Chapter Twenty-Four: Brewing Wine

“Very well!” After a long internal struggle, Song Yi finally declared with firm resolve, “From this day forth, this restaurant belongs to Master Zhen. However Master Zhen chooses to operate it, I shall comply. May I ask, what are your plans for the future?”

Zhen Qian had not been certain Song Yi would agree to his terms—after all, the conditions were not particularly generous, at least not on the surface. He had prepared for the worst; if Song Yi refused, he would have to devise another plan. To his surprise, Song Yi consented, filling Zhen Qian with a surge of joy, as though fortune had suddenly favored him.

In truth, Zhen Qian had no idea that if Song Yi had not endured imprisonment, he would never have accepted such terms. Now, Song Yi’s situation was not unlike that of a dependent retainer or tenant in later times—still a free man, but now bound to heed his patron’s every instruction.

“For now… do not open for business just yet. Come to my residence and learn the techniques for preparing the new style of dishes. Once you’ve mastered them, we’ll reopen.”

Song Yi, deeply curious about Zhen Qian’s culinary creations and unaware of their methods, was overjoyed to learn the art would be passed on to him. His gamble, it seemed, had paid off.

“I will follow Master Zhen’s arrangements in all things!”

Zhen Qian, brimming with confidence, continued, “Good! We shall sign a contract. From now on, you will be the manager of the new establishment and hold a ten percent share in it. Your children, should they work there, will also receive wages. The new name of the restaurant shall be ‘Drunken Immortal Pavilion’!”

Song Yi was momentarily stunned—he had not expected Zhen Qian to offer even better terms, effectively entrusting the management of the Drunken Immortal Pavilion to him. Though the restaurant would not belong to him outright, it would be nearly the same.

“We are partners, not superior and subordinate. Such a relationship is far more conducive to cooperation. I trust you will not disappoint me.”

At last, Song Yi was wholly convinced that Zhen Qian was unlike the scions of other noble houses—there was not a hint of coercion. He felt a pang of shame for his earlier suspicion and doubt. With a partner like this, what was there to fear?

Over the next several days, Song Yi and his two sons spent their days at the Zhen residence, learning the new culinary techniques, and their evenings locked away at home, practicing what they had learned. Soon, they discovered that the methods were far less complicated than they had imagined, and Song Yi could not help but wonder why he had never thought of them before.

Zhen Qian, meanwhile, was busy with his own affairs. Aside from matters concerning Song Yi, he spent his days holed up in the woodshed, tinkering with a pile of tubes, even eating his meals there, and no one knew what he was working on.

“Master, what are you doing?” Xiaozhu, seeing Zhen Qian connecting bamboo tubes into a winding, snake-like contraption, asked in confusion, “Is this the new method of brewing wine you spoke of?”

Zhen Qian grinned. “What do you know? Women are long-haired but short-sighted—watch and learn.”

Xiaozhu stamped her foot in mock outrage and, leaning over his shoulder, gave him a playful nip, leaving two neat rows of teeth marks. “Ow! Let go!”

Zhen Qian was not to be outdone. He pulled Xiaozhu into his arms and kissed her tightly. She struggled for breath and flailed, her clothes growing disheveled.

Just then, Xiaomei entered, clearing her throat with a blush. “What are you two doing?”

Xiaozhu, startled like a frightened rabbit, leapt away. “You’re terrible, always bullying me!”

Zhen Qian gave a wicked grin. “Must I bully you? Who was it that threw herself into my arms last night? Xiaomei can testify!”

“Enough, can’t you two be quiet for a moment?” Xiaomei said, glancing at the room crammed with bamboo tubes. “Master, is this the thing you mentioned? It’s already the third attempt—won’t something go wrong again?”

Zhen Qian had not expected that brewing spirits the traditional way would be so troublesome. The first time, he forgot the cooling step, filling the room with the scent of alcohol but producing no actual liquor. The second time, a leak in the tubes caused most of the distilled wine to escape, even though some did appear. With those failures behind him, Zhen Qian was now brimming with confidence. “This time, it should work. Start the fire!”

With high hopes, Xiaomei lit the stove, wondering if today would bring success.

“Don’t make the fire too hot!”

“I know, you’ve said it at least ten times,” Xiaomei replied playfully.

“Can you blame me for being nervous?” Though he had seen traditional distillation many times, this was his first attempt, and after two failures, he was understandably anxious.

