Di Juan didn't scold her. She hired her. From then on, Wuyou fetched and poured wine for customers, though her…
Di Juan didn't scold her. She hired her.
From then on, Wuyou fetched and poured wine for customers, though her eyes often drifted to Di Juan, especially when the woman argued, those sharp brows flying like drawn blades.
They couldn't have been more different. Wuyou's parents said she was only fierce at home, brave enough to snap at family and no one else. Di Juan liked to boast that no one could out-argue a widow. But with Di Fu and Wuyou, she was careful in every way that mattered.
On slow days, Di Juan told stories of the world beyond the valley: dancing girls who seemed to fly in capital taverns, pear-blossom wine perfuming riverside inns. Wuyou listened and wondered, how far had Di Juan traveled, how much hardship had she swallowed, to end up here, raising a wine banner and making Thousand Days Drunk a name people remembered?
"Good wine sells itself," Di Juan said lightly. "Wherever you pour it."
And the wine was good. After closing, Wuyou sneaked to the warehouse, fished out the small jug she'd hidden. With half guilty, half reverent in her heart, she took a careful sip.
"...Sis... come home early... can't sleep..."
Di Fu's voice drifted out of the dark, jolting most of the wine haze right out of her.
"... Alright... you brave little man..."
Di Juan's reply was softer than Wuyou had ever heard.
So the bold, unrestrained Widow Di was a girl not much older than herself. Heat crept up Wuyou's cheeks. She'd stumbled onto a secret, and somehow that made the distance between them feel smaller.