Chapter Forty-Three: The Grand Opening of the Drunken Immortal Pavilion

After a long while, Qin Meng finally saw Zhen Qian returning with a cheerful smile, even Ayena Ye behind him was beaming with pride, strutting beside Qin Meng and deliberately showing off.

“Zhen Er, take a break for now. There will be more for you to do in a while!”

Qin Meng, ever the curious one, desperately wanted to know what Zhen Qian and Ayena Ye had been up to, but seeing Zhen Qian’s silence, thought it best not to ask, following behind them, drained of energy.

Upon returning to the county seat, Zhen Qian barely set foot outside for several days. Even Xiao Lou was seldom seen, their daily routine strictly regulated. At dawn, Zhen Qian would practice a round of tai chi in the courtyard, with Qin Meng and Chrysanthemum Lady following along. The gentle, yielding movements of tai chi were not to Qin Meng’s taste, but after a sparring session a few days later, he quickly realized these soft, subtle techniques were not as simple as they appeared.

Since returning from White Horse Village, Chrysanthemum Lady seemed to have had some wires crossed—she suddenly took a liking to cooking, slipping into the kitchen whenever she had free time.

Wang You’s surveillance duties were canceled; lacking experience, he had been quickly detected by Steward Xing, who became even more elusive in his movements.

Wang Qun had been busy lately, often leaving early and returning late, and no one knew what he was up to.

Old Lady Wang and Wang Tiezhu had also vanished in recent days, claiming to be repaying a vow for Zhen Qian, but their failure to bring Chrysanthemum Lady along raised some suspicion.

Qin Meng sensed something odd about everyone in the household—the atmosphere was off. Yet no one explained anything to him, leaving him stifled for quite some time. Before he could voice any protest, Zhen Qian handed him over to Wang You, who began teaching him “A Thousand Characters.” For someone as restless as Qin Meng, this was nearly maddening.

Luckily, these tedious days did not last long. The day finally arrived for the opening of Drunken Immortal Tavern. Early that morning, Zhen Qian took Qin Meng and Wang You out, stopping at a breakfast stall across from the tavern for three bowls of porridge and three sesame flatbreads, waiting for the auspicious hour when the tavern would open for business.

Zhen Qian had not planned to attend the opening celebrations, instead disguising himself as an ordinary customer mingling in the crowd, intent on gauging public reaction to the newly opened tavern.

The old man at the breakfast stall noticed the three frequently glancing toward the tavern’s entrance, assuming they had come for the spectacle. He approached enthusiastically, “Here to see the grand opening of Drunken Immortal Tavern today, eh?”

Seeing the three nod, the old man continued, “I’ve heard the owner is still the Song family. Not long ago, they were nearly executed after being framed for a poisoning incident, but were saved by a benefactor. Who’d have thought they’d reopen so soon, and on a grander scale than ever! Truly, fortune and misfortune are intertwined.”

Noting the old man’s clarity and reason, Zhen Qian asked, “I’ve heard that the liquor brewed at Drunken Immortal Tavern is fiery and potent, a few cups enough to topple an ordinary man. Is that true?”

The old man, noting their neat but plain clothing, concluded they were from modest though comfortable homes and replied, “You’re quite right. Some days ago, the tavern suddenly released a strong spirit with an intense aroma—those unused to drinking feel dizzy at just a whiff. A single bowl is stronger than four or five pitchers of regular wine, burning like fire down the throat. Many are left flushed and slurring their words. Just two days back, a soldier boasting of his drinking prowess came to try, but after only two bowls, he collapsed at the door and had to be carried away…”

At this, the old man noticed the two young men beside him looking a little queasy, unaware that Wang You and Qin Meng had already had such an experience. Ignoring Zhen Qian’s warnings, they had sneaked into the woodshed to drink, only to be found unable to walk, carried to bed where they spent two days recovering. Now, the mere mention of the spirit made them want to retch.

“Have you tried the spirit yourself, sir?”

“Of course!” the old man nodded, his face both excited and regretful. “Though the spirit is powerful, it is a rare remedy against the cold. I rise before dawn to make breakfast; a sip of that spirit warms the body and sharpens the mind, as long as one doesn’t overdo it!”

The first spirits released were of three kinds: second-ferment, third-ferment, and a blended one akin to a fourth-ferment, all around thirty to forty degrees in strength. Zhen Qian planned to cellar much of it for future sale, so the main offering was the third-ferment, a little over thirty degrees—low-proof by his standards.

