Chapter 38: The Demise at the Drunken Immortal Pavilion

“It's not what I said; he said it!” With that, he pointed downstairs at Qiu Qianren, who was chasing Guo Jing. Hong Qigong remarked, “You elites believe everyone’s words so easily?”

Seventh Elder, your scope of criticism is a bit wide! Qiu Zhiqing awkwardly rubbed his nose. Was he supposed to tell Hong Qigong that he himself didn’t believe it, only his master did? That was something best left unsaid...

“Old Mischief, stop fighting, you old rascal...” Hong Qigong leapt outside the building and shouted at the brawl between the Seven Quanzhen Disciples and Huang Yaoshi, as if trying to say something!

But before he could finish, a voice shouted from above as someone descended, landing outside the Drunken Immortal Tavern—the very battlefield of the ongoing fight.

“The Old Mischief is here... How could you have such fun fighting without inviting me?” It was none other than the Old Mischief himself. Qiu Zhiqing took a good look at his grand-uncle...

To be honest, he didn’t seem old at all—not gray-haired or wrinkled. He appeared younger than Ma Yu, who was just in his sixties.

Once, Qiu had overheard a conversation among the elders; apparently, Zhou Botong wasn’t much older than Ma Yu—though Zhou looked younger.

Besides, Zhou Botong was even a bit handsome. No wonder he managed to charm the princess of Dali, leaving Duan Zhixing willingly wearing the proverbial green hat passed down in their family...

Seeing Zhou Botong’s arrival, the Seven Quanzhen Disciples realized they had misunderstood Huang Yaoshi. Yet they did not apologize—in the martial world, minor matters like this were often overlooked. Well, nonsense; judging by Huang Yaoshi’s expression, he was far from pleased!

At least he was relieved not to be carrying the blame this time. After all, no decent person wants to be the scapegoat forever.

“Uncle!” The Seven Quanzhen Disciples lined up behind Zhou Botong like schoolchildren who had found their guardian. Ma Yu even subtly gestured to Qiu Zhiqing and Yin Zhiping to come down and pay their respects.

But both Qiu Zhiqing and Yin Zhiping tactfully avoided doing so, choosing instead to take the stairs around. Meanwhile, Hong Qigong had already helped his precious disciple Guo Jing chase off Qiu Qianren!

The Old Mischief’s arrival shattered the existing balance, but he paid no mind. He immediately handed out five coins each to Peng Lianhu and Sha Tongtian’s group. The five of them, reddening with embarrassment, pressed their faces and shivered against the wall.

Seeing this, Qiu Zhiqing, descending the stairs, immediately imagined several little scenarios unfolding in his mind...

By now, the fight had moved from inside the tavern to outside. It seemed Qiu Chujing was true to his word: he wouldn’t damage the old tavern owner’s belongings. If he said no inside fighting, then no inside fighting; if outside, then outside!

But suddenly, something unexpected happened—a thick fog rolled in, reducing visibility drastically! Through the mist, faint, mournful flute notes could be heard...

Trusting his instincts, Qiu Zhiqing moved toward his master and uncle. Suddenly, a strong gust blew from behind. He flicked his duster backward and pulled, only to see Ke Zhen’e swinging a cane at him...

“Hero Ke, this fog shouldn’t affect you much, right? How could you mistake your target?” Isn’t it said that blind men distinguish footsteps or breathing by sound? How could he hit the wrong person? Was he really a professional?

Hearing the doubt, Ke Zhen’e snorted coldly: “Who told you to make your footsteps so sneaky? Your steps are faint, and your breathing almost silent!”

With that, he withdrew his cane. Qiu Zhiqing remembered how cautious he was, his footsteps indeed very light. Of course, he was breathing; just quietly and with long intervals.

As the fog thickened, everyone’s vision failed, but blind Ke Zhen’e thrived, finding Guo Jing, Hong Qigong, the Seven Quanzhen Disciples, and Huang Yaoshi and his daughter.

Suddenly, a “shh shh shh” sound came. Experienced Hong Qigong and Huang Rong’s expressions changed: “It’s Ouyang Feng’s venomous snake formation! Quickly retreat into the Drunken Immortal Tavern!”

Everyone cautiously withdrew. The most dramatic was Old Mischief Zhou Botong, who forced Guo Jing to carry him in a princess carry.

No one knew why he was so afraid of snakes, though Qiu Zhiqing admitted he was also quite scared. But who could he jump into? Zhou Botong leapt onto Guo Jing; Qiu could hardly leap into Huang Rong’s arms. Huang Yaoshi would teach him a lesson in no time!

Once inside the tavern, snakes began to slither throughout. Reluctantly, Qiu Zhiqing drew his sword and joined the snake extermination effort.

