Chapter 20: Cups of Camaraderie
“Your Excellency has quite the tolerance.”
Dong Yan and Zong Ji clinked cups atop the high platform, their movements bold and unrestrained.
“Likewise.”
For the sake of show, Zong Ji’s other hand, tucked in his sleeve, still ached.
But it didn’t slow his drinking.
To host the world’s greatest, Emperor Dong Yan spared no effort.
He swiftly had casks of the kingdom’s finest wines hauled from the cellar.
The moment the seals broke, the aroma made Zong Ji want to grab them and run.
Pure bliss.
Setting aside everything else, Zong Ji held no real grudge against Dong Yan.
As a villain, Dong Yan was crafted to contrast the hero.
Zong Ji loaded him with traits: peerless schemer, cunning, ruthless, vengeful.
He piled on every derogatory term from the dictionary, all to cement Dong Yan’s cannon-fodder aura.
But those traits, reframed, could mean decisive, strategic, thoughtful, confident.
In the story, Dong Yan’s role peaked in the latter half.
As Xuanyu Continent’s tensions rose, nations stirred, cultivators and sects picked sides, and war loomed.
Dong Yan played the chaotic warlord.
To avenge his friend Night Demon Venerable, he rushed to be slapped down by Jing Zhe, forcibly dumbed down by Zong Ji, and tragically claimed his death.
Zong Ji didn’t truly dislike anyone.
This world was his creation; its people were his children.
No creator could hate what they earnestly crafted.
Good or evil, it was just a matter of perspective.
Besides, One Sword to Immortality’s plot hadn’t fully unfolded.
Night Demon Venerable wasn’t dead yet, and Dong Yan’s war-stirring chaos was still far off.
As long as Dong Yan didn’t disrupt Xuanyu’s peace, Zong Ji wouldn’t bother him.
But if there were signs of trouble, Zong Ji wouldn’t hold back.
Dong Yan had it rough too.
To justify his volatile, tyrannical nature, Zong Ji gave him a tragic backstory.
Zong Ji: Blame my heavy-handed pen, sigh.
Emperor Dong Yan’s childhood was worse than the Twelfth Prince’s.
His mother was Baijing’s famed courtesan.
Without the late emperor’s pity, he might not have even gotten a prince’s title.
Even with it, his shameful origins scarred him like a blade.
Mocked and shunned, bullied by royal siblings, he tasted life’s cruelty, shaping his paranoid flaws.
But that neglect gave him freedom.
With so many royals, no one noticed the invisible Dong Yan.
As the late emperor aged, royals schemed, gathering aides and plotting coups.
No one expected Dong Yan, with his talent, to find a master somewhere.
Years of grueling training led to mastery.
In one royal melee, he burst forth, claimed the throne, and ruled supreme.
Few knew this history.
Given Dong Yan’s ruthlessness, those who knew too much were ashes.
Especially old acquaintances who’d scorned him.
Even the kingdom’s historians, cowed by his methods, dared not write ill of him.
But Zong Ji was different.
He knew Dong Yan wet his pants at three, scared on a tree branch while bird-hunting.
So Zong Ji’s gaze on Dong Yan was calm, free of the world’s bias against the tyrant or sycophantic flattery.
It held a trace of warmth, a hint of understanding.
As if this famed Tai Xu Sect disciple saw only an ordinary man, no different from roadside wildflowers or grass.
Dong Yan didn’t feel offended—rather, he found it novel.
It’d been ages since he felt so carefree.
At his level, wealth and power were fleeting.
The higher you climbed, the lonelier it got, with fewer peers to speak as equals.
Dong Yan got along with Night Demon Venerable.
Both shared ambitions to dominate Xuanyu, hitting it off, scheming together.
Initially, he and Night Demon Venerable planned to test the world’s greatest.
Even recently, while playing chess with Tutor Luo, he’d schemed to use the Saint’s name for his own ends.
But after three rounds of drinks, Dong Yan found the black-clad, gold-eyed man increasingly likable.
Though Zong Ji was nearly two generations younger, he inexplicably stirred no hostility.
Of course, sitting across was the former son of heaven, now its father.
Scared yet?
When words became reality, top-tier powerhouses like them rarely grew hostile just because someone was stronger.
With no conflicting interests, meeting a strong figure meant befriending, not rushing to挑衅 like in power-up novels.
Both had stellar tolerance, downing potent wine like water.
As they drank, a sense of mutual respect grew.
Meeting friends through poetry was fine, but through wine was just as good.
With Dong Yan in high spirits, the ministers and princes below sighed in relief.
Their smiles grew genuine.
They’d suffered plenty under Dong Yan’s unpredictable temper.
No wonder they united to take him down first.
The Twelfth Prince, especially, glowed with pride.
Ministers and princes subtly probed him about the world’s greatest.
His face nearly creased from smiling.
He played up his “close” ties with Zong Ji, dodging questions about next year’s events, leaving other royals uneasy.
If the Saint joined next year’s contest, the throne was practically Dong Twelve’s.
Why fight?
What could he offer to sway the famously aloof Tai Xu Sect disciple?
The crowd scratched their heads, baffled, wary, and afraid.
While the two big shots drank merrily above, the atmosphere below grew tense and mysterious.
After the banquet, everyone parted.
Dong Yan, ever observant, had maids bring out century-old brews as a parting gift.
Knowing Zong Ji wouldn’t accept in person, he sent them to the Twelfth Prince’s mansion.
“Today was a blast! Let’s drink again next time.”
“Deal.”
Zong Ji agreed readily.
They clasped hands and parted.
With that, his Eastern Kingdom business was done.
Zong Ji returned to the Twelfth Prince’s mansion, happily claimed the wine casks, and set off for the Northern Continent’s demon sect sustainable peace conference.