Chapter 23: A Night with the Purple-clad Maiden

“Aha… so it turns out to be a lovely young lady! No wonder you were too shy to show yourself!” Wiro Sableng laughed broadly. One glance at the purple robes and he immediately recognized her as the disciple of the Old Drunken Immortal.

“Beautiful girl, why have you been tailing me all the way from the hillside to that cliff of death?” he asked.

Anggini, the purple-clad maiden, said nothing. Her face flushed red, caught between embarrassment and annoyance. Wiro laughed again.

“Perhaps you have… less than honorable intentions?”

“Brother… I… I…” Anggini stammered, unsure how to respond.

“Is your master, the Drunken Immortal, with you? Perhaps the two of you are trying to set a trap for me?”

“Brother, please listen…” Anggini began. “I… I didn’t want any of this…”

“What do you mean, any of this?” Wiro cut her off.

Anggini bit her lip.

“Is your master with you?”

“No…”

“Then he sent you to follow me?”

She nodded.

“And for what reason?”

Again, Anggini bit her lip.

“Was he not satisfied with the little scuffle we had earlier this afternoon?”

Still she said nothing. How could she tell him that her master had ordered her to chase him… so that she might become his life companion? How could she possibly explain that? She wanted to cry, to run from him, but the thought of defying the Drunken Immortal terrified her.

Wiro furrowed his brows. Suddenly his face reddened, as red as the western sky beneath the sinking sun. He recalled the Old Wine God’s outrageous remark—that he would make a fine match for his disciple! The young warrior stole a glance at the purple-clad maiden: her oval face was comely, her golden-hued skin flawless, her figure a feast for the eyes.

But marriage? That was the last thing on his mind. He had far weightier matters pressing upon him—his master’s command to settle an old blood-debt with Suranyali, alias Mahesa Birawa, still unpaid to this day. Wiro rose to his feet, studying her for a moment before bursting into another round of laughter.

“Tell me, miss… does this little stalking of yours have anything to do with your master’s words earlier?”

Anggini’s cheeks burned even brighter. “I told you—I’m not happy about any of this. But my master forced me…”

“Forced you how?!”

“He said I must chase you until I caught you. If I failed, I shouldn’t return. And… and he said I must…” She trailed off, unable to continue.

“I think your master’s gone mad! At least a quarter mad!” Wiro scoffed.

Though Anggini disliked the orders, hearing her master insulted like that lit a spark of anger.

“Don’t you dare insult my master!” she snapped.

Wiro scratched his head. “Ah… master and disciple—both just as foolish! If your master told you to eat broken glass and drink poison, would you do it?!”

“My master is not that insane!” she retorted.

“I never said insane, just mad!”

“If you insult him again, I’ll slap your mouth!”

Wiro whistled cheerfully. “Your master is mad!”

That was the last straw. She had seen Wiro’s prowess earlier at the Sanggreng Gorge—enough to know that even her master might not easily defeat him. Yet her annoyance overflowed. Her right hand shot forward—while Wiro, instead of dodging, actually leaned his cheek toward her.

PLAAKK!

Her palm landed squarely on his cheek. Wiro chuckled. “Such soft fingers stroking my face… Go on, slap me again… twice, thrice, as much as you like!”

But no second slap came. When Wiro opened his eyes, Anggini was glaring at him, chest heaving with pent-up fury.

“Why stop? Lost your nerve?” he teased.

Her irritation only deepened. She swiftly unfastened the purple sash from her slender waist.

“Eh… are you about to undress in front of me?” Wiro asked, blinking mischievously.

“Take this, you shameless man!” she barked, her right hand sending the sash swirling slowly toward his head.

The silk sash moved lazily, but Wiro knew the danger—its slowness meant it was charged with inner energy, and such soft power could be more deadly than brute force. He sidestepped, letting it pass.

“Lovely dance, miss! Did you learn this from your master too?” he mocked.

Indeed, had he tried to block the sash, she would have snapped it back and whipped the tip into his eyes. Now the sash moved like a serpent, striking from all angles. Wiro, growing impatient, switched from evasion to force.

“Impressive sashwork! But isn’t this a bit much for a first meeting?” he said—only for Anggini to cut him off.

“Silence, chatterbox! Watch the sash!”

The tip darted toward his left eye, but Wiro dipped his head, only for the sash to coil halfway around his neck! Almost instantly, her left hand’s twin fingers stabbed toward his chest, forming a deadly pincer with the sash—like giant shears meant to sever both body and head.

“Ah… splendid! No wonder you’re the Drunken Immortal student!” Wiro grinned, crossing his left arm to block.

But Anggini withdrew the finger-thrust, ready instead to yank the sash tight—only for Wiro to push his neck forward, loosening the loop. In the same breath, his right hand clamped down on the sash’s middle.

Anggini gasped—how had he seized it so quickly? She pulled, but Wiro pulled harder, reeling her in step by step.

“Take my silver nails, you wretch!” she shouted, flinging a dozen half-hand-length silver spikes at point-blank range.

