The Ephemeral Drinker: Echoes of the Southerly Tavern

The moon hung low in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over the ancient city of Hangzhou. The streets were empty, save for the faint whispers of the wind and the distant hum of the city's nightlife. The Haunted Tavern, nestled between the bustle of the city and the serene calm of the West Lake, was a place of many secrets, one of which was the story of the Wandering Drunkard.

The tavern itself was a relic from the Southern Song Dynasty, its architecture a blend of traditional Chinese design and the exotic influences of the foreign merchants who had once called Hangzhou home. The wooden sign hanging above the door creaked softly in the breeze, its faded characters hinting at the tavern's storied past.

It was on a cold, misty evening like this one that the tavern's story was to take a sinister turn. A young man named Li, a tavern regular, had taken a seat at the bar, his eyes scanning the room for the usual company. The tavern was empty, save for the bartender, an old man with a weathered face and a knowing smile.

"Another night, another solitary drink," the bartender mused, his voice tinged with a hint of sorrow. Li nodded, his gaze fixed on the darkening sky outside. He had heard the stories of the Wandering Drunkard, but had always dismissed them as mere superstition.

As he sipped his drink, Li's attention was drawn to a shadowy figure lurking in the corner. The figure was thin, almost skeletal, and clad in rags. The man's eyes, if one could call them that, were hollow and empty, and he seemed to be wandering aimlessly around the tavern.

The bartender's voice interrupted his thoughts. "You see that fellow there? He's the one they call the Wandering Drunkard. He's been seen here for centuries, wandering the tavern and never drinking a drop."

Li raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Why do they call him that?"

The bartender's smile grew wider. "Because he never touches a drop of alcohol. He just wanders, lost in his own world."

As the night wore on, Li watched the figure more closely. The man seemed to be drawn to the back of the tavern, where a small, dimly lit room was situated. Curiosity piqued, Li decided to follow him.

The figure paused at the door to the room, turning back as if to ensure Li was still there. Then, with a weary sigh, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Li hesitated for a moment before following, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and excitement.

The room was small and poorly lit, its walls adorned with old, faded paintings. In the center of the room was a table, and sitting at it was the figure of the Wandering Drunkard, now seated. He was gazing at something, his eyes filled with a strange, almost serene expression.

Li approached cautiously, his footsteps echoing softly in the room. The figure looked up, his eyes meeting Li's for a brief, intense moment before returning to his gaze. Then, to Li's shock, the figure began to speak, his voice soft and haunting.

"I am Li Qian, a man who once lived in this city. I was a merchant, a successful one, until a great fire consumed my wealth and my family. In my grief and despair, I turned to drink, and I wandered the streets, seeking solace in the taverns of Hangzhou."

Li listened intently, his heart aching for the man's plight. "What happened to you, Li Qian?"

The figure's eyes filled with tears. "I drank myself to death, but I could not leave this place. I am trapped here, forever wandering, searching for a way to rest in peace."

Li felt a chill run down his spine as he realized the true nature of the Wandering Drunkard. He had seen the man's spirit, trapped in a world of his own making, and he knew that he had to help.

"Li Qian, I promise you, I will find a way to set you free."

The figure looked up, his eyes filled with hope. "Thank you, stranger. I know I can trust you."

As the night wore on, Li and the Wandering Drunkard formed an unspoken bond. Li spoke to the bartender, who had overheard their conversation, and together they devised a plan to release the spirit from its eternal wanderings.

The next day, Li returned to the tavern, armed with a ritual and the knowledge of the Wandering Drunkard's life. As he began the ritual, the figure of Li Qian appeared before him, his eyes once again filled with hope.

The ritual was complex, involving the burning of incense and the recitation of ancient texts. Li and the bartender worked together, their hands trembling with anticipation. Finally, the last incense was burned, and the room was filled with a soft, golden light.

Li Qian's spirit was released, and he thanked Li and the bartender profusely. In an instant, the figure of the Wandering Drunkard vanished, leaving behind only the faint scent of incense and the echoes of a man's life.

The bartender watched the empty room, his eyes reflecting the weight of the moment. "You have freed him, Li. His spirit can now rest in peace."

Li nodded, his heart heavy with a sense of accomplishment. "He will be free now, but the stories of the Wandering Drunkard will live on. People will come here, drawn by the tales of the ghostly wanderer."

The bartender smiled, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "That is the way of the world, Li. We are all bound by our stories, whether they be of life or death."

As the night deepened, Li left the tavern, his mind filled with the memory of the Wandering Drunkard. He knew that the spirit was free, but he also knew that the tavern would always be haunted by the echoes of the past.

The Haunted Tavern, with its walls still echoing the tales of the wandering drunkard, stood as a testament to the power of human connection and the enduring nature of the human spirit. And so, the story of the Wandering Drunkard would continue to be told, a reminder of the past and the lessons it held for all who dared to listen.