Chapter 8 Drunken Life
Yan Luo stood on the rooftop of a tall building in Taipei's Xinyi District. The night wind mixed with drizzle struck his black trench coat, weighing it down against his body.
He looked down at the cigarette about to burn out in his hand. The smoke twisted upward in the rain, vaguely forming the faint shape of a Manjusaka flower before being quickly scattered by the raindrops.
He had been wandering the mortal world for an entire night.
First, he had downed glass after glass of strong liquor in a dimly lit bar. As the alcohol burned down his throat, he almost thought he could forget a few things through that searing heat.
But with every sip, the way A-Meng had looked at him tonight grew clearer—that calm, distant coldness, like an invisible layer of thin ice quietly settling over his chest.
He lit another cigarette.
Just then, a voice carrying both intoxication and amusement came from behind.
"Oh my, isn’t this the Eastern King of Death? Coming to my territory to drink away your sorrows? What a rare sight."
Yan Luo turned his head and saw Dionysus leaning against the railing, his long hair slightly disheveled, wearing a deep purple silk shirt and holding a bottle of whiskey.
The ancient Greek god of wine now regarded him with a typical reveler’s roguish smile.
"Dionysus." Yan Luo greeted him flatly.
The wine god stepped closer, leaned beside him, and lit a cigarette as well.
He exhaled a smoke ring, his tone carrying a hint of genuine concern:
"Is it that Meng Po again?"
Yan Luo did not answer, merely smoking in silence.
The smoke rose slowly before him, like a thin, cold gray mist veiling the emotions in his eyes.
Dionysus chuckled softly and continued:
"I’ve known you this long, and this is the first time I’ve seen you like this. When you used to judge cases or collect souls, you were so cold and ruthless. Now you’re here in the mortal realm drinking and smoking… Looks like that woman really got to you."
Yan Luo drew the smoke deep into his lungs and exhaled slowly after a long pause.
His voice was low and even, almost without inflection:
"She went too far."
The wine god raised an eyebrow but did not press further, simply passing the bottle over for him to take a long swig.
The two fell silent for a moment.
The sound of rain pattered softly on the rooftop, like countless tiny, icy fingertips.
Dionysus suddenly spoke, his tone tinged with self-mockery:
"Love is always the cruelest poison for gods like us. I’ve lived thousands of years, reveled at countless banquets, embraced countless warm bodies, yet in the end, those fleeting pleasures could never fill the void in my heart. Are you the same now…?"
Yan Luo gazed at the glittering Taipei nightscape below, the lights like countless tiny glowing bottles.
He did not answer directly, only murmuring:
"She’s shutting herself away tighter and tighter."
Dionysus patted his shoulder, laughter carrying a trace of desolation:
"Then keep drinking here, old friend. At least tonight, we two gods can pretend to be ordinary mortals for once."
Yan Luo took the bottle and drank again.
The fiery liquid burned down his throat, yet it could not extinguish the golden flame that had been suppressed in his heart for a thousand years. It burned quietly and heavily, neither loud nor dying out, merely aching silently and persistently.
Two deities from different pantheons stood side by side on a Taipei rooftop, one smoking, one drinking, like two ordinary men tormented by endless years and unspeakable emotions, unable to sleep through the night.
The rain grew heavier.
Yan Luo finished the beer, crushed the empty can, and said softly:
"I just… wanted to see her."
Dionysus smiled and said nothing more.
The night wind swept across the rooftop, smoke curling between them like flower after flower whose shape could never be discerned, blooms that could never fully open.
And in a distant alley, the lights of the Wangchuan Tea and Medicine Shop remained dim and silent.
(End of Chapter 8)
Postscript: I used to smoke for a while when I was young, thinking it looked cool, but I’m glad I never touched it again. Other people smoke loneliness; I smoked boredom.
I rarely drink either. Actually, I don’t like the dizzy feeling after drinking—it makes me even more uncomfortable. Please read the smoking and drinking scenes in the story with discretion. I only wanted to create a sense of solitude…