The tavern was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with the usual eclectic mix of patrons—lesser deities nursing their pride, demons trying to drown out the voices in their heads, and the occasional mortal who'd stumbled in by accident and was now too terrified to leave. The air was thick with the scent of spilt ale, charred meat, and the faint ozone-tang of residual magic.
Luo Feng had just finished serving a round of drinks when the first tankard hit the floor with a thunderous clang.
"I," bellowed a voice like grinding boulders, "could drink this entire tavern under the table!"
All eyes turned toward the source of the declaration. Slouched across three barstools was a mountain of muscle and scar tissue that had once been worshipped as the God of War. These days, he was more of a Former God of War—his divinity stripped after an unfortunate incident involving a bet, three sacred relics, and a game of celestial strip poker. His name was Gorath the Unrepentant, and he was currently sloshing ale down his beard as he waved an empty tankard in the air.
"Challenge!" he roared, slamming the tankard down hard enough to crack the wood. "Who among you has the stomach to face me?"
A hush fell over the crowd. Then, slowly, every head in the tavern turned toward the corner where Li Qing stood.
She had been in the middle of polishing her sword—a task she performed with the same lethal precision as everything else—but at the sound of Gorath's challenge, her hands stilled. Her eyes, colder than the void between stars, lifted to meet his.
For a moment, the only sound was the drip-drip of ale leaking from Gorath's tankard onto the floor.
Then Li Qing set her sword aside.
The crowd scrambled backward, clearing a path as she strode toward the bar. Even Gorath, in his drunken bravado, seemed to reconsider his life choices as she approached. But it was too late to back down now—not with half the tavern watching.
"You," he sneered, puffing out his chest, "think you can outdrink me, frost-witch?"
Li Qing didn't answer. She didn't need to.
With a single, fluid motion, she reached across the bar, grabbed the largest keg of ale in reach, and upended it over her head.
The tavern erupted.
Gorath's face twisted in outrage. "That's cheating!"
Li Qing didn't even blink. The ale had frozen solid the moment it touched her, forming a perfect, glistening shell around her body—leaving her completely dry underneath. She tilted her head, the ice cracking faintly with the movement.
"Your turn," she said.
Gorath's face turned an impressive shade of purple. "Fine!" He grabbed a keg of his own, hoisted it overhead, and—with a battlecry that shook dust from the rafters—drank.
Or tried to.
Halfway through the first gallon, his eyes crossed. By the second, his knees buckled. By the third, he was swaying dangerously, his face the color of spoiled meat.
"I... am... invincible..." he slurred, before promptly face-planting into the bar.
Li Qing sighed. Then, with the air of someone dealing with a particularly stubborn stain, she placed a single finger against Gorath's forehead.
Frost spread.
It crawled over his skin in intricate, fractal patterns, encasing him in a cocoon of ice so clear it might as well have been glass. Within seconds, the Former God of War was frozen mid-slump, his mouth still hanging open in a drunken stupor, one hand still clutching the keg like a lifeline.
Li Qing stepped back, examining her handiwork. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she etched words into the ice at the base of the sculpture:
"Tacky Behavior Exhibit #73: The 'I Can Handle My Liquor' Delusion."
The tavern exploded into cheers.
For the rest of the night, Gorath's frozen form became something of an attraction. Patrons took turns posing next to him, laughing at the way his expression had been preserved in a perfect mix of defiance and regret. Someone draped a cloak over his shoulders like he was a particularly ugly garden statue.
The Fox Spirit, never one to miss an opportunity, added her own artistic touch—a crude doodle of Gorath crying, etched into the ice near his left ear with the tip of a claw.
Luo Feng half-expected Li Qing to scold them for defacing her work. Instead, he caught her smirking as she walked past.
It wasn't until the tavern had emptied in the early hours of the morning that Li Qing finally returned to Gorath's frozen prison.
She studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, she placed her palm against the ice.
It melted in an instant, leaving Gorath gasping and shivering on the floor.
"F-f-frostbite h-hurts, okay?!" he managed through chattering teeth, his pride clearly warring with his survival instincts.
Li Qing arched a brow. "Then stop challenging people to drinking contests."
Gorath opened his mouth to argue—then thought better of it. "...Fair."
As he staggered out into the dawn, still muttering about "unfair magical advantages," Luo Feng couldn't help but notice the way Li Qing's fingers lingered on the now-empty space where the ice had been.
The next night, Gorath returned—this time with a thick fur cloak and significantly less bravado. When Li Qing arched a brow at him, he grumbled something about "respecting the establishment" and ordered a single ale.
And if, over the following weeks, Gorath's drunken challenges became fewer and farther between—and if, on occasion, he and Li Qing could be seen engaged in what almost looked like civil conversation—well.
That was nobody's business but theirs.
The ice sculpture, however, remained a popular attraction. The Fox Spirit made sure of that. Every few days, a new doodle would appear—Gorath with bunny ears, Gorath in a frilly apron, Gorath holding a sign that read "Free Hugs (If You Dare)."
And if Li Qing never quite got around to freezing them off...
Well.
That was nobody's business but hers.
END OF CHAPTER 106