Li Shentong fiddled with the wine gourd, turning it over and inspecting it for a while. Leisurely, he pulled out the cork, took a sniff, and his expression shifted slightly. He took a small sip, as if savoring it, then paused as if in thought, smacked his lips, and downed a large gulp.0

It looked like he had drunk nearly half of the gourd in one go.0

Finally, with a thud, he set the gourd down beside him and re-corked it. “It’s so-so.”0

Zhao Changhe: “…”0

Li Shentong leaned back, relaxing in his chair, and said, “He wants to live detached from the world, watching the clouds and waters, yet he can’t avoid dealing with worldly matters. That’s the paradox of the old Daoist. It’s the same with this wine. He wants it to have a lingering misty and ethereal aftertaste, yet he can’t shake the strong boldness within, which strikes the mind with a jolt and lingers. Ironically, the aftertaste ends up being tied to that very intensity. If I told him I actually liked this unintended strength, I wonder what his reaction would be.”0

I guess he really does know his wine. Zhao Changhe had drunk Yuxu’s wine before, and he had only ever thought it was fragrant and delicious, never sensing all these nuances.0

Suddenly, Li Shentong’s gaze returned to the wine gourd, and he frowned, as if something had just occurred to him.0

Perhaps what he was now contemplating was the...0