Chapter Four: Are Immortals All Bumpkins?

The middle-aged immortal pulled a wine gourd from his robe and took a hearty swig, then casually tossed it to Yang Meng.

Uh, isn’t that a bit unsanitary? What if you catch some disease or something?

But Yang Meng didn’t hesitate—he took a deep drink as well.

This was immortal wine! How many people ever have the chance to taste such a thing? Who cares about hygiene at a time like this? Drink first, ask questions later!

“Hmm?” After a sip, Yang Meng frowned slightly. “Is this yellow wine?”

The middle-aged man, seeing Yang Meng's confused expression, asked, “Yellow wine? This is the treasure of Yi Di, that little lass. I just went and stole it. Her mind might not be the sharpest, but when it comes to brewing, she’s a master. Whether it's mild ale, rice wine, millet wine, or grape brew, they're all delicious.”

Yang Meng curled his lip. “Have you ever tasted white liquor?”

“White liquor? What's that?” The man was taken aback.

Yang Meng could hardly contain his smugness. So what if he was an immortal? This was the difference in experience—society always moves forward!

The beer the man spoke of was actually mild ale; millet wine is yellow wine; and grape brew is one of the world’s three great ancient wines. Rice wine is another. In ancient times, people only drank these varieties.

Li Bai’s famous poem, “The fine wine of Lanling glows like amber in a jade bowl,” refers to yellow wine—otherwise, where would the amber glow come from?

Nowadays, people speak of the boldness of the ancients, “Drinking from big bowls, eating meat in big chunks,” like Wu Song drinking eighteen bowls of “Three Bowls Pass” and slaying a tiger—a story still told with relish. But what Wu Song drank was actually yellow wine.

Back then, yellow wine wasn’t nearly as strong as today's versions, which can reach fifteen or twenty degrees of alcohol. If it reached ten degrees, it was considered potent! Ordinary yellow wine was only three to five degrees.

So if you look at Wu Song’s feat today, he'd basically drunk eighteen bowls of beer and then went on a drunken rampage.

As for the white liquor people enjoy today? That came from distilling techniques learned from the Arabs during the Yuan Dynasty. By the Ming, white liquor was still the drink of the poor, only becoming widespread in the Qing. With so much time separating immortals and mortals, Yang Meng guessed that immortals had never tasted white liquor.

Looking at the man’s reaction, it was clear—he had no idea what white liquor was.

Yang Meng, full of pride, explained, “This kind of wine is what we now call yellow wine. In the south, it’s usually made from glutinous rice; in the north, from millet—you call it ‘millet.’ I’m not bragging, our village’s Old Fang runs a brewery, and all the wine we drink is his. Not to mention white liquor, even his homemade yellow wine is better than this. There’s no flavor to this; immortal wine, is that all? I’m honestly disappointed.”

“Kid, don’t brag to me! Do you know who Yi Di is?” The man stared wide-eyed at Yang Meng.

Yang Meng shrugged. “How could I not know? I helped out at Old Fang’s brewery as a child. If I didn’t know Yi Di, that’d be a disaster! Isn’t she the goddess of wine?”

Many people think the wine god is Du Kang, thanks to Cao Cao’s famous line, “What can relieve sorrow? Only Du Kang.” People believe Du Kang is a person, but actually, Du Kang was the name of an ancient wine. The real wine goddess is Yi Di, who was Great Yu’s priestess.

The man’s eyes widened. “You’re picky about wine brewed by the goddess herself? Fine, I admit this isn’t her best, but the taste isn’t that bad. You’re exaggerating, aren’t you?”

Yang Meng chuckled. “Why would I lie? Ever tasted wine made from corn? From sweet potatoes? From potatoes?”

The man shook his head. “I’ve never even heard of those things.”

Of course not—those crops only arrived in China in the Ming Dynasty, even later than white liquor. How could he have tasted them?

“What a shame,” Yang Meng said, but still took another swig from the gourd. He claimed it lacked flavor, but after all, it was immortal wine—surely it had some special effect?

Indeed, the man was intrigued. “Can you brew the wines you mentioned?”

Yang Meng nodded. “Of course. Old Fang and my family are close, so I’ve helped out since I was little.”

The man’s eyes lit up. “Then why haven’t you brewed some for me to try?”

Yang Meng shook his head vigorously. “Come on, you need tools to brew wine. Besides, where am I supposed to get seeds for corn, sweet potatoes, or potatoes?”

“Tools? What kind? Just conjure them!” the man said automatically, then caught himself. “Oh, right, you’re a mortal, and you arrived at the Palace of Mount Tai alive. You must not be able to use those spells yet. Here’s a tip: no matter whom you meet here, never mention you’re a mortal. Otherwise, your fate will be terrible—this isn’t a threat. In every world, the weak are bullied.”

He spoke lightly, but Yang Meng was shocked. Who was this man, to know all his history? He said not to let others know he was mortal, but he himself knew!

“May I ask your name, fellow Daoist?” Yang Meng asked cautiously.

The man smiled. “I have neither surname nor clan, only a given name. For certain reasons, I can’t tell you what it is yet.”

In ancient times, ‘surname,’ ‘clan,’ ‘given name,’ and ‘courtesy name’ all had distinct meanings.

Yang Meng felt like swearing. Who was this guy, playing mysterious? But since he wouldn’t say, it was a perfect opportunity to ingratiate himself.

“In any case, I need a way to address you, right? So, I’ll just call you ‘big brother!’ No matter who you are, you clearly have real abilities. I’ve just arrived; recognizing you as a big brother is no loss.”

The man grinned. “You’re a sly one. Don’t worry, I won’t harm you. To be precise, I used means left in the mortal world to bring you here.”

“What?” Yang Meng’s face reddened with anger. “You brought me here? Don’t you know—I still haven’t fulfilled my filial duties! I don’t want to die! You brought me to this damned place, what am I supposed to eat or drink? You must have a way to send me back