Chapter Twenty-Three: The Wine Does Not Intoxicate, Yet the Heart Is Already Drunk

After nearly ten minutes of waiting, Qin Sheng finally returned, carrying a pack of beer. The most astonished was Lin Xing. Before the apocalypse, he often went out for beer and barbecue; Chu Xingyu never touched alcohol, but Lin Xing drank happily alone.

“There really is beer! I haven’t had a drop in so long, my mouth’s gone bland,” Lin Xing exclaimed, immediately stepping forward to take the beer from Qin Sheng. “Let me do it, Grand Lady, you rest.”

Qin Sheng nodded and sat back down. No sooner had she taken two bites of meat than she noticed Song Qing’an staring at her.

“Is there something dirty on my face?” Qin Sheng raised her hand to wipe her face.

Song Qing’an smiled, took the beer Lin Xing handed him, opened the can with one hand, and leaned against the chair back. “Your eyes reflect my dashing good looks.”

Qin Sheng knew nothing good ever came from him. She pursed her lips, lowered her head, and took a bite of cabbage drenched in spicy oil. Normally, she handled spice well, but Song Qing’an’s chilly words caught her off guard and made her choke.

“Cough, cough, cough!” Tears welled up in Qin Sheng's eyes; for a moment she shared the same suffering as Lin Xing and Song Qing’an had earlier.

“Sheng Sheng! Drink some water!” Seeing Qin Sheng’s face flush from choking, Jiang Miaomiao rushed over to pat her back.

“Are you alright, Sheng Jie?”

“Grand Lady?”

Qin Sheng shook her head, grabbed a glass of plain water from the table, and drank it all down, finally easing the coughing fit.

“I’m fine, just choked. Let’s keep eating.” Once assured Qin Sheng was alright, Jiang Miaomiao returned to her seat, and Lin Xing eagerly opened a beer.

“Grand Lady, would you like a glass? Drown your sorrows in drink,” Lin Xing said, waving the bottle, its rich aroma wafting around them, leaving even Qin Sheng, who hadn’t drunk yet, slightly intoxicated.

Qin Sheng had never tasted alcohol and was curious, so she let Lin Xing pour her a small glass.

“How does it taste?” Lin Xing impatiently awaited her feedback.

Qin Sheng clinked glasses with him. “Not bad.”

Delighted, Lin Xing quickly refilled her glass.

After the first drink, Qin Sheng felt nothing and didn’t refuse when Lin Xing poured her more.

“Have you drunk before?” Song Qing’an, who had been silent, suddenly asked. He’d had quite a bit himself but showed no signs of drunkenness.

Qin Sheng shook her head, answering honestly. “Never, but it’s nothing remarkable.”

No sooner had she finished speaking than she downed her second glass.

Song Qing’an watched her for a moment, then clinked glasses. “For your first time, best not to overdo it.”

Qin Sheng shrugged it off. Lin Xing kept refilling her glass quickly, and within half an hour, Qin Sheng had drunk nearly a whole bottle.

With the evening breeze blowing, her intoxication became more apparent, her cheeks flushed.

“Lin Xing, don’t pour any more. Sheng Sheng’s never drunk before,” Jiang Miaomiao, keeping a close eye on Qin Sheng, spoke up when she saw her getting tipsy.

Lin Xing, though carefree, knew his limits and promptly took away the remaining half-can beside Qin Sheng’s glass.

“It’s fine, I’m not drunk.” Qin Sheng wasn’t sure what drunkenness felt like—her mind was sluggish, movements slow, but she remained clear-headed and aware of the need for vigilance.

Yet, the sensation was rather pleasant.

“Leave it be, I know my limits.”

At her words, Lin Xing obeyed, placing the can back down. Qin Sheng poured herself another glass.

“Is it safe for Sheng Sheng to drink like this?” Jiang Miaomiao knew well Qin Sheng’s role in their group—without her, they’d be lost.

Song Qing’an glanced at Qin Sheng, his gaze darkening. “Don’t worry, I’m here.”

Jiang Miaomiao said nothing, accepting it by default. Here, besides Qin Sheng, only Song Qing’an had the ability to protect them. She didn’t know his background, but since Qin Sheng trusted him, so would she.

“How did you meet the Grand Lady?” Lin Xing, emboldened by drink, asked more directly than usual.

Song Qing’an pressed his lips together, showing no emotion. “She came to buy something from me.”

He didn’t specify what Qin Sheng had bought, likely to guard her privacy, and Lin Xing wisely refrained from asking further.

“A knife.” Qin Sheng, who hadn’t spoken, suddenly interjected.

