Zhou Man was not drunk. She merely touched the golden bell and, in that instant, remembered a promise she still owed someone—a promise left hanging between debts of vengeance and debts of gratitude in this life.
In her previous life, she had cultivated the Yi Shen Jue, taken up the Titian Bow, and obtained the twelve golden slips left behind by Emperor Wu—becoming the inheritor of his mantle.
But Emperor Wu’s last wish… she had yet to fulfill it.
Jin Buhuan saw her remain silent for too long and almost believed she truly was drunk.
Unexpectedly, Zhou Man suddenly returned to herself. She looked at him and said slowly,
“Give me ten thousand spirit stones, and I’ll tell you whether I’m drunk or not.”
Jin Buhuan: “……”
Wang Shu burst out laughing.
Jin Buhuan was utterly stunned.
“Ten thousand spirit stones? Why don’t you just rob me? You’re obviously not drunk—you’re very sober!”
Zhou Man nodded seriously. “You’re right.”
She indeed thought she wasn’t drunk.
Jin Buhuan, naturally quick-tongued and fond of complaining, grumbled for a while before moving on to pester Wang Shu about the medicine store.
Wang Shu sat quietly to the side, listening with calm patience. He occasionally answered, sometimes smiling faintly, sometimes helpless.
The three of them sat atop the sword wall, and before they knew it, they had almost emptied two jars of wine.
Only when the clouds above thickened, piling up like dark mountains promising rain, did Jin Buhuan say,
“Let’s go back.”
They packed up their things and descended the narrow bird path they had climbed earlier.
On the way up, Zhou Man and Jin Buhuan had practically dragged the Mud Bodhisattva with them.
But going down, Zhou Man nearly slipped. Fortunately, Jin Buhuan and Wang Shu reacted quickly—catching her just in time.
Their eyes met, and neither said a word.
They simply assumed she was drunk and escorted her back toward the East House.
Halfway down the path, they ran into Yu Xiuying.
This Emei woman had a nose sharper than a hunting hound. She immediately caught the lingering scent of alcohol on all three of them. When she noticed Zhou Man’s faintly flushed cheeks, she instantly exploded, scolding Jin Buhuan:
“Honestly! Why did you bring Junior Sister Zhou there?”
Jin Buhuan protested, “We only went out for a drink…”
Yu Xiuying dragged Zhou Man closer, glaring.
“What drink? As if I don’t know the two of you! Minds crooked, intentions treacherous! Junior Sister Zhou, did they try anything while you were drunk?”
Zhou Man: “……”
Do I really look like someone who gets drunk that easily?
And besides—what could these two wastes possibly do to me?
Jin Buhuan was speechless for a moment before calmly reminding her,
“Senior Sister Yu… even if she were drunk, the Mud Bodhisattva and I—one right-door god and one outer-door sword—wouldn’t be able to beat her even if we combined forces.”
Wang Shu hesitated, then nodded solemnly.
Yu Xiuying paused, looked back at Zhou Man again, and finally remembered—
This was the same Junior Sister Zhou who had brazenly questioned the Sword Master and defeated nine sword boys in a row.
Only then did she relax.
“Oh… well, that’s fine then.”
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