Bai Jue was also intrigued. Though this was the mortal realm, the Nü’er Hong from the Qin Chu Tavern could easily rival the rarest wines in the Heavenly Realm, surpassing even half of his own collection. He wondered where Shang Gu had found such exceptional wine to compete with. Even if she had some, after nine days, it would be hard to find a wine that could outmatch the tavern’s Nü’er Hong.
With Bai Jue’s experience in fine wine, if he thought none could exist, then it truly didn’t.
Under the glow of countless street lanterns, the Jin-clad youth glanced at the jar in his hands with a rare hint of regret. “Five thousand years of cultivation,” she thought, “and I’m giving it away to entertain this city.”
With a sweep of her arm, she tossed the jar into the air, the seal breaking open as it spun, before landing back in her hands. In that brief moment, the aroma filled the street, leaving everyone intoxicated by the fragrance.
Bai Jue, startled by the scent, recognized it immediately: Wuhua Wine.
The Wuhua fruit was rare, ripening only once in ten thousand years, and in the past decade, all had gone to Zhi Yang to brew wine that was then sent to Bai Jue’s palace. How could Shang Gu have any of it in her possession?
“Shopkeeper, try this! My wine is called ‘Wuhua.’ Do you think it can beat your Nü’er Hong?” With a bold gesture, Shang Gu pushed the jar of Wuhua Wine toward the Qin Chu Tavern owner.
The Qin Chu Tavern owner, a man with an unquenchable thirst for wine, was already drooling at the thought of Wuhua Wine and could hardly move his feet. Delighted, he was about to take the jar when a thought struck him, and he asked, “I once heard a story—could you clear something up for me?”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Ten years ago, in the Zhao family of Guanxi, nine years ago, the Bai family of Jin Nan, six years ago, the Hu family of Mobei, and three years ago, the Liu family of Central Plains—all were challenged to a wine competition and defeated. Could it be that you’re connected to that household?”
In the past decade, every royal family known for wine-making, including Qin Chu Tavern, had been soundly defeated in similar competitions. Judging by this young man’s (disguised Shang Gu’s) age, he likely wasn’t the one responsible, but he must be somehow connected.
Hearing this, the surrounding crowd drew in a sharp breath, looking at the youth in Jin clothing with newfound respect, each guessing which noble family could possibly have such a talented individual.
Shang Gu was momentarily surprised, not expecting her occasional wine duels in the mortal realm to have left such a lasting impression.
“Shopkeeper, today’s wine competition is between the two of us,” Shang Gu waved her hand impatiently, spilling a few drops of wine. “What’s the point of bringing up those old stories? Are you going to drink this Wuhua Wine or not?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll drink it!” The tavern owner had only been asking out of curiosity, but seeing the wine spill, he was pained and quickly reached for the jar, saying, “I’ve been waiting to taste it!”
Yet before he could touch it, a hand reached out from the side, catching the wine jar firmly.
The tavern owner’s hand grabbed only air, and he looked up, about to protest, only to freeze in shock.
Standing there was a young man dressed in a fitted, long robe with a high waist, his dark eyes and phoenix-like gaze exuding an otherworldly charm and noble grace beyond comparison.
Standing beside the youth in Jin attire, the tall, elegant figure held the wine jar and looked toward the Qin Chu Tavern owner.
“My younger brother is still immature,” he said calmly, “and has presumptuously taken the heirloom treasure of your tavern. There’s no need to continue the competition; we concede defeat.”
With these words, he nodded politely to the tavern owner, holding the wine in one hand and gently taking hold of Shang Gu, who was still processing what had happened, and led her away from the crowd.
With his refined bearing, wherever he walked, the people made way for him out of respect.
The tavern owner watched the two “brothers” who had appeared and vanished so unexpectedly, feeling both relieved and regretful. He was relieved to have kept the tavern’s last heirloom jar but disappointed not to taste the extraordinary Wuhua Wine, a regret that would haunt him.
And so, Bai Jue led Shang Gu, with a dignified air, through the bustling streets of Chang’an, leaving behind a crowd of onlookers and admiring noble youths.
By the time Shang Gu snapped out of her surprise at being dragged out of the Qin Chu Tavern, they had taken a few steps. She looked with interest at her hand, which Bai Jue held, wondering if he had finally realized that the Wuhua Wine was her creation. Could it be that he understood her feelings now? Was he finally about to confess? What would he say when he turned to face her? This was so sudden! How should she respond—reservedly or boldly? The timing was so auspicious—perhaps she could just drag him back to her palace and seal the deal?
Though Shang Gu had lived for hundreds of thousands of years as a True God, within this short walk, her thoughts were spinning with excitement, though she kept a composed expression, not revealing a hint of her joy.
They walked through half of Chang’an, and it was only when the warmth of his hand finally registered that Bai Jue realized he was still holding another True God’s hand. Casually, he turned back, and under Shang Gu’s expectant gaze, he finally spoke his first words.
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