Chapter 146: Turbulence on the Commercial Street (Part Two)

After determining the mass line policy, Logan and the other three began their efforts, uniting several key shops along the commercial street.

Liu Buwen first visited “Leaping Dragon Gate Calligraphy,” the closest shop to the Odd Jobs Agency. Just from the name, it sounded like some kind of educational establishment. Upon entering, he saw a square table neatly arranged with various brushes on a rack, inkstones organized by type and size, and shelves filled with classical texts—laws, ancient books, and the like. The shopkeeper, a scholarly gentleman dressed in a white robe, holding a feather fan and wearing a traditional headscarf, resembled the illustrious Zhou Gongjin of old, a man of extraordinary talent directing the course of the realm. Five brushes of varying sizes hung before him like an imposing array, evoking a sense of awe.

“May I ask if you are the shopkeeper here?”

The man shook his head disdainfully, fanning himself with a slow, measured motion and sighed deeply.

“Do not call me shopkeeper. Such a vulgar, common title would never pass the threshold of this place. It’s simply uncouth.”

Only then did Liu Buwen notice the two characters “Dragon Gate” carved into the floor beneath his feet, the white stone bricks engraved with the words standing out prominently.

“Pardon my boldness, but how may I address you?”

“My sobriquet is ‘Five Brushes.’ Just call me Mr. Five Brushes.”

Five Brushes? Liu Buwen had never heard such a peculiar moniker. Literati typically chose elegant and meaningful pseudonyms.

“This little sanctuary of yours is truly fascinating—brush, ink, paper, and inkstone. I imagine all the scholars and poets would gladly visit here.”

“Indeed, this is the East Market. Even princes and nobles frequent it. With such patrons, it naturally attracts more admirers of refined taste.”

“Merely selling these calligraphy supplies in a bustling metropolis like Chang’an, with countless examinees arriving year-round, you must be making a fortune.”

Mr. Five Brushes smiled with a hint of pride but quickly masked it with an air of solemnity.

“Perhaps you’ve not yet heard the saying: ‘Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime.’”

Liu Buwen glanced at the nearby rice paper and classic tomes and suddenly understood.

“Could it be that you also run a private academy?”

“Only temporarily, mainly during examination season. The rest of the year, I sell brushes and inkstones to sustain myself.”

Meanwhile, Yanshan found Yun Niang of Sword Immortal Tavern just as she was busy with preparations. Seeing Yanshan, she called him over to help.

“Yanshan, we’re about to hold our regular Wine Immortal Contest. You should join.”

Without hesitation, Yanshan agreed. The tavern was packed—over fifty inside and more than seventy gathered outside, a lively crowd.

The contest rules were simple: any patron could enter, and the challenge was to down the Sword Immortal Wine by oneself. This wine came in three levels of potency—Bronze Sword, Fish Intestine Sword, and Ganjiang Moyie—each progressively stronger and more treasured with age. After finishing sixteen bowls of Bronze Sword wine, one advanced to the next level; after eight bowls of Fish Intestine Sword, one advanced again; finally, drinking four bowls of Ganjiang Moyie secured victory.

Yun Niang’s business acumen was impressive: the winner drank free, while the other patrons shared the cost. Though the odds of winning were slim, many flocked to the contest, drawn by Yun Niang’s clever marketing. Fish Intestine Sword was usually reserved for special festivals, and Ganjiang Moyie was exclusive to the contest. Many came from afar, eager to savor such rare spirits regardless of price, seeking a taste of life’s pleasures.

As Sword Immortal Wine was set before the contestants, one man downed eight bowls with gusto before slamming his bowl down loudly.

“I could drink eight hundred more! Bring it on!”

Yanshan brought him another bowl of Bronze Sword wine, but to everyone’s surprise, the boastful man immediately collapsed, utterly drunk.

“He was bragging about eight hundred bowls just moments ago, and now he’s ready to pay the tab,” Yanshan remarked coolly.

A nearby drinker shouted angrily at Yanshan, “If you think you’re so capable, step up! Don’t just talk!”

Yanshan was displeased. He noticed this challenger had only reached his fourth bowl and was already gasping for breath after each one, like a goldfish.

“Who says I can’t? I’ll drink it right now to show you!”

With that, Yanshan lifted a bowl of Bronze Sword wine and drained it in one gulp. The wine, murky with green specks floating atop, was smooth yet full-bodied. Upon swallowing, a lingering fragrance akin to gardenia flower blossomed in his throat. Wiping his mouth boldly, he felt a surge of satisfaction.

Yun Niang chuckled quietly, covering her mouth, while another patron had already reached his eleventh bowl, leading the pack.

“That’s just one bowl; even women can drink that much. What kind of manly skill is that?” the lead drinker jeered.

Yanshan glanced at Yun Niang, who beamed encouragement. Inspired, he pressed on.

The cheers and shouts drew more onlookers from the street. Bowl after bowl was consumed as six remaining contestants battled fiercely.

The fastest had reached his seventh bowl of Fish Intestine Sword and swayed precariously, while the slowest had just begun the first bowl but was already slumped over, dizzy.

Yanshan reached his second bowl of Fish Intestine Sword. The first had little effect, but the second revealed why it bore that name. This sake, clear and pure, was crafted with utmost precision. The Fish Intestine Sword itself was the weapon of assassins that altered the fate of great nations; naturally, the wine’s potency was fierce, a single sword strike to the throat. The initial bowl was aromatic and pleasing, but the second burned fiercely in his throat, stinging his nose.

“Still talking about competing with me? I’m already on my seventh bowl, and you’re only on your second, haha!” a rival mocked.

Frustrated, Yanshan downed two bowls in quick succession, spilling wine over himself as if taking a bath.

“Let me warn you: just drinking wine doesn’t make you a hero,” the rival taunted.

By Yanshan’s sixth bowl, two others had already collapsed, deep in drunken slumber, while one had vomited onto the floor. Yun Niang patiently cleaned the mess, trying not to disturb the remaining contestants.

Seeing Yun Niang’s encouragement, Yanshan steeled himself—not to lose face before a woman. The previous bowl felt like being slapped by Zhan Zhu, but this one was like a dagger to the stomach. He refused to quit, not having yet reached the Ganjiang Moyie level; stopping now would waste all his effort.

He was two bowls behind the leader and one behind the second place, with the next contender barely hanging on.

Yun Niang took down the jar of Ganjiang Moyie from the platform. Upon opening it, an intense fragrance wafted forth—both feminine and delicate, yet pure and fierce like a man’s spirit. Even those who had never sipped a drop were intoxicated and dazed.

The leading contestant drank a bowl of Ganjiang Moyie with no fear, but before the liquid had even settled, his legs buckled and he collapsed to the ground, eyes rolling white and cheeks flushed.

“This wine is truly fierce! How can there be such a potent spirit?”

The crowd marveled at the Ganjiang Moyie, while the second-place drinker and Yanshan exchanged a glance, both unable to hide the fear deep in their eyes.