Volume One: The Soul-Gathering Gourd and the Flame of Spirit Chapter 27: A Grand Drinking Contest

The blue-haired, long-haired thug immediately slammed his hand on the table, his anger flaring as he taunted, “Damn it! You still dare to question me?”

With a swish, six out of the seven scruffy young punks at the table shot to their feet, their youthful faces twisted into savage expressions, knuckles cracking in anticipation. They truly seemed oblivious to their own limits. Clearly, a fight was inevitable!

The scene spiraled out of control in an instant, and Lo Bo’s face flushed first green, then red with embarrassment. Noticing this, Gu Mo quickly glanced at the gang with the corner of his eye. If things did erupt, he’d need to pick the right target to break through.

As the saying goes: “The shame of Jingkang is not yet avenged, the resentment of the subjects—when will it end?” Always pick the softest persimmon to squeeze!

Just then, the red-haired, long-haired thug, who sat calmly at the head, took another drag from his e-cigarette. It seemed this little gang all looked to the redhead for cues—unless he gave the word, none of the others would dare make a move.

A thick cloud of vapor poured out as the redhead leaned back heavily in his chair, his gaze playful as he looked at Gu Mo. “In Northwild Town, we have our own old rules! Dare to play the ‘Triangle Formation’?”

Hearing the words ‘Triangle Formation,’ Gu Mo couldn’t help but laugh out loud. That so-called ‘Triangle Formation’ was nothing but a drinking game—essentially the bar version of Jenga.

It was a favorite pastime of the old-school Northwild Town gangsters. Whenever there was a dispute and both sides wanted to negotiate before or after a fight, they’d play this drinking competition. Whether beer, spirits, or even wine, the two parties would quickly build a six-level beer pyramid in the shape of a triangle.

Sometimes the pyramid stood upright, sometimes it lay flat, and the variations were endless. Whoever was slower or messed up the arrangement would lose the initiative and have to watch helplessly as the other side started drinking first.

If the other side finished drinking before the pyramid was complete, the punishment would be doubled—getting sick was inevitable! To lose the game was to lose face, and for people like these, nothing mattered more.

Of course, you still had to pay for the drinks.

Ha! Who would have thought, after all these years, to run into kids who knew how to play this game? It didn’t seem like this young lot should know such old tricks.

With this thought, Gu Mo felt a surge of excitement. He curled his lips into a wicked grin and said slowly, “If you guys are interested, I’ll play along!”

As soon as he finished, the red-haired thug turned politely to Lo Bo. “Boss, if you please!”

Seeing that his old friend was about to compete in drinking, Lo Bo hurried off to prepare. The six punks who had stood up now settled back on their stools.

Gu Mo dragged over a plastic chair, sat squarely at the table, and, facing his opponents, lit a cigarette with casual ease. After a few puffs, Lo Bo returned with three barrels of draft beer and two buckets of empty glasses.

The nearby thugs, visibly excited, raised a racket as they arranged the glasses on the table and filled them with icy beer.

In the blink of an eye, twenty-one glasses of draft beer—three rows by seven columns—were set before Gu Mo and the red-haired punk.

(How’s that, you ask? The formula: first term plus last term, times the number of terms, divided by two—a six-level beer pyramid is exactly twenty-one glasses.)

Lo Bo, seeing such a grand setup, leaned in behind Gu Mo and whispered, “Mushroom, if you can’t hold out, just back out! At worst, let them flip the table and forget the bill.”

Gu Mo only grinned wickedly, thinking to himself, ‘These punks are obviously here to cause trouble. If I lose, Lo Bo will probably struggle to keep his barbecue stand open.’

With that, he merely shook his head in quiet resolve.

The blond thug next to him put on a smug face and sneered, “Oh wow, you really plan to go through with this? My boss has never been drunk in his entire life! Are you looking for a death wish?”

The others quickly joined in the mockery.

“Ha, doesn’t know his own limits.”

“Kid, you can still beg for mercy now!”

Gu Mo looked at the group of dyed-hair punks with a mischievous grin and raised his eyebrows. “Shall we begin? What are we waiting for?”

At this, the table erupted in laughter and jeering. “Ha! This kid really knows no fear. Hong, teach him a lesson!”

A chorus of howls rose as the punks banged on their beer glasses with disposable chopsticks. The red-haired leader gave a slight smile, placed both hands flat on the table, and, locking eyes with Gu Mo, raised his chin. “Shall we start?”

One of the punks grabbed a napkin, dabbed it in beer, fashioned a little white flag, and placed it in front of Gu Mo. “Kid, it’s not too late to give up now!”

Gu Mo sneered and ignored him. The punk, seeing this, looked embarrassed. “Hong, flatten him!”

Another raised his left hand, glanced at Gu Mo, then at his red-haired boss. “Begin!”

At his command, both sides rushed to build their beer pyramids.

The clinking of glasses rang out from Gu Mo’s side. Before the redhead could finish his fourth layer, Gu Mo was done.

The little draft beer stall fell silent, even the barbecue vendor nearby paused to watch.

The aroma of skewers filled the air—add a little cumin and chili powder, and anyone would be salivating.

At the plastic table, the punks looked at each other in astonishment. Gu Mo had assembled an inverted six-layer beer pyramid, while the redhead had only managed four. The difference in difficulty was worlds apart!

