Chapter 78: The Consequences of Boasting

“How did you come to know of this matter, Master Chen?” Wei Zheng gazed at Chen Ying, hesitated for a moment, and asked solemnly.

Wei Zheng pondered silently: if the entire Tang court had already learned of this, their plans would surely have to change. His original intention was to gain a duke’s title and real power from the Li Tang side. But if Li Yuan learned the truth about Li Mi, this journey would become nothing but chasing after a mirage.

Noticing Wei Zheng’s grave expression, Chen Ying suddenly understood and replied lightly, “This is only my own conjecture.”

Wei Zheng’s eyes narrowed, fixed on Chen Ying.

The eyes are the windows to the soul. One’s heart may deceive, but the eyes rarely lie. Yet Chen Ying’s gaze was clear and untroubled, not at all like someone weaving a falsehood, which only deepened Wei Zheng’s suspicion.

Luo Shixin, in the midst of drinking, suddenly grew animated and gestured vigorously toward Chen Ying. “Brother Chen, you too are a veteran of the battlefield. Isn’t it strange? The less one fears death, the harder it is to die. I remember at the banks of the Weishui, under Lu Mingyue, three thousand archers loosed their arrows like rain. I was so frightened my legs were shaking, but when I saw Qin Shubao charging forward through the storm of arrows, I thought, ‘To hell with it—if I die, at least I’ll have company on the road to the Yellow Springs.’ Who’d have thought, just as my iron lance swept down five or six of Lu Mingyue’s men, the rest scattered like startled birds.”

Chen Ying boasted about his own exploits: “I haven’t served as long as you, but when it comes to battle achievements, I’m not lacking. You know the Western Qin overlord Xue Ju?”

“Of course! Xue Ju was a master with the lance; ordinary men couldn’t get close to him, not even in groups of ten. Wait—rumor has it Xue Ju is dead. Brother Chen, was that your doing?” Luo Shixin stared, incredulous.

“Bah…” Chen Ying spat dismissively. “The scoundrel ran too fast—even I couldn’t catch him. It was Zong Luohou’s bad luck to run into me and become Xue Ju’s scapegoat.”

In truth, Chen Ying was spinning tall tales. He had never so much as glimpsed Xue Ju—he knew Xue Ju was a man, but whether he was tall or short, fat or thin, Chen Ying had no idea. As for Zong Luohou, yes, Chen Ying had killed him, but it was hardly an honorable victory; Zong Luohou had fallen into a trap of his making.

Yet when Chen Ying lied, he didn’t even blink. He made it sound as if he himself had routed Xue Ju, and that Zong Luohou had been slain by his hand in fair combat.

Hearing this, Luo Shixin’s eyes sparkled even brighter. “I didn’t expect Brother Chen to be such a formidable fighter!”

“Of course! Don’t be fooled by my lean frame—it’s all muscle.” Chen Ying slapped his waist for emphasis. “See? All strength!”

“In that case… shall we step outside and have a friendly match?”

If Chen Ying had been sober, he would rather die than spar with Luo Shixin. Who knew how skilled Luo Shixin truly was? In the tales of Sui and Tang, Luo Shixin was a match for Li Yuanba in sheer might—a true giant among men. Chen Ying was not so foolhardy as to pit himself against Luo Shixin. But now, emboldened by drink—liquid courage swelling within him—he barely hesitated before roaring, “Fight it is!”

And so, disaster befell him.

…

When Chen Ying awakened again, it was already noon the next day. The first thing he saw upon opening his eyes was a lovely tear-stained face.

“Don’t cry, Lan’er, don’t cry!” Chen Ying reached out to wipe her cheeks. Suddenly, his expression changed; a searing pain shot through his arm at the slightest movement. Trying to rise, he realized every inch of his body ached terribly. Looking down, he saw his chest, abdomen, thighs, and arms—every part visible—were mottled with bruises, blue and purple, as if he’d been trampled by a pack of burly men.

Lan’er instantly stopped crying, gazing at him in astonishment. “My lord, you still recognize me?”

“Of course—if your skin were stripped off, I’d still know your bones.”

“My lord remembers Lan’er! Thank heavens!” She pressed her hands together in prayer, murmuring, “Thank the heavens—my lord is finally awake!”

Chen Ying asked in bewilderment, “What happened last night?”

“My lord, you were truly heroic!” Liang Zan’s voice sounded from outside the door. “You insisted on sparring with Luo Shixin, and threatened to kill anyone who tried to stop you!”

“Sparring with Luo Shixin?” At this, Chen Ying’s face flushed crimson. “Unless I’d lost my mind, why would I fight him? That’s just asking for a beating!”

“Who would disagree?” sighed Liang Zan. “With a single punch, Luo Shixin sent you flying. Even I felt the pain just listening, but you insisted you slipped, so it didn’t count.”

“Was it really that bad?”

“There’s worse!” Liang Zan continued, “You were knocked down thirty-seven or thirty-eight times. Then you told Luo Shixin that real men don’t just compare martial arts—they compete to see who can pee the farthest!”

At this, Chen Ying wished he could crawl into a hole. He looked at Lan’er, mortified. “And you all just watched me get beaten senseless, without trying to stop me?”

Lan’er blushed. “We didn’t dare!”

“Why not?” Chen Ying asked, puzzled.

“Though you couldn’t beat Luo Shixin, you were still more than a match for us,” Lan’er replied, rolling her eyes at him. “Chuqiu and Yuanqiao can’t get out of bed today. That slash of yours nearly cost Chuqiu his manhood!”

“I swear, I’m never drinking again!” Chen Ying groaned, clutching his head. He’d never imagined that a few too many drinks would lead to such consequences. It was one thing to drink with Luo Shixin, but to then challenge him to a fight? It was a miracle Luo Shixin hadn’t beaten him to death.

He lay back on the bed, thoroughly dejected, and called to Lan’er, “Go fetch me something to eat—I’m starving!”

“What would you like, my lord?” Lan’er asked sweetly.

“Anything is fine, the plainer the better.”

Lan’er left, and in her place, Liang Zan entered, barely restraining his laughter at Chen Ying’s battered appearance.

“If you want to laugh, just laugh. Don’t hold it in.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“By the way, how did that matter with Luo Song go yesterday?”

At this, Liang Zan’s eyes gleamed. “Luo Song did well. He pretended to be Gao Wanqing’s nephew and gave Li Xiaoguang a thorough beating. By now, Gao Wanqing is probably in for a world of trouble!”

“It’s not that simple,” Chen Ying replied. “Li Xiaoguang just needs to ask around to learn that Gao Wanqing has no such nephew. I wouldn’t resort to such a crude method for revenge—this was merely to disgust Gao Wanqing by using Li Xiaoguang’s hand. Killing Li Xiaoguang wouldn’t bring me satisfaction. I want him to live on, groveling like a cur.”

“That might be difficult.”

“It’s not as hard as you think. If Li Xiaoguang is expelled from his clan, he’ll have no choice but to beg in the streets. And with his character, no one would pity him, even as a beggar.”