Wanyan Honglie proved to be a worthy villain, not giving them a chance to turn the tide. He started firing rockets at the tavern.

Guo Jing grabbed one and extinguished the flaming tip with a palm strike, then cursed vehemently: “These corrupt officials of the Song court, how could they be manipulated by the Jin invaders? Traitors! Shameless scoundrels!”

He flung the rocket deep into the floorboards, a gesture of both love and scorn.

As the fire spread, even the snakes retreated. Ke Zhen’e commanded, “Follow me!”

Yin Zhiping doubted him: “You’re blind—can we trust you?”

Ke Zhen’e sneered: “When I was roaming Jiaxing, you hadn’t even drunk Meng Po’s soup. Follow me. Though blind, my wits remain sharp!” Hearing this, Qiu Zhiqing suspected the earlier cane strike might have been deliberate...

The others found reason in Ke’s words and followed him, twisting and turning until they found a modest back exit. Only then, outside Jiaxing city, did they realize Old Mischief Zhou Botong hadn’t followed.

Previously, the Seven Quanzhen Disciples had mistakenly accused Huang Yaoshi of killing Zhou Botong, shouting threats. Now the misunderstanding was cleared, Ma Yu addressed Huang Yaoshi:

“Master Huang, our brothers previously misjudged the situation. Fortunately, no casualties occurred. We apologize for any inconvenience caused. Should you ever need aid from Quanzhen, we would willingly face any danger on your behalf!”

Though Huang Yaoshi was inwardly disdainful, thinking of his mischievous daughter, he nodded slightly, signaling the matter was closed.

Perhaps for his daughter’s sake, Huang Yaoshi called after Ke Zhen’e, wishing to explain: “Ke, don’t leave!”

Ke Zhen’e, still annoyed at saving an enemy, stepped forward angrily: “What? Do you want me to offer my head before you let me go?”

Suppressing his displeasure—after all, Ke had saved him and his daughter—Huang Yaoshi took a deep breath: “Had you not saved me today, there would be no need for explanation. That matter…”

“Pah!” Before Huang could finish, Ke Zhen’e spat thick phlegm at him, cutting off his words.

He said, “Today I saved you unwillingly. Having done so, I have no face to meet my siblings in the afterlife! Though my disciple and I are weaker, when the time comes, you will pay your blood debt!” With that, he left with Guo Jing without looking back.

“Ah...” Qiu Zhiqing wanted to speak fairly but was left speechless watching the retreating figure...

He sighed inwardly—another tragic communication breakdown.

The Seven Quanzhen Disciples bid farewell to Huang Yaoshi and Hong Qigong, saying they would return to rescue Old Mischief. But upon their return, there was no hope of extinguishing the fire at the Drunken Immortal Tavern.

Qiu Zhiqing volunteered to climb to the roof for a look, and under the powerful strikes of the Seven Quanzhen Disciples, he ascended.

What he saw shocked him: Zhou Botong had covered himself with roof tiles, lying there like a roasted meat on a spit.

One might ask, does this count as tile-roasted Zhou Botong? No fear of burning, and cooked quickly!

“Uncle, the fire’s spreading. If you don’t come out soon, I’ll sprinkle some cumin on you—it’ll make the snakes taste better!” Knowing Zhou Botong’s fear of snakes, Qiu Zhiqing teased him.

Unexpectedly, Zhou Botong reacted more strongly than expected, leaping up and causing part of the roof to collapse.

Luckily, Qiu Zhiqing stood on a beam. Seeing Zhou fall, he whipped his duster to entangle Zhou’s right arm, pulling him back up with effort. The fire was already on the roof—if they didn’t leave now, it would be too late.

“Let’s go!” Qiu Zhiqing shouted, grabbing Zhou and leaping out of the fiery danger.

He gently set Zhou before the Seven Quanzhen Disciples and dusted him off with his duster, as if presenting a revered idol.

The Seven Quanzhen Disciples and Yin Zhiping swarmed around, but Zhou Botong found them bothersome and dashed off in a flash.

Qiu Chujing pursued but returned shortly, dejected.

“Uncle Qiu, the Drunken Immortal Tavern is gone for good. What now? Do we compensate?” He looked at Qiu Chujing curiously—after all, he had promised not to fight inside the tavern.

“Compensate? What for? Should we stay here washing dishes to pay off the debt? The tavern was burned by Wanyan Honglie of the Jin. What’s it got to do with us? Let’s hurry back to Zhongnan Mountain…”

The reasoning was so strong that Qiu Zhiqing was left speechless.

Meanwhile, the old tavern owner had fainted in despair in the restroom.

The Drunken Immortal Tavern—ceased to exist.