Chapter Forty-Two: Drinking

Under Peng Tuo’s furious command, the Yellow Turbans who had been running all day were given no chance to rest or catch their breath. Once more, they turned north to pursue Xu Kang and his group, chasing them all the way to Chenliu.

Chenliu was a great city, its high, sturdy walls and heavy garrison making it a formidable stronghold. Even with a hundred thousand Yellow Turbans, Peng Tuo could not hope to take it; doubling his men would not change that fact. Besides, Zhang Jue’s sights were set on Luoyang, and he would not allow his subordinates to squander soldiers on other cities. No matter how reckless Peng Tuo might be, he dared not act rashly.

All he could do was stand outside the city, hurling insults and empty threats, venting his spleen for show. The defenders atop Chenliu’s walls were not to be outdone; they shouted taunts back at Peng Tuo and his men below, sometimes even spitting or urinating down as a further insult—a lively exchange.

Xu Kang, however, was unaware of any of this. At that moment, accompanied by Zhao Hong and Zhang Cheng, he was raising a cup with the Prefect of Chenliu, Zhang Miao, their faces alight with merriment.

“Haha! My lord Prefect, you are a true hero indeed. Over a hundred wagons of supplies, and you hand them over as promised—so generous and open-handed! No wonder the world lists you among the ‘Eight Chefs’—your reputation is well-earned. To you, my lord, I drink this cup!”

With those words, he drained his cup in a single draught.

Zhang Miao, delighted by this, laughed heartily and waved his hand. “Magistrate Xu, you flatter me. I am but a man with an empty name. But you, so young, have led scarcely a thousand men to rout Peng Tuo’s force of a hundred thousand Yellow Turbans, slaying seven thousand and capturing more than twenty thousand. I am filled with admiration. This cup, allow me to offer to you—please!”

“To you, my lord!” Xu Kang raised his cup and downed it in one gulp.

In these times, there was no distillation; wine was simply pressed and filtered, with an alcohol content of about ten percent, much like beer. The wine cups in the Prefect’s residence were small, far smaller than modern beer mugs, so Xu Kang drank with ease, not pausing for breath.

Seeing him so forthright, Zhang Miao grew even more pleased and, grasping his hand with warm familiarity, asked, “For one so young to accomplish such great feats—you must surely come from a distinguished lineage?”

In the Eastern Han, one’s background was a barrier no man could cross if he wished to join the ranks of the elite. Even Cao Cao’s early career was hampered by his humble birth, and it was only with the support of men like Yuan Shao that he established himself.

Xu Kang understood this well. So, when he heard Zhang Miao probing into his origins, he did not foolishly admit to humble roots. Instead, he sighed deeply, shook his head, and replied,

“Alas, my family has long since fallen. I dare not boast of my ancestors’ names. Even this office of county magistrate in Changshe, I obtained through the basest means—purchasing it from the eunuchs with vulgar coin. To have stooped to such disgrace, how could I dare speak of my forebears? Not only my ancestors—even my teacher, I do not know how to face.”

With that, he poured himself another cup and drank it, looking thoroughly troubled.

Though Xu Kang’s words were few, they conveyed a wealth of information. Zhang Miao considered and drew out three key points:

First: Xu Kang’s family had once been prominent, and his ancestors were men of note.

Second: Though his family had declined, the wealth they left was still considerable—enough to buy him a county magistracy, which meant his resources surpassed those of many minor gentry families.

Third: Xu Kang had a teacher, and from his manner, this teacher was no ordinary man.

With these insights, Zhang Miao’s gaze toward Xu Kang changed at once. He asked cautiously, “Might I ask, your esteemed teacher is…?”

Before Xu Kang could reply, Zhao Hong, standing behind him, puffed up with pride and answered on his behalf, “Our lord’s teacher is none other than the Patriarch Bodhi, who dwells on the Immortal Isle of Penglai, in the Cave of Three Stars on Spirit Mountain. A true immortal!”

No sooner had Zhao Hong finished than Zhang Cheng, eyes shining with longing, added, “The Great Enlightened Golden Immortal, free of all impurity, the Western Patriarch Bodhi—neither born nor perished, thrice-three in conduct, complete in spirit and energy, boundless in compassion, serene and ever-changing as nature, acting according to the true self, as eternal as heaven, dignified in form, the Grand Master of Enlightened Mind through countless calamities.”

What Zhao Hong and Zhang Cheng recited was a description of Patriarch Bodhi from Journey to the West, knowledge imparted to them by Xu Kang himself. As the saying goes, “If you’re going to act, play the part to the hilt.” Since Xu Kang had decided to cloak himself in divinity, what better guise than as a disciple of the immortals?

And if he was to be an immortal’s disciple, he needed a worthy immortal as teacher. Patriarch Bodhi certainly fit—after all, he was Sun Wukong’s master.

Xu Kang had always liked Sun Wukong, often pretending to be the Monkey King as a child. Now, in need of a celestial mentor, he naturally borrowed the name of Patriarch Bodhi.

Zhao Hong and Zhang Cheng had long grown accustomed to Xu Kang’s mysterious ways. He spoke with such conviction that they never doubted him; indeed, they took pride in their lord’s supposed immortality and frequently acted as “trusted aides of an immortal’s disciple.”

That was why, upon Zhang Miao’s inquiry about Xu Kang’s teacher, they had eagerly leapt in to answer—or rather, to show off.

Yet their boasting left Zhang Miao utterly dumbfounded, while Xu Kang was mortified. He hastily waved them away.

“How dare you speak such nonsense before the Prefect! Where are your manners? Go—out, both of you!”

“Yes, my lord!” Zhao Hong and Zhang Cheng obediently withdrew.

Xu Kang, now somewhat embarrassed, turned to Zhang Miao and bowed. “My lord Prefect… Please forgive my two subordinates. After days of battle with the Yellow Turbans, their wits are dulled. Pay them no heed. In truth, my teacher fell afoul of the eunuch faction and was stripped of his office. He is now in exile in the Wu region—Cai Yong.”

“Ah! So it is Master Cai!” Zhang Miao’s eyes lit with understanding and he bowed in return.

“No wonder, my young friend, you possess such courage and wisdom—you are a disciple of the celebrated Master Cai. I beg your pardon for not realizing sooner!”

He poured a cup of wine, raised it to Xu Kang, and smiled. “I have always admired Master Cai’s virtue and talent. To meet his disciple is a joy greater than hearing the music of Tayi. Let us drink a generous cup together!”

With that, he drained his cup and laughed heartily.

“Ha ha ha! Splendid! Come, my friend—let us drink!”

Hearing the change in how Zhang Miao addressed him, Xu Kang smiled quietly. “In that case, I shall accept with gratitude.”

He raised his cup and drank it down.