They chatted about everything from the desert sandstorms to the notable figures of Yinlang. Their conversation drifted from a thirteen or fourteen-year-old little lady to the mulberry tree in front of the widow's door. In the end, after much effort, they finally talked Hui Wenzu until he passed out. Zheng Fan got up, called an attendant to take the drunken Hui Wenzu to rest, and then stepped out himself.
A Ming had been waiting at the door for a long time, the water skin in his hand considerably lighter.
"Let's head back," Zheng Fan yawned, still feeling slightly tipsy. After mounting his horse, Zheng Fan reached out and adjusted the Mo Wan on his chest. Ever since the Mo Wan had blocked an arrow for him in Mianzhou City, Zheng Fan always placed it on his chest when he wasn't wearing armor. If nothing else, it was guaranteed to stop an arrow.
"My lord, you've had too much to drink," A Ming remarked.
