Dragon of the Drunken Lotus

The morning sun hit the Azure Mist Sect’s central arena with a glare that Xianyu Longwei found personally offensive. He squinted, leaning heavily against a wooden pillar, watching the other disciples warm up with a level of enthusiasm he couldn't begin to comprehend.

"Longwei! Are you seriously napping right now?"

Longwei opened one eye to see his friend, Fatty Su, frantically wiping sweat from his forehead with a silk sleeve.

"I’m not napping, Su. I’m meditating on the futility of physical exertion," Longwei muttered, shifting his weight. "Besides, look at the bracket. I’m up against Zhaoren Tianxu. Do you know what that means?"

"It means you’re about to get your teeth kicked in by the most arrogant prodigy in the Outer Sect?" Su whispered, glancing nervously toward a tall, sharp-featured youth in shimmering silver robes.

"Exactly. It means the outcome is already decided," Longwei said, yawning. "So, why bother sweating? I’m thinking of just stepping onto the stage, tripping, and claiming a concussion. What do you think? Too dramatic?"

"You can’t do that, man! The Elders are watching," Su hissed. "Elder Mo looks like he’s just waiting for a reason to kick you down to the kitchens to peel potatoes for the next decade."

"Potatoes don't hit back, Su. Think about the benefits."

Before Su could respond, a booming voice echoed across the courtyard. "Next bout: Zhaoren Tianxu versus Xianyu Longwei! To the stage!"

Longwei groaned, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. "Here we go. The execution begins."

He trudged toward the stone platform, his steps heavy. On the opposite side, Zhaoren Tianxu leaped onto the stage in a single, fluid motion, his white robes fluttering like a heroic banner. The crowd of disciples erupted in cheers.

"Look at him," Longwei muttered under his breath. "Show-off. I bet he practiced that jump for three hours this morning."

Zhaoren drew a gleaming jade-hilted sword, pointing the tip directly at Longwei’s nose. "Xianyu Longwei. I have waited a long time to cleanse the sect of your lethargy. Today, I will show everyone that talent without discipline is a cancer!"

Longwei stood there, his hands tucked into his wide sleeves. "Whoa, 'cancer'? That’s a bit much, don't you think? Can't we just call it a 'relaxed lifestyle choice'?"

"Silence!" Zhaoren barked. "Draw your weapon!"

"Yeah, about that..." Longwei started, his eyes darting around the arena. He suddenly winced, clutching his right calf and doubling over. "Ow! Oh, heavens! The agony!"

Zhaoren froze, his brow furrowing. "What are you doing?"

"My leg!" Longwei wailed, perhaps a bit too loudly. "It’s a cramp! A spiritual meridian collapse! I can feel the Qi backing up! It’s like... like a thousand tiny needles are stabbing my calf!"

"You haven't even moved yet!" Zhaoren yelled, his face turning a vibrant shade of red. "Get up and fight!"

"I want to, truly! But my body... it’s failing me!" Longwei groaned, dropping to one knee. "Elder Mo! I think I need a medical timeout! Or maybe a sabbatical!"

Elder Mo, perched on the high observation deck, didn't even look up from his tea. "The match continues until someone is unconscious or yields. Get up, Longwei."

"Harsh," Longwei whispered. He fumbled inside his sleeve, his fingers brushing against a small, wax-sealed pouch. Right, the ginger candy Su gave me for my 'nerves.' I need some sugar if I’m going to survive being a human punching bag.

He pulled out a round, golden-brown pill. It looked a bit more translucent than usual, and it smelled faintly of mountain lilies and ancient wood, but Longwei was too panicked to notice. He popped it into his mouth and swallowed hard.

"What are you eating?" Zhaoren demanded, taking a predatory step forward. "Is that a forbidden stimulant? Are you trying to cheat?"

"It’s ginger, you paranoid lunatic," Longwei choked out, the pill feeling strangely heavy as it slid down his throat. "It settles the stomach. My mom sent—"

Suddenly, Longwei’s words died.

A wave of heat, unlike anything he had ever felt, exploded from his stomach. It wasn't the sharp burn of spice, but a rolling, thrumming tide of pure, unadulterated power. His vision blurred for a second, the world turning a soft, hazy violet.

