Chapter 21: Procuring the Spirit Wine

The fallen leaves in the temple courtyard had been swept clean, piled into a small hill at the side. Dew drops trickled slowly from the eaves, each one falling with increasing languor. Yet his clothes were still not spotless, and Luo Gan grew restless, impatient—he needed to hurry, faster, even faster, or else the game would slip away from him.

The monk chanting sutras before the Buddha naturally sensed Luo Gan’s anxious thoughts, but continued unhurried and calm.

“If you’re truly in such a hurry, the rain has stopped—go ahead, don’t wait here for the envelope,” the monk said.

“But…”

The monk rose and walked over to Luo Gan. “Waiting here is no help. Better to pick up the pace. I won’t eat your letter; come back for it in a few days.”

Luo Gan understood the monk’s meaning and bowed in thanks.

“Oh, yes. Before you leave, I have something to give you.”

Something? Could it be another crucial clue?

He turned back. Upon the Buddha’s cabinet were three items: a wooden fish broken halfway, three sticks of incense, and a bottle of murky wine, its exterior caked with dust.

What use would the wooden fish be to carry? The incense—what if he was accused of stealing it later? Forget it. After brief thought, he decided to take the wine bottle. At least when troubled, he could drink away his worries.

He picked up the bottle and brushed off the dust, but the dust only thickened. He uncorked it—an aroma wafted out, refreshing and intoxicating. He was swept up in its fragrance.

“If you wish to drink, then drink,” said the monk.

“This wine is fragrant, but odd—could it be medicinal?” Luo Gan asked cautiously. He’d fallen into many traps in this game world, and had grown wary.

“Have you ever experienced strange phenomena before?”

Luo Gan pondered. That Wang Ge impersonating the magistrate was bizarre enough, and the book with no words turning into ‘Three Hundred Tang Poems’ was odd too. But the strangest…

“Yes, once during a strange rain, a dragon-man appeared—truly a monster!”

“Precisely. That monster is the great enemy you must face.”

What? Thinking of encountering more creatures like the dragon-man made Luo Gan tremble. If not for Erhu’s help that day, he might’ve lost his head.

“So what should I do?”

The monk gestured for Luo Gan to drink the wine. Luo Gan obliged. He was a poor drinker, and his face flushed red immediately. As the murky wine went down, his head grew heavy, his feet light—he felt as if floating on air.

Slightly tipsy, Luo Gan grinned with satisfaction. Through the haze, he saw his feet turning to mud, melting into the floorboards, his whole body sinking downward. He cried out in terror.

“Don’t make such a fuss. The wine temporarily grants you special abilities—how else will you fight the spirits and monsters?”

“But this mud…how can I fight monsters? I’m almost gone!”

Complaining even about receiving superpowers—what was wrong with young people these days? The monk looked at Luo Gan with mild annoyance, watching as he sank into the floor, leaving only his head visible on the surface.

“That’s what you chose yourself. The wine hasn’t expired, drink without worry. Each time you drink, you’ll be randomly assigned a special ability.”

“Random? Wow, what if next time I turn into a stinkbug?”

The monk pressed his palms together. “With a sincere heart, all will be well.”

Luo Gan banged his head on the floor. “What lousy powers are these? Isn’t it supposed to be mind-reading or flight? Why am I merging with the floor?”

“Don’t complain. The transformation lasts only for a limited time.”

“How long each time?”

“As fate decides. Depends on your luck.”

Luo Gan nearly wept. Suddenly, with a jolt, he jumped up from the floor, restored to normal.

“Remember, though the wine is good, don’t overindulge.”

The aftereffects lingered; his head ached, dizziness clouded his vision, the ground seemed to double.

“Whoever wants it can have it.”

“When wine is drunk, one regrets its scarcity; when money is needed, there’s never enough. Ignore the wisdom of elders, and you’ll suffer for it,” the monk began lecturing him again.

“You middle-aged baldhead, since when did you become an elder?”

Upon hearing ‘baldhead,’ the monk felt the tuft of hair at the back of his head, deeply displeased. “Is there any harm in being brilliantly bald?”

