Chapter 064

Chapter 64: Drunk Tang Mo

When Xin An asked, Tang Mo practically preened; he said proudly: “When have I ever botched a job?”

He continued, smug and unrestrained: “Now you see my worth, don’t you? I’m telling you, in reliability I leave a certain someone eighteen streets behind.”

He leaned in with a taunting grin: “Well? At this moment are you starting to regret why, in your last life, you insisted on going against me?”

Xin An widened her eyes and said coolly: “Have you forgotten that I’m the one who can always keep you in check?”

Tang Mo snorted and said: “I was being a gentleman who doesn’t quarrel with women; I never even went all out against you.”

Tipsy, he wobbled over and sat beside Xin An, slung an arm around her shoulders, and tugged her closer as he complained: “Listen here: you have no idea how hateful you were in your last life. That face of yours looked like I owed you money and refused to pay. But you weren’t like that with Tang Rong; that humble look you wore around him, I looked down on you for it.”

He slurred, leaning in with boozy breath: “Tell me, what’s so good about Tang Rong? Can he talk like me? Can he work a room like me? Is he as handsome as me?”

His words were already thick, his wine-heavy breath brushing Xin An’s cheek and making her instinctively lean away. Each time she drew back, he shuffled closer and insisted: “You don’t know this: even in height I’m just a little taller than Tang Rong. I’m telling you, he’s not a good man; he’s too calculating.”

Xin An did not want to bandy words with a drunken troublemaker, so she replied perfunctorily: “Yes, yes, you’re the most handsome, the best talker, and you’re a good man. Good man, move over; you’re crushing me.”

Tang Mo chuckled, letting the weight of his body settle onto her as he grabbed her hand and declared: “You’re capable; in this life, join forces with me. We’ll combine our blades and wipe him out completely; magnificent, absolutely magnificent.”

Xin An rolled her eyes. She thought of calling someone in, but worried that this one would start spouting nonsense about past lives; anyone listening might think he was possessed. She drew a steady breath and ordered: “Get up. Go back to your room and sleep.”

He muttered mulishly: “I won’t. I’m staying right here.”

Kicking off his shoes, Tang Mo flopped straight down and mumbled: “You fierce shrew, don’t even think about driving me away.”

Xin An inhaled sharply, then planted two firm kicks. Tang Mo, eyes already closed, blinked them open; tears pooled fast in his eyes as he quavered: “You hit me?”

She replied without mercy: “I’ll beat you to death.” She gave him another kick and added: “Drunken fool.”

“You actually hit me…” he whimpered. Thoroughly drunk, he rolled over, hugged the quilt, and began to wail, still mumbling off and on, “You hit me.” Xin An was stunned; in two lifetimes, it was her first time seeing a drunk go wild. People said some drunks shouted in the street, some stripped and ran, some sobbed in great howls. She looked at the spectacle and thought: [What variety is this little daughter-in-law act of his supposed to be?]

She muttered, half-amused and half-baffled: “What did he drink that the aftereffects are this strong?” He had seemed fine when he came in; wasn’t the change in style a bit too abrupt?

Listening to his muffled crying, she suddenly found it rather entertaining. After a moment’s thought, she lit a lantern and went to the study; when she returned, she brought brush, ink, paper, and inkstone. She lit another lamp, began to grind ink, then lifted the edge of the quilt to peek at how miserably Tang Mo was crying.

She clucked her tongue and said with relish: “Look at those little tears flowing. Tsk, tsk. I’ll draw you and show you in the morning.”

Interest stirred and her mood rose with it. Smiling, she set brush to paper; in no time at all, a weeping ugly duckling clutching a quilt sprang to life on the page. Ugly as it was, one glance told you it was Tang Mo. Pleased with her masterpiece, she added the words “You hit me, you hit me” beside it. Instantly the whole picture felt vivid; even she wanted to laugh at the sight.

Tang Mo, unaware that his drunken disgrace had been captured in ink, had already fallen into a deep sleep, still hugging the quilt, with two clear tear tracks drying on his face.

Holding the painting, Xin An looked around the room and finally placed it in the most conspicuous spot, ensuring that when Tang Mo woke in the morning, he would see it at once.

Morning came quickly. Tang Mo awoke, and the first thing he saw was Xin An asleep in the corner. Pain throbbed in his head as he wondered: [Why did I end up sleeping in the main room again?] He noticed he was still in yesterday’s clothes. As he sat up, Xin An startled awake; subconsciously she had been anticipating the chance to watch his embarrassment. She rose without a trace of morning temper and offered him the first smile of the day, saying with bright cheer: “Awake?”

That one smile made his heart lurch. He hastily checked his clothing, afraid this demon-woman had taken advantage of him. Xin An kept smiling and said: “If you’re awake, get up. We still have to go to the Northern Garrison Army today; being late would be bad.”

He stalled, testing the waters: “Aiya, I’m a little thirsty. Could you pour me a cup of water from the table?”

Suspicion clouded his face as he ransacked his memory of last night. He only remembered coming in and drinking hangover soup; he should have returned to his room after that. So why was he here? A sudden notion flashed through his mind: [Could it be that this woman coveted my handsome face and tall, straight figure and tried to take advantage of me, only to fail in the end?]

“Go on,” Xin An urged. Tang Mo climbed from the bed, still wary, and walked to the table. There he saw the painting: a man clutching a quilt and bawling. He glanced at the little words beside it, and hot blood rushed to his head. He snatched up the paper to tear it, but Xin An, who had slipped up behind him, grabbed it first and asked with a smile: “Well? Isn’t it wonderfully lifelike?”

She teased him further, eyes bright: “Do you remember last night? Tell me, how did you end up crying that miserably? You looked so pitiful I almost softened enough to reward you with a bit of jewelry to comfort you.”

As blurry fragments returned, Tang Mo wished he could dig a hole with his toes and crawl in. Xin An laughed aloud, admiring her own work as she crowed: “Hahahaha~~~”

The more she looked, the funnier it seemed.

“Give it here,” Tang Mo demanded. He lunged to snatch it; Xin An had no intention of letting him succeed. The more he reached, the louder she laughed. Outside, Lai Lai and Chun Yang exchanged a glance and wondered: [What on earth is happening in there?]

“My honored grandaunt, I’m begging you, tear it up,” Tang Mo pleaded. “If this gets out, how am I supposed to show my face?” He seethed inside at the same time: [What a devious woman; she actually drew my shame.]

Turning her back, Xin An folded her artwork and said: “I won’t tear it. I’ll keep it for days when I’m in a bad mood so I can enjoy it and cheer myself up.” She added with mock solemnity: “You think this was easy? It was a sudden flash of inspiration, the brush moving like flowing clouds. I’ve never done that before.”

Tang Mo kept trying to grab it, but he never could. He compromised and said: “Then can you promise it won’t spread? That no third person will see it?”

He pressed his case: “I’m your husband in name, after all. If I lose face, it won’t reflect well on you either, right?”

Xin An agreed readily: “Rest easy; I’ll admire it behind closed doors. Now hurry and wash up so you can get out early. You’ve a hard battle ahead today.”

He had originally wanted to use connections to arrange a meal with Northern Garrison Army Commandant Liao Zhi, but after asking around he discovered no one had real ties with him. Today he could only bite the bullet and go.