Everyone paused for a moment, realizing the Tang sword she carried had come from Song Qing’an.

“That’s right,” Song Qing’an confirmed.

“In a few days, I’ll find something for you and Xingyu for self-defense. Fighting barehanded is too risky.” Even drunk, Qin Sheng never forgot this promise.

Lin Xing and Chu Xingyu were moved, unsure how to express their gratitude.

“No need.”

Qin Sheng slowly turned to Song Qing’an, her gaze growing hazy.

It was the first time Song Qing’an had seen her so dazed; he found it endearing, and a smile tugged at his lips before he quickly hid it.

“I ought to repay you for your hotpot,” he said, then produced two daggers from behind and handed them to Chu Xingyu and Lin Xing.

Lin Xing received the one with a dragon engraving, turning it over carefully, clearly enamored—such craftsmanship could fetch tens of thousands. For a moment, he wondered if Song Qing’an was trying to buy him off, so he promptly hid the dagger behind his back and declared fiercely, “No dagger alone can buy off my Grand Lady!”

Jiang Miaomiao thought his bluster was dramatic, but he quickly switched gears, professing disdain while secretly delighted.

Chu Xingyu thanked Song Qing’an and eagerly examined the dagger with a tiger engraving, testing moves he'd recently learned from Jiang Miaomiao, finding them quite effective.

Qin Sheng leaned back in her chair, watching Song Qing’an without moving.

“Are you so touched you can’t help but thank me?” Song Qing’an's smile was teasing, his eyes seductive.

Qin Sheng was almost mesmerized by those alluring eyes. She straightened, drank some water to clear her head, and, as usual, retorted, “Eat my hotpot and still want my thanks.”

Song Qing’an pouted, then heard Qin Sheng’s tiny, mosquito-like voice.

“Thank you.”

“No need to pledge yourself to me—just a small favor,” Song Qing’an said, lounging comfortably, unconcerned by her sarcasm.

Qin Sheng snorted and clinked glasses with him.

“You must have other business today?” Qin Sheng recalled Song Qing’an’s hesitation earlier and couldn’t help but ask.

Song Qing’an took a sip of beer, his eyes momentarily cold, but the chill vanished with his smile. “What do you think? I wouldn’t neglect my affairs for a taste of meat.”

“That’s debatable,” Qin Sheng retorted, knowing well his gluttony.

“That’s no fun.” Song Qing’an pouted, surprised by her reaction. “It’s nothing urgent; I can wait till tomorrow.”

With that, Qin Sheng’s worry faded.

“What’s wrong? Worried about me?”

Whenever there was a lull, Song Qing’an’s dramatic nature surfaced, and he could say anything.

Qin Sheng was about to retort, but met his gaze and changed her answer. “No.”

“No means no.”

They fell silent, Qin Sheng full and tipsy, leaning back and closing her eyes.

Song Qing’an leaned back, gazing at the sky; noticing Qin Sheng asleep, he casually tossed his jacket over her.

Meanwhile, Lin Xing, thoroughly drunk, insisted on competing with Jiang Miaomiao to see whose dagger was superior. Unable to resist his challenge, Jiang Miaomiao drew her dagger to face him.

Chu Xingyu watched the two evenly matched, anxiously hovering nearby.

A drunk Lin Xing was no match for a sober Jiang Miaomiao; after several exchanges, he lost due to slow reactions.

“Told you, you can’t beat me,” Jiang Miaomiao said, having recently mastered moves Qin Sheng taught her, skillfully dodging threats.

Defeated, Lin Xing slumped down anywhere and began to snore.

Chu Xingyu and Jiang Miaomiao shrugged, leaving him to sleep, and walked over, chatting and laughing.

“Shh.”

As they approached, Song Qing’an signaled for silence, noticing Qin Sheng was asleep.

“These two books, study them,” Song Qing’an placed the books near Jiang Miaomiao, straightened his clothes, and prepared to leave. Glancing down, he saw Qin Sheng sleeping.

“One more time won’t hurt,” he murmured, gently lifting Qin Sheng in his arms, weighing her as he carried her.

Chu Xingyu and Jiang Miaomiao’s eyes widened at the sight.

“No need to tell her,” Song Qing’an said, leaving the rooftop and carrying Qin Sheng into her room with practiced ease.

He laid her gently on the bed, covered her with the blanket, and picked up his jacket, ready to leave.

As he closed the door, his gaze lingered on Qin Sheng’s sleeping face, tinged with a hint of reluctance, which faded as the door shut.

Not long after his footsteps receded, Qin Sheng’s eyes slowly opened, staring in a daze at the silhouette of the departing man.