He had deliberately priced the low-proof spirits highest, making the stronger versions relatively cheaper, out of necessity.

“You must’ve had the hundred-cash-a-pitcher spirit, sir.”

The spirit also went by another name: Immortal’s Brew, which paired well with the tavern’s name, though Zhen Qian couldn’t shake the feeling he was a Tang dynasty bootlegger.

“That’s the one. Pricey, but a few sips equal a whole pitcher of regular wine. Clear as spring water, mellow in aftertaste—worth it, I suppose. But the low-proof Immortal’s Brew costs two hundred cash a pitcher, out of reach for us common folk!”

Zhen Qian smiled. The high output of low-proof spirits was a nod to local drinking customs. As for the fiery first-ferment, only a small portion was kept for special use, the rest cellared for one to five years before selling. By then, he hoped, it would win over a following and fetch a handsome price.

As they chatted, the main doors of Drunken Immortal Tavern swung open. A servant placed a large red sign by the entrance, announcing the grand opening: all dishes at a twenty percent discount, buy one get one free on all drinks. The crowd quickly gathered to discuss.

“Sir, aren’t you tempted to join the festivities today?”

The old man sighed, “People like us don’t belong in such fine establishments. I hear the dishes are unusual—just one meal can cost four or five hundred cash. That’s not for people like us.”

“But I heard the prices here aren’t so high. Could it be people are spreading rumors to mislead others?”

The old man shook his head. “You may not know, young sir, but every tavern has a few cheap dishes. If you want to try their specialties, you need money. Take their signature dishes—the cheapest is fifty cash a plate, the best like roast suckling pig or ‘Buddha Jumps Over the Wall’ go for five hundred a plate. A single meal there would cost my household a month’s expenses. So we can only stand and watch.”

Drunken Immortal Tavern was still a small, unremarkable place, but Zhen Qian’s ambitions lay far beyond this. Since he had set his sights on opening a tavern in Zhendin, he aimed to rival the city’s largest and finest. Otherwise, why go to all this trouble?

Zhen Qian had visited the top three taverns in Zhendin. In terms of size and décor, it would take ten years to catch up. Yet when it came to building fame, Zhen Qian was confident he could break into the top three within a year or two, a goal that seemed nearly unattainable.

“Sir, have you ever visited any of the famous taverns in Zhendin?”

The old man glanced at him, “You must be joking, young sir. People like me wouldn’t dare step into such places. Perhaps a tavern like Drunken Immortal is one I might actually enter.”

As he spoke, two more servants emerged from the tavern, carrying a large iron barrel filled with burning charcoal, next to a pile of bamboo poles. Soon, a lively parade rounded the street corner, with music, drums, and jugglers putting on a show. Song Yi appeared at the door in a bright manager’s robe, clasping his hands to the crowd and calling out, “Fellow villagers, today marks our grand opening! All dishes are twenty percent off, drinks are buy one get one free, and we offer free pastries. You’re welcome to sit, even if you don’t eat or drink—come help us build some atmosphere!”

Song Yi’s words were well chosen. He then tossed handfuls of copper coins to the crowd, sparking a scramble, and had people throw the bamboo into the iron barrel, which crackled and sparked, setting the scene abuzz.

Zhen Qian laughed, “Sir, are you sure you don’t want to go in? There are free pastries inside. Had I known, we wouldn’t have eaten here!”

The old man brushed imaginary dust from his clothes, his eyes full of curiosity. “Since you put it that way, young sir, I’m rather tempted. I wonder what their pastries taste like?”

It seemed he was just hoping for a free meal, and surely he wasn’t the only one. Zhen Qian wondered what expression the old man would wear when he saw the pastries on offer.

At present, Drunken Immortal Tavern was just a small eatery in the neighborhood, no different from a modest local diner in later generations. For this reason, Song Yi told Zhen Qian that they should offer breakfast in addition to lunch and dinner if they wanted to make a splash.

Zhen Qian had created many novel breakfast dishes—pan-fried buns, dumplings, steamed rolls, stuffed buns, wontons—but had never intended to run a breakfast business. It was tiring and profit margins were slim, and it risked lowering the tavern’s prestige. But Song Yi argued that small business wasn’t just about profit, but also serving the local community. Besides, if the new breakfast items weren’t publicized, how could the tavern’s reputation spread?

Since Zhen Qian wasn’t the one rising before dawn to work, he agreed. They could try, and if it didn’t work, find another way. He even considered opening a dedicated teahouse for breakfast, though he wasn’t sure whether Tang people would accept it.