"Uh oh," Longwei whispered. "That wasn't ginger."

"What did you say?" Zhaoren growled, closing the distance. "I’m ending this now! Heaven-Shattering Palm!"

Zhaoren lunged, his hand glowing with a fierce blue light. To the crowd, he was a blur of lethal precision. To Longwei, however, Zhaoren looked like he was moving through a vat of thick honey.

Whoa, Longwei thought, his brain feeling strangely light, as if he’d just downed three bottles of the Sect Leader’s private vintage wine. He’s really slow. And why does he smell like... angry lemons?

"Take this!" Zhaoren screamed, his palm inches from Longwei’s chest.

Longwei didn't think. He didn't use a technique. He just felt a sudden, overwhelming itch in his palm and a desperate need to make the "lemon smell" go away.

"Stop shouting," Longwei said, his voice sounding strangely resonant, echoing across the entire plaza.

He raised his hand—a slow, clumsy, drunken motion—and gave a half-hearted swipe. It wasn't a strike. It was the movement of a man trying to shoo away a particularly persistent fly.

SLAP.

The sound wasn't that of skin hitting skin. It was the sound of a mountain collapsing.

A visible shockwave of pink-tinted Qi erupted from Longwei’s palm. The air itself seemed to ripple, carrying a scent so intoxicatingly sweet that the disciples in the front row began to look dazed.

Zhaoren Tianxu didn't just fly back. He vanished.

One moment he was there, the next he was a silver-and-white streak hurtling across the arena, smashing through the reinforced stone balustrade, and skidding another fifty feet across the grass before coming to a halt, head-first in a decorative koi pond.

Silence fell over the Azure Mist Sect.

Longwei blinked, his hand still raised. He felt... amazing. He felt like he could jump over the moon, or perhaps more accurately, like he could take the world’s most profound nap.

"Did... did I do that?" Longwei asked the empty air. He looked at his hand. It was starting to glow.

"Longwei!" Fatty Su shouted from the sidelines, his jaw hanging so low it nearly touched his chest. "Your face! Your skin! What is happening?"

Longwei looked down at his arms. A vibrant, neon-pink luminescence was pulsing beneath his skin, radiating outward in soft, rhythmic waves. He felt warm—excessively warm—and a strange, pleasant hum was vibrating in his ears.

"I feel... kinda fuzzy," Longwei said, his voice tilting upward. "Is it hot in here? I think it’s hot."

Elder Mo stood up so fast his chair toppled over. "That scent... that radiance... Is that the Drunken Lotus Pill? The Grade-9 Forbidden Elixir from the Ancestral Vault?"

"The what now?" Longwei asked, swaying on his feet.

He looked up at the sky. The bright morning air was suddenly filled with movement. From the surrounding forests, from the high mountain peaks, and from the sect’s own botanical gardens, thousands of tiny shapes were converging on the arena.

"Butterflies?" someone whispered.

They weren't just butterflies. They were Spiritual Azure-Wings, rare creatures that usually only appeared once a century. They descended in a glittering, swirling storm of sapphire and gold, drawn by the irresistible pheromones pouring off Longwei’s glowing pink skin.

"Hey, guys," Longwei giggled, reaching out as a dozen butterflies landed on his nose. "You’re really sparkly. Does anyone have any snacks? I’m suddenly... really, really hungry."

He took a step toward the edge of the stage, but his legs felt like overcooked noodles. He stumbled, falling flat on his back. As he lay there, the butterflies began to blanket him in a shimmering cocoon of light.

"Longwei!" Su cried out, running toward the stage. "Are you okay? You’re literally glowing like a lantern!"

"I'm fine, Su," Longwei mumbled, his eyes closing as the Drunken Lotus Pill’s secondary effects began to take hold. "Just... tell the butterflies to keep it down. I’m trying to... catch a few... Z's..."

The last thing Longwei heard before he drifted off was the sound of Elder Mo screaming for the sect’s medicinal hall, and the frantic fluttering of ten thousand wings. He didn't know it yet, but his quiet, lazy life had just ended in the most vibrant, pink explosion possible.