dmims Page 154
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The corners of her mouth slowly curled upwards, revealing a poignant yet extremely ironic arc.
A soft laugh escaped from her two cold, red lips.
The laughter was soft and brief, yet it felt like the sharpest, most icy blade scraping against one's heart.
"laugh!"
"you?"
"Do you still have a conscience?"
Chapter Sixty-Two: Twin Peaks of Ice and Fire!
For the Song Dynasty, the Grand Canal was no ordinary waterway.
Rather, it was the aging lifeline of the empire.
It is a flowing jade belt, a golden stream that connects the northern border defenses with the wealth of the south.
Where the river is wide enough to accommodate more than a dozen large ships sailing side by side, the current is gentle, the banks are lined with peach blossoms and willows, and the painted boats are like a tapestry, which should be a scene of "the warm breeze intoxicating tourists".
However, beneath this prosperous facade lies a strict set of laws and regulations.
The canal waterways are clearly distinct.
The main channel in the middle, with its deep and steady current, is known as the "official road".
This road is not to be entered without official authorization and seal.
Looking around, the main channel was filled with giant ships flying all sorts of official flags.
There were river patrol warships that were entirely black, with ferocious beast heads carved on their prows and soldiers in bright armor standing on both sides. They were menacing, like tigers in the water. Any civilian boat that dared to approach would be driven away without mercy with powerful bows and crossbows.
More numerous were the massive grain transport ships with extremely deep drafts.
At this moment, a fleet of ships stretching as far as the eye can see is slowly sailing from south to north along the official road.
This was precisely the military rations that Wang Meng had painstakingly produced.
Each ship was a giant sand barge built by Fujian, with a sturdy hull, towering masts, and a huge sail painted with a large "王" (king) character in black paint, which not only indicated the ownership of the cargo on board, but also served as a silent deterrent.
At both the bow and stern of the boat, Beggar Clan and Emei disciples, armed with long spears and carrying broadswords, patrolled the area.
Their expressions were solemn, their eyes sharp, and they watched vigilantly at every movement around them.
These ships carried not only provisions, but also the lives of tens of thousands of soldiers on the northern border, and the safety of half of the Song Dynasty.
Their voyage, slow yet resolute, carries an inviolable majesty, leaving heavy ripples in the river.
On the side of the main road, on the secondary waterway where the current is slightly faster and the channel is narrower, a different scene unfolds.
This is the world that belongs to ordinary people.
Hundreds and thousands of fishing boats, covered boats, cargo ships, and passenger ships crowded together and shuttled back and forth, forming a flowing water market.
The official's authority and the people's clamor, on the same great river, are clearly separated by an invisible line of water, each independent yet strangely integrated.
Wang Meng was still dressed as an ordinary martial artist, but his deep eyes were even more unfathomable than the river water.
As he walked, he took in the scenery along the canal with great interest, his gaze sometimes sweeping over the graceful women of Jiangnan, and sometimes landing on his own fleet of boats in the river, his eyes filled with the satisfaction of a hunter admiring his spoils.
He didn't say a word and walked eastward along the riverbank.
The surrounding scenery gradually changed.
Far from the bustling commercial districts, pedestrians gradually thinned out, and the buildings on both sides changed from grand shops with high gates to low-rise residences and some inconspicuous warehouses.
The fishy smell and the aroma of cooking gradually faded from the air, replaced by a damp smell carrying the scent of rotting aquatic plants.
After walking for about a mile, a separate courtyard appeared ahead.
This courtyard covers a large area and is backed by the canal, but it does not have a main gate; there is only a small moon gate on the side.
The courtyard wall is made entirely of black volcanic rock, and although the top of the wall is not high, it is covered with dense, purplish-red vines.
The vines, with their thick, oddly shaped leaves, swayed gently in the evening breeze like countless outstretched little hands. Even from several meters away, a faint, cloyingly sweet fragrance could be smelled emanating from the vines.
Ordinary people would feel refreshed and happy upon smelling this fragrance, but martial arts masters with refined internal energy would feel their blood surging and their temples throbbing upon smelling it.
Above the moon gate of the courtyard hangs a plaque with gold lettering on a black background. The plaque bears three large characters written in an extremely charming and alluring script: "The Cave of Delight."
The handwriting was graceful and charming, yet the finishing strokes carried a sharp edge like a poisonous hook. Just one glance was enough to make you feel as if you could see a stunningly beautiful enchantress smiling at you, but with a deadly glint in her eyes.
"This is it."
Wang Meng stopped and looked at the plaque with a playful smile on his face.
He walked straight up to the tightly closed vermilion moon door and knocked three times, neither too lightly nor too heavily.
“Knock, knock, knock.”
The sound was crisp and clear, carrying far along the quiet riverbank.
There was no response from inside the door.
But a moment later, the door creaked open silently, opening a crack inward.
A richer, sweeter, exotic fragrance, mixed with a faint scent of alcohol and the perfume of a woman, seeped out from the crack in the door, like invisible tentacles, entangling their breaths.
A delicate, alluring female voice, capable of melting one's bones, drifted softly from behind the door.
"Since you are an honored guest, why... hesitate to come forward?"
Wang Meng did not answer immediately, nor did he rashly push the door open and enter.
His deep eyes were fixed on the black plaque with gold lettering, a faint smile playing on his lips, as if he were savoring an intriguing riddle.
