Chapter 22: Three Days of Intoxication

“Your Highness, why are you building a stove in the courtyard?” Jinxiu asked in puzzlement.

The Eastern Palace had its own kitchen bureau, staffed with no fewer than a dozen skilled chefs. No matter when the Crown Prince wished to dine, a meal could be prepared at a moment’s notice.

Now, with the Crown Prince erecting a grand stove in the garden, Jinxiu could not comprehend what purpose it would serve.

Zhao Su kept her guessing, smiling as he replied, “You’ll see soon enough. When it’s finished, I guarantee you won’t be able to stop yourself.”

Everyone’s curiosity was piqued.

Before long, the two teams that had been sent out returned. One group brought back a cartload of strong liquor, while the other arrived with four or five large baskets brimming with various flowers.

There were delicate pink peach blossoms, vibrant red roses, peonies, and camellias among them.

Zhao Su instructed Jinxiu to take some attendants and begin processing the roses.

Each rose petal was carefully plucked from its stem, then washed twice in clear water. The petals were placed in small cloth bags, set in wooden basins, and pounded until the juices flowed. These juices were then filtered again and again.

Once the task of handling the flowers was underway, Zhao Su approached the cart.

He opened a wine jar and took a sip. The strength was underwhelming—it was barely more potent than the wines of later ages.

“Are you sure this is the strongest wine available?” Zhao Su asked, skeptical.

The purchasing eunuch replied, “Your Highness, this is among the strongest spirits in the capital.”

“Still not strong enough. Is there no liquor fiercer than this?” Zhao Su pressed.

The eunuchs exchanged bewildered glances; they truly did not know.

A craftsman among them mustered his courage and said, “Your Highness, I know of a certain wine. One sip, and your throat will feel as if aflame.”

“Oh? What wine is this?” Zhao Su asked.

“I’ve heard that the strongest spirit in the capital is called ‘Three-Day Drunk,’” the craftsman replied.

“Three-Day Drunk?” Zhao Su was taken aback.

Xiao Dengzi slapped his forehead. “That’s right! The craftsman speaks the truth. There really is a spirit by that name in the capital. It’s said that a single jar will render you insensible for three days—hence its name.

Its reputation is legendary; people come from far and wide to purchase it daily. It’s said that among all the heroes of the capital, those who can drink eight bowls of it are but a handful.”

Zhao Su found it hard to believe that such a potent liquor existed in ancient times. “I don’t believe it could make a man drunk for three days.”

Xiao Dengzi prompted, “Does Your Highness know of Commander Yang the Invincible?”

“Of course. Who in all the land doesn’t know his name?” Zhao Su had, in truth, only heard of this man the day before.

“Do you know who gave ‘Three-Day Drunk’ its name?” Xiao Dengzi continued.

“Was it Commander Yang himself?”

“Exactly. Legend has it the wine was originally called ‘Three-Bowl Collapse.’ One day, Commander Yang, refusing to believe the rumors, drank an entire jar. He passed out and didn’t awaken for three days.

His family guards thought he’d been poisoned and arrested the innkeeper on the spot. Only after the imperial physician examined him did they realize he was simply dead drunk. When Commander Yang finally awoke, he declared it a splendid experience, not only compensating the innkeeper but also personally renaming the wine ‘Three-Day Drunk.’”

The West Market Street was bustling with people, a constant stream of passersby flowing in both directions.

Clad in a black, close-fitting robe and a horned hat, Zhao Su looked every bit the young nobleman. This time, accompanied by Xiao Dengzi, he had come to the market to see the legendary ‘Three-Day Drunk’ for himself.

“Master, that two-story shop with the ‘Three-Day Drunk’ sign is the place,” Xiao Dengzi pointed out.

“Let’s go in and have a look,” Zhao Su said, striding toward the shop, eager to discover just how extraordinary this wine, only served on the premises, truly was.

As they approached the entrance, a waiter came out to greet them. “Welcome, gentlemen, please come inside.”

The main hall was a cacophony of voices, filled with all manner of folk. Cups clinked, men shouted over drinking games, others recited poetic toasts.

“Gentlemen, there are private rooms upstairs. May I show you up?” the waiter offered, noting their fine attire.

Zhao Su shook his head. “A quiet spot in the main hall will do. There’s no need for a private room.”

The waiter led them to a secluded corner. The view wasn’t ideal, so few chose to sit there.

“Bring a jar of your wine,” Zhao Su ordered as soon as he was seated.

“Would you like to start with two bowls instead? I fear you may not be able to finish an entire jar,” the waiter advised, seeing both men were of slender build.

The wine had once been called ‘Three-Bowl Collapse’ because three bowls were enough to fell a man. Even the burliest fellows could rarely manage more than three or four bowls.

Zhao Su waved him off. “It’s only a jar of wine. There’s no reason I can’t finish it. I could handle two or three jars without trouble.”

The other patrons, overhearing this, burst into laughter.

A burly man, stripped to the waist, laughed boisterously. “Young master, it must be your first time here. This wine is unlike any other—you’d best not overindulge, or you’ll be crawling out on your hands and knees.”

Zhao Su replied lightly, “I’ve tasted the wine here before, or I wouldn’t dare ask for a full jar.”

Another man, dressed in a fitted robe with a jade pendant at his waist, spoke with a tipsy slur: “Brother, you shouldn’t boast so. Not even Commander Yang the Invincible drank more than a jar himself. Are you saying you can outdrink even him?”

Everyone nodded in agreement. The shop owed its fame to Commander Yang, whose calligraphy adorned the sign outside.

If even Yang the Invincible could only manage one jar, no one believed Zhao Su could do better.

Zhao Su shook his head in exasperation—why did no one ever believe him? He stood and proposed, “Why not make a wager? If I can drink a whole jar, you’ll pay for my wine. If I can’t, I’ll pay for all your drinks. What do you say?”

“Agreed! I don’t believe you can match Commander Yang,” the jade-pendant man replied.

“Who else dares take the bet? Step forward and let me see you,” Zhao Su called out.

Four or five men strode forward, each more robust than the last.

“We’ll take your bet,” one of them declared. “I doubt you could even finish three bowls, let alone a whole jar.”

These four were clearly no ordinary men—if they were soldiers, they’d make fine warriors.

Zhao Su asked, “Name yourselves. I do not drink with nameless men.”

“He’s Tang Hu, a martial master. Few in the capital can best him,” someone shouted from the crowd.

A martial master! And by all appearances, a formidable one. Zhao Su took measure and asked, “How much can you drink?”

“At most, two-thirds of a jar,” Tang Hu replied with pride. Few in the capital could match that feat, and he had every right to boast.

The other three introduced themselves in turn; the least among them could finish half a jar—no wonder they dared to stand up to the challenge.

The rest of the hall, sensing a contest was about to begin, erupted in excitement, the air thick with anticipation.