Deadly at such close distance, the attack made her regret it instantly—hadn’t her master said this man might be her destined match?

But Wiro merely waved his left hand; eight spikes clattered to the ground, the remaining four missing as he tilted aside.

Now Anggini’s pride was stung. She leapt, sending two rapid kicks in midair.

“My, who knew such a pretty girl could be so fierce?” Wiro laughed.

He spun aside, letting her land tangled in her own sash. She staggered. Wiro roared with laughter.

“What’s the matter? Run out of fire already?”

“Give me back my sash!” she demanded.

Wiro only grinned. When she saw he wouldn’t let go, she stomped her foot in frustration, released the sash entirely, and fled behind a boulder—where she burst into tears.

“Heh… why the tears?” Wiro followed, scratching his head. “Look, it’s getting late. You’d better return to your master before you get lost in the dark.”

“I can’t… I can’t go back!”

“Why not?”

“He’ll be angry…”

“Angry for what?”

“You wouldn’t understand!” she sobbed harder.

“So, you’ll just sleep here tonight?”

“Leave me alone! Whether I live or die, it’s none of your concern! Go!”

“No need to shout, miss. We’re not enemies. This is all because of your half-mad master!”

“Don’t insult him!”

“You’re a dutiful disciple, I see. But you also follow orders without thinking. Now… go back before night falls—”

“No!”

Wiro sighed, amused and pitying at once. “Here’s your sash. With enough training, you’ll be formidable one day…” He draped it over her shoulders. Looking up, he saw stars beginning to scatter across the sky, the crescent moon peeking from behind drifting clouds.

“Night’s here…” he murmured. “Go quickly, or you’ll be walking in the dark.”

“My master will be furious… furious if I return…”

“Then don’t return,” Wiro said simply.

“I don’t intend to…”

“And where will you go?”

“That’s none of your business!”

“Ah…” Wiro chuckled, stepping in front of her and placing his hand gently on her shoulder. She twitched as if to brush it away, but an odd warmth spread through her, and she couldn’t bring herself to move.

“Listen… whatever happens between master and disciple, you mustn’t walk your own path without his consent. If you don’t return, his anger will be worse—he might punish you severely.”

“I can’t go back… you don’t understand…”

“What don’t I understand?”

She hesitated, then blurted, “If I go back… my master said… I must be with you.”

Wiro’s laugh rang out across the cold night air. “Miss… what’s your name?”

When she didn’t resist his touch, his hand drifted from her shoulder to her cheek, brushing away the dampness left by tears. Her head bowed, her breath unsteady.

“Your name?” he asked again.

“Anggini,” she whispered.

“A fine name,” Wiro said, caressing her cheek more boldly. “Listen, Anggini, that old man likes to talk nonsense. Go back and tell him you failed to find me. Or better yet, say you found me dead in the Sanggreng Gorge!”

“I can’t lie. Whenever I do, he always knows.”

“Wah… that’s troublesome…” Wiro scratched his head.

He glanced around—the wilderness stretched endlessly in every direction, no village in sight. With a sigh, he sat her down on a flat stone. “If you won’t go back, and I can’t leave you here, then we’ll have to spend the night.”

The wind whispered between jagged rocks.

“Cold?” he asked softly.

She nodded, and his arm slipped around her shoulders. The warmth between them grew. For a time, neither spoke.

“If it rains later, we’ll be unlucky,” Wiro joked, looking up at the starry sky.

Anggini laughed, sweet as spring water. Wiro’s heart felt light. He tightened his arm, nuzzling her neck with his nose.

“Don’t do that…” she murmured, squirming, but didn’t pull away.

That night, Wiro made no fire—he didn’t want to draw unwanted company, especially not the Old Wine God. Though the air was cold, their closeness beneath the vast night sky kept them warm.

He remembered another night long ago, in a lonely hut in the middle of the rice fields, with Nilamsuri at his side. Tonight was no different—another maiden beside him—but his mind stayed clear. Though Anggini’s body pressed warmly against him, though her lips met his and her touch lingered, he went no further.

He only held her, kissed her lips and eyes, feeling her tremble with emotions unspoken.

---

The sun’s rays brushed her face, waking her. Slowly, Anggini opened her eyes, then turned—only to find the space beside her empty. She sat up, scanning the area.

“Wiro?” she called. No answer. “Wiro!” Louder this time—only the echo replied.

Then her eyes fell on the boulder beside where they had slept. Scratched into the stone were words:

Anggini, forgive me for leaving without farewell. I had to go. If fate allows, we’ll meet again. Return to your master. Thank you… for everything last night. — 212

Her chest tightened. She bit her lip. He was gone. The warmth of his embrace still clung to her, the memory of his touch lingering like an ember. She read the final line again: Thank you… for everything last night.

Turning away, her cheeks glowed, partly from the morning sun, partly from thoughts she couldn’t name. She had no way to chase him now—whether he had left in the night or at dawn, she didn’t know.

Sighing deeply, she adjusted her purple sash. On its end, she noticed a row of numbers embroidered in thread: 212. She drew another long breath before walking away, her steps slow and heavy.