go out with a final breath.

The child before them belonged to the latter group. He had remained unconscious since his soul returned, his breathing alternately strong and weak. Now, little by little, it could no longer be felt.

As for the feather-crowned warriors surrounding the bed, they feared that after the child died, his soul would scatter and be lured away again, leaving him no peace even in death. In cases like this, the warriors would keep watch until burial.

Looking at the child, Yunqi said, "Munaigong, if that is the case, may I try?"

Two chapters released together; this is the first.

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