The surrounding air thickened at the alluring question from inside the door. The sweet, exotic fragrance, as if imbued with life, seeped into every pore, stirring the most primal desires.
Just then, Wang Meng finally spoke.
His voice was not loud, but it clearly drowned out the sound of the river and the chirping of insects in the wind, carrying a leisurely and carefree rhythm like reciting poetry.
He looked at the plaque and slowly read: "The golden cave's sandalwood incense invites guests to get drunk, while beneath the jade pavilion's flowers, bones pile up."
The foolish butterfly, unaware of its true meaning, mistook poison for fine wine.
This seven-character quatrain is full of exquisite beauty, yet every line is stained with blood!
The first two lines vividly depict the inside and outside of this "enchanting cave"—on the outside, it is a golden cave and a jade palace that can make guests intoxicated, but inside it is a mass grave where countless bones are buried!
The last two lines are a blatant mockery and warning, comparing those who come to the banquet to foolish butterflies who do not understand the taste of the wine, mistaking the poison that goes straight to their intestines for the supreme nectar!
However, to Wang Meng's surprise, there was a deathly silence inside the door.
That laughter, those flirtatious words, that cloyingly sweet fragrance.
It's as if everything was completely wiped out in the face of this poem.
After a full half-cup of tea time, a louder, more charming, yet undisguisedly admiring laugh suddenly burst out from inside the door!
"Hehehehe... Okay!"
What a wonderful example of 'mistaking poisoned wine for a fine wine cup'!
Young Master Wang, you are a thousand times, ten thousand times more interesting than Phoenix imagined!
The owner of the voice, far from being angry, seemed to have found a kindred spirit, filled with joy and excitement.
"Squeak!"
The vermilion moon gate was pushed open completely.
A young woman dressed in colorful Miao ethnic costume stood gracefully inside the door.
She gave Wang Meng a graceful curtsy, her large, watery eyes gleaming with an almost worshipful, burning light.
“Young Master Wang, my master said that there may be more than one person in the world who can drink poison as if it were a fine wine cup.”
But among all the gentlemen in the world, only you dare to recite a poem before even drinking the wine to reveal that it is poisonous!
She turned to the side and made a "please" gesture, her tone far more respectful than before.
"The master also said that young master... must drink this cup of poison today!"
Before the Miao woman finished speaking, she turned and stepped into the courtyard with a light touch.
Her skirt fluttered like colorful butterfly wings, and the silver ornaments hanging from her waist jingled.
A moment later, she stepped out gracefully, holding a jet-black conch shell wine glass in both hands. A pale purple mist swirled around the rim of the glass, and the sweet, exotic fragrance suddenly became intense, as if it contained countless tiny poison needles, piercing straight to one's mind.
The liquid in the cup was a strange dark gold color, with a few blood-like streaks floating on the surface. As she moved gently, it left winding marks on the cup wall, as if a living thing was crawling.
The bright red nail polish on her fingertips contrasted sharply with the dark shell of the glass. When the glass was handed to Wang Meng, a faint, almost imperceptible, fishy smell suddenly seeped out from the sweet aroma, like the saliva of a venomous snake flicking its tongue.
"Please, young master." She lowered her eyes and bowed, her long eyelashes casting butterfly-like shadows beneath her eyelids, but her tone carried an undeniable allure. "This wine is called 'Drunken Life, Dreamy Death.' It is brewed from a hundred-year-old poisonous flower from the Ten Thousand Gu Cave in Miao territory. When you drink it, it tastes as sweet as nectar, but after three breaths, your bones will shatter and you will die bleeding from all seven orifices—yet it can make a person dream of the illusory glory they have always wanted to achieve in their final moments."
She suddenly raised her eyes, her gaze strangely phosphorescent, and said, "My master said that with your magnanimity, you would never stoop to being a coward. Consider this cup of wine your pledge of allegiance to the cave."
The night wind swept across the canal, mixing the sweet fragrance of the vines on the bank with the pungent sweetness of the poisoned wine in the cup.
Wang Meng's gaze fell on the wine glass, the dark golden liquid reflecting his deep pupils, yet revealing not a trace of emotion.
He even stretched out his finger and gently brushed it along the cool, shell-like texture of the rim of the cup. The moment his fingertip touched the mist, a slight tingling sensation ran through his skin, as if he were being gnawed by countless tiny ants.
Wang Meng's smile remained unchanged.
He looked at the dark golden liquid swaying slightly inside the snail shell, as if it were an interesting toy.
The subtle tingling sensation coming from his fingertips did not alert him; instead, it aroused a deeper level of curiosity.
"Living a life of debauchery and oblivion?"
He repeated the name in a low voice, a hint of amusement in his tone, "To be able to see a fleeting moment of illusory glory before death... that is merciful."
Unfortunately, what Wang sought in his life was not vain, but rather to firmly grasp everything in this world in his hands.
This drink is useless to me.
Despite this, Wang Meng took the black snail-shell wine cup from the Miao woman without hesitation.
His fingers, intentionally or unintentionally, lightly brushed against the woman's cool, smooth hand.
The woman trembled, as if she had been branded with a hot iron. A blush instantly rose to her cheeks, and her breathing became slightly rapid.
Wang Meng brought the wine glass to his lips, but without even smelling it, he tilted his head back and drank the dark golden poison in one gulp!