The red-haired thug had lost completely and utterly from the start. Even Lo Bo, standing nearby, was speechless with shock. ‘Damn, when did Mushroom get so good at this?’

Cigarette in mouth, Gu Mo grinned slyly, flicked his ashes, and, grabbing a glass of ice-cold draft, downed it in one gulp.

Cold beer slid down his throat—it felt like a mere drizzle. How could the chill of draft beer compare to the bone-deep cold of ghostly energy?

Who was Gu Mo? The kind of guy who squatted facing outwards in the latrine—bold as they come!

Gulp, gulp—glass after glass vanished in seconds, leaving everyone dumbfounded.

Gu Mo’s stomach was soon filled to bursting with beer. Before the red-haired punk finished stacking his six layers, Gu Mo had already drunk more than half his draft. The other six punks stared in disbelief.

Hic! Having drunk half, Gu Mo let out a loud belch. There was still half the beer left, but the red-haired punk had only managed six glasses.

Gritting his teeth, Gu Mo steeled himself and raised another glass. ‘Damn! I’ve boasted this far—I have to see it through!’

The punks gasped at the sight.

As Gu Mo gulped down more beer, two of the punks exchanged glances and, in a flash, kicked at the plastic stool under him.

With a crack, Gu Mo’s chair was sent flying, but he sat suspended, legs crossed, calmly continuing to down his beer.

Having drifted around the country, Gu Mo knew well the treachery of men. Such petty tricks wouldn’t faze him.

At that, the punks realized Gu Mo was no ordinary man.

With a thud, Gu Mo slammed his glass on the table, wiped the foam from his lips, and looked at the punks with a playful grin. “Anyone else want to play?”

Clap, clap, clap—the red-haired punk broke into a wide grin and applauded. “Brother, you’re a tough one. You win this round!”

Gu Mo turned to Lo Bo. “Lo Bo, grill me fifty more skewers—on my tab!”

Lo Bo, grinning from ear to ear, hurried off to prepare.

With that, Gu Mo stood up with casual flair and returned to his table. The red-haired punk immediately doubled over, vomiting a mess onto the floor, as his companions slapped their own faces in embarrassment.

Seated once more, Gu Mo was greeted by Xiao Yulou’s approving smile. “Brother Gu, impressive drinking!”

Gu Mo returned the smile with a hearty belch. Though the beer wasn’t strong, it took up plenty of space in the stomach. Twenty-one glasses—what did that mean? A full barrel of draft barely poured seventeen glasses.

Suppressing the swelling in his belly, Gu Mo replied lightly, “Nothing much. I used to run a draft beer booth myself. If I let those punks intimidate me, I’d be better off quitting.”

At this, even the silly Yan Wang girl looked at Gu Mo with newfound respect.

In no time, plates of fragrant skewers were delivered to Gu Mo. Lo Bo sat beside him, grinning. “Mushroom, you’ve got some skills!”

Gu Mo smiled, clinked his beer with Lo Bo, and took a sip. “Lo Bo… I’ll hang around a while longer. If those punks give you trouble, at least you’ll have someone to help.”

Lo Bo smiled in return—this deep friendship had been rooted in their childhood, all its warmth now blended in the beer.

After a few gulps, Lo Bo went back to work, while Gu Mo strolled toward the public restroom.

A cool breeze sent a shiver down his spine. Standing at the urinal, Gu Mo hastily untied his waistband and let loose—a surge of relief and comfort washed over him.

Returning to his seat, he felt light as a feather. The impatient Yan Wang girl promptly threw her arms around him, wolfing down the skewers in a frenzy.

After a while, Xiao Yulou, clad in black Daoist robes, leaned in and whispered, “Brother Gu, haven’t you noticed anything strange?”

Gu Mo glanced around, and suddenly—boom! A surge of green ghostly energy flooded his vision. Far off, a shadowy black ghost was sprawled across the punks’ table, devouring skewers with gusto.

Startled, Gu Mo asked, “Daoist Xiao, what’s going on? Is that thing… a wandering soul?”

Xiao Yulou calmly flicked her sleeve and replied, “Brother Gu, with Lord Yan now possessing your body, your ghostly energy has been enhanced. Otherwise, you couldn’t see that ‘Gluttonous Ghost’!”

Gu Mo gaped, curiosity piqued, and looked again. His vision sharpened, and he could finally make out the little thing on the table—a black, hairy ball of flesh, all covered in fur!

The so-called ‘Gluttonous Ghost’ was a coal-black creature with a gaping, bloody maw, sneakily feasting on the skewers. The seven scruffy punks, already tipsy, hadn’t noticed a thing.

“No wonder they complained Lo Bo served them fewer skewers!”

Xiao Yulou, munching on a skewer, explained quietly, “Brother Gu, this Gluttonous Ghost is the remnant soul of the ancient monster Taotie. There’s nothing in the world it can’t eat!”

Gu Mo’s curiosity deepened. “Oh? Is it really that powerful?”

Xiao Yulou took a sip of beer and nodded. “Brother Gu, there’s no time like the present. Why not tame this Gluttonous Ghost as your pet?”

Gu Mo wrinkled his nose and belched. “Why bother? With a name like that, it’s bound to have an enormous appetite—I can’t afford to keep such a ‘pet’!”

Xiao Yulou only smiled mysteriously.

Meanwhile, the impatient Yan Wang girl took control of Gu Mo’s body and dove into the feast…