Watching the steam rise from the mash, Zhen Qian’s heart pounded in his chest, uncertain of the outcome.

“It’s steaming!”

“I see it. Check the seals on the tubes…and look for bubbles in the cooling vat… Wait, there’s a leak here!”

As more vapor emerged, a look of delight spread across Zhen Qian’s face. Rich, fragrant alcohol vapor rose from the mash, passed through the wooden lid—fitted with a round vent—into a series of bamboo tubes leading to an iron tank resembling a radiator, surrounded by icy well water. There, the hot vapor was quickly cooled, and clear liquid began to drip steadily from the far end of a bamboo tube.

“Look, the wine is coming out!”

“Yes!” Zhen Qian darted to the barrel, peered at the shallow pool of liquid inside, scooped a few drops into a cup, and sniffed. His face lit up with excitement. “This is it—the very aroma!”

“Let me smell!” Xiaozhu leaned in.

“Do you want a taste?”

Xiaozhu stuck out her tongue. “Too strong, I’ll pass!”

The day before, when Zhen Qian had managed to produce a small amount, Xiaozhu, curious and unsuspecting, took a sip and was so overwhelmed by the fiery spirit that her face turned as red as a monkey’s bottom—she wouldn’t be fooled again.

As more of the clear liquid collected in the barrel, the air thickened with the heady fragrance of liquor. Zhen Qian inhaled deeply, utterly intoxicated by the scent.

The two young women followed suit, breathing in the aroma. “Master, this smells so much better than the wine we have at home!”

“Does it?”

Curiosity is a dangerous thing. Though both young women knew the spirit was strong, they failed to realize that the aroma itself was intoxicating. In the time it took to drink a cup of tea, both began to feel lightheaded, unaware of the cause. “Master, I’m feeling dizzy.”

“So am I!” Xiaomei sat by the stove, her cheeks flushed and her eyes dreamy, sending Zhen Qian’s heart into a flutter.

Having lived with the two for a month, Zhen Qian had come to know them well. It was almost laughable—after that impulsive night, he discovered both were untouched, contrary to his assumption that they had been the former Zhen Qian’s women.

He’d known many women before, some stunningly beautiful, but all with their own motives and schemes—none could compare to these two. Though not the most beautiful, their rare innocence and warmth offered him a peace he’d not felt in years—untainted by artifice, filled with freshness and gentle, feminine charm.

Still, they were not entirely innocent, often teasing him as a bookworm—a jab at the old Zhen Qian, who was obsessed with his studies and oblivious to the world, never knowing the comfort of a woman’s company, much to Zhen Qian’s current amusement.

Thinking of their little secrets made Zhen Qian smile. The young women were thrilled with his transformation, never suspecting the true nature of the change.

It was thanks to them that Zhen Qian gained a thorough understanding of the family’s affairs—something the former Zhen Qian had neglected, allowing the Xing matron and Steward Xing to gain power.

Strangely, he had little memory of the Zhen family’s past, but hearing the women talk about household matters brought him sudden clarity. The same was true of the Confucian classics he’d studied—most impressions remained fragmented, but he covered it well with feigned amnesia, and no one seemed to notice.

Later, he realized these memories were deeply embedded in his subconscious, just as instinctive behaviors are—impossible to forget.

“You two, go fetch Wang Qun and the others. The air here is too thick with wine vapor—you’ll get drunk if you stay any longer!”

“Can you really get drunk just from the smell?” Xiaozhu asked skeptically.

Zhen Qian grinned mischievously. “Stay if you don’t believe me. Don’t blame me if I take advantage of you both…”

The young women, more embarrassed by their tipsy state than anything else, hurried out.

“First Young Master… what do you need us for?” Wang Peng strode in. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the rich aroma of liquor filled his nose. “What a strong scent! What are you making?”

Zhen Qian explained, “Don’t be impatient—you’re here for a good reason. Help me tend the fire. Xiaozhu and Xiaomei got dizzy from the wine fumes, so I had to call you.”

“No problem!” Wang Peng sat down by the stove, his eyes fixed on the liquid dripping into the barrel.

Soon, Wang Qun, Wang Sheng, and a few others arrived, followed by a tall woman in close-fitting, Hu-style attire. Stepping into the room and sniffing the air just like the men, she remarked, “First Young Master, what are you up to in here? Don’t tell me you’re having another episode!”