Chapter 022: The Death of the Wine Sage

Although stir-fried chicken was by no means a particularly difficult dish, to make it truly delicious required a certain finesse. It was much like fried rice with egg—almost everyone could make it, but some cooked it so poorly even dogs would turn their noses up, while others could sell theirs for five thousand silver pieces. Still, the "Gourmet Feast" quest merely required Song Ye to arrange a table of dishes for Zhou Nongshan and the rest; it did not demand that he personally cook every single one.

Since Qin Xuanxi had volunteered to help and wished to prepare the stir-fried chicken, Song Ye decided to let her take the lead. He was curious to see whether this renowned fourth-ranked grandmaster of the demonic path truly knew her way around the kitchen.

"Very well, young lady," Song Ye said. "I'll leave the stir-fried chicken to you. I'll slaughter the chicken first and pluck it clean for you."

"Alright," Qin Xuanxi nodded. "Actually, this is the only dish I really know how to make. It used to be my master's favorite accompaniment for drinking. Every time she drank, she liked to fry up a plate of this chicken herself..."

Her words trailed off abruptly, and she seemed to realize she might have said more than she ought. She couldn't recall how many years it had been since she had spoken of her master in anyone's presence. So few even knew she once had a master at all.

Her master—her one and only in this life—was the one called the "Immortal of Wine," Cheng Wanting. Three hundred years ago, there was not a soul across this continent who had not heard her name. She was one of the seven immortal lords whose cultivation had reached the very pinnacle. On the immortal rankings of that era, she held third place.

Her love of wine was legendary, yet she never succumbed to drunkenness. In the city of Eagle in the State of Qing, there remains to this day a small mountain formed from tens of thousands of wine gourds—a local marvel. Each gourd was left behind by Cheng Wanting after a single day of drinking, all consumed by her alone. That day marked the only time she ever became drunk in her life, sleeping atop the mountain of wine gourds. An immortal painter captured her slumbering atop that mountain in a painting that became a famous work among immortals, passed down through the ages.

Cheng Wanting was famed not only for her unrivaled capacity for wine and her supreme cultivation but also for her breathtaking beauty.

Once, a merchant whose wealth rivaled a kingdom’s bought up all the fine wine from several cities just for a chance to glimpse her face. Yet Cheng Wanting was a solitary figure, appearing and vanishing like a dragon, her true visage seen by precious few. Fewer still knew she had ever taken a disciple—her sole disciple, who was now the Demon Lord of Xuan Yuan, Qin Xuanxi.

That’s right: the dreaded Demon Lord Qin Xuanxi’s only master in this life had been an immortal lord. She was both demon and immortal; her unique constitution allowed her to cultivate both paths. This was her greatest secret—one known to no one but herself, not even her master, who had passed into immortality. Qin Xuanxi had never revealed her immortal cultivation to another soul.

The death of her master, Cheng Wanting the Immortal of Wine, remained the greatest mystery in the world of immortals. At the time, there were few across the entire Xuan Ying continent who could have harmed her. Yet one day, on Mount Wu Yi of the Icy North, her corpse was discovered by Immortal Lord Ziyang, Sun Zhengxi, encased within the mountain’s ice, her life forever frozen. The most chilling detail: her body was not whole—her right arm was missing.

The revelation of Cheng Wanting’s death shocked both the immortal and demonic realms. Although she was an immortal cultivator, she had many admirers among the demonic sects. If there was ever a matter that could unite immortals and demons in common cause, it was the murder of Cheng Wanting.

Many cultivators from both sides began to investigate her death. Soon, Sun Zhengxi, the immortal lord who had first discovered her body, became the prime suspect and the object of universal suspicion. Though his cultivation was inferior to hers and he could not possibly have killed her alone, and though he swore blood oaths before the world declaring his innocence, the masses would hear no explanation. He was hounded from the world of cultivation, beset by assassination attempts. None of his immortal peers dared to speak in his defense.

In the end, to prove his innocence, Sun Zhengxi crippled his own cultivation before the assembled crowd, severing his immortal meridians and becoming an ordinary man. Thereafter, he faded into obscurity and vanished forever from the world of cultivation.

But if Sun Zhengxi was not the killer, then who was so ruthless as to murder Cheng Wanting, sever her right arm, and leave this peerless beauty without a complete body, even in death?

Three centuries had passed since Cheng Wanting’s death. Now, few still pursued her killer in earnest; her demise had become little more than a strange tale, a topic of idle gossip. Yet as her sole, secret disciple, Qin Xuanxi had never ceased seeking the truth behind her master’s death.

She had even turned to the demonic path, hoping to find more clues, for from the beginning she suspected her master’s killer might be from the demonic side. For three hundred years she had searched in vain, resorting to ruthless means and ending many lives, without ever glimpsing even a corner of the truth.

She had climbed ever higher, gaining more and more power, so that one day she might stand at the world’s summit and look down upon all living things—only then could she see into every shadow and have a real chance of finding her master’s murderer.

Stir-fried chicken, too, had been Cheng Wanting’s specialty. She had even created a unique spice blend for it, a secret recipe passed down only to her disciple, Qin Xuanxi. For all these years, Qin Xuanxi had kept these secrets buried deep within her heart, never speaking of her master to anyone.

She never imagined that, in conversation with Song Ye, she would let slip something about her master without realizing it. It meant that, before Song Ye, she was slowly lowering her inner defenses—a dangerous thing for her.

Perhaps, deep down, she was beginning to believe that Song Ye was a man she could speak honestly to, someone with whom she could share her past. Of course, her identity allowed no such vulnerability. Still, she did not dwell on it further. Perhaps it was merely because Song Ye was no more than a lowly mortal, an ant, that she had let her guard down—as many people did when sharing their secrets with crawling ants on the ground.