The rain had finally stopped. Luo Gan took a backpack from the temple, stowed the wine bottle inside, and bade farewell to the high monk.

His stomach was no longer empty. Every time he went to the county town, something strange happened. He thought of the enthusiastic Shopkeeper Hu, the Red Ghost of Anping, and…Miss Juntao at Wangqing Pavilion. He wondered how they were doing now.

As he walked, nearing Anping County, the wind grew piercingly cold. It was barely autumn—how could it be so frigid? Luo Gan wrapped his arms around himself and huddled as he walked.

Arriving at the city gate, he saw merchants, farmers, and all sorts of people leaving town; far fewer entered than exited, which was odd.

Passing through the gate, Li Buer and several clerks were inspecting travelers. They stopped Luo Gan and searched him thoroughly, roughly patting his head and hands. One even tugged at Luo Gan’s trousers to check for anything unusual.

“Hey…officers, isn’t this search a bit too thorough? Do I look like a criminal?”

“We’re not fools. Wearing so little in this cold—either you’re a ghost or you’re ill.”

“That’s right! The strange happenings in town must be caused by someone with a crooked heart.”

Luo Gan hurried to explain. “No, no, I came from a village—not sure why it’s so cold here!”

Li Buer noticed Luo Gan’s bulging pack. Before even opening it, he smelled the wine and was delighted.

Li Buer grinned wickedly. “Well, you’re considerate, bringing wine to honor us for our hard work!”

Luo Gan wasn’t about to give up the wine. He quickly searched for any money to appease them, reluctantly producing a few coins and slipping them into Li Buer’s hand.

Li Buer wasn’t a high-ranking official, but he’d gained plenty from his post at the gate. He weighed the coins in his palm—not worth much. Seeing Luo Gan was just a poor peasant, he was unimpressed.

He opened the pack and saw the dusty wine bottle, looking at it with disdain.

“Fine, fine, keep your ancestral brew to honor your parents. Move along.”

As Luo Gan took a few steps, a clerk grabbed his pack and gave him a heavy slap on the backside, making him stagger nearly off his feet.

“Lord Li has spoken. Get moving.”

His money was always mysteriously taken—last time it was the Red Ghost of Anping and those unlucky fellows, who ended up paying for their own medical expenses after a failed robbery. Now it was these clerks showing off their authority at the gate, making trouble everywhere. Nothing was peaceful. Thinking about it, the modern world had its problems, but society was far more harmonious than this.

Enough—time to get moving and visit the Liu Residence.

The Liu Residence was in a remote part of the county. Luo Gan knocked but no one answered, so he waited. The wind was bitterly cold. In town, everyone wore thick cotton coats, wrapping themselves tightly, some even carrying blankets, looking quite comical.

Nearby were a few small shops. He spotted a tailor’s shop selling warm cotton clothing and strode over to see if anything fit.

He browsed through the garments—the styles were similar, practical above all, warmth was the only concern, beauty not even considered. Luo Gan thought to himself: if he set up a clothing factory here, he’d make a fortune. He chuckled at his own idea, but remembered this was just a game—no matter how much money he earned, he couldn’t take it with him, so it was all for naught.

The tailor and a customer were conversing.

“Shopkeeper, business must be booming with this cold weather, right?”

“Ah! Yes, more people are buying.”

“Isn’t it good to make money?”

The shopkeeper’s face darkened. “My wife was supposed to give birth—but with this cursed winter, the child was lost. How could I smile?”

The customer realized he’d offended the shopkeeper and apologized repeatedly. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s nothing. At first, I thought it was just our family, but now all the newborns in town are gone. This city…is cursed.”

The customer lowered his voice, leaning in. “I heard it’s the work of a snow demon. Monks and Daoists from all directions are here to exorcise it.”

Snow demon? What on earth was happening? Luo Gan was baffled. First, there was the spirit-stealing rat demon; now a snow demon—one strange event after another.

In the distance, Lord Liu hurried home, unlocked the heavy door. Luo Gan saw from afar and slipped the tailor some money, then rushed to the Liu Residence.

Lord Liu was about to close the door. Seeing it was Luo Gan, he nodded.

“There’s news about the case—come inside, let’s talk.”