During the autumn of the second year of Kaiyun, Jiang Yan and Chen Zixi managed to steal a rare moment of leis…
During the autumn of the second year of Kaiyun, Jiang Yan and Chen Zixi managed to steal a rare moment of leisure. Deep in a mountain bamboo grove, the two shared a quiet drink. The sorghum wine, brewed by villagers nearby, was harsh on the tongue and tinged with sourness. Jiang took a few sips before setting his cup down in disappointment. He lamented how the world's turmoil had robbed winemakers of heart and purpose, leaving even a good drink hard to come by. But Chen Zixi was not like Jiang Yan. Even with such crude wine, he sipped slowly from his small cup, savoring it with care.
"This wine, this moment, and a friend beside me. Isn't that enough to make it fine? What good is the finest drink, if there's no one to share it with?"
Seeing that Jiang Yan did not answer, Chen Zixi raised his cup and laughed.
"Well then, at least you still have me."