On the mountaintop, before the thatched hut and beneath a crooked tree, the old Taoist sat on a stone chair. He watched as Zhou Fan slowly opened his eyes, then let out a soft sigh. In an unprecedented move, he once again filled the empty cup before Zhou Fan with wine.
"What is this wine called?"
Only after a long moment did Zhou Fan finally speak. He looked at the refilled cup, but found he lacked the courage to reach for it again.
"Drunken Life, Dreamy Death."
The old Taoist spoke slowly, his voice thick with reminiscence, as if recalling bygone days. "I have had few friends in this life, and even fewer I could call confidants. But before you, the two people who drank Drunken Life, Dreamy Death were both my dearest companions. It's just... after they finished the wine, I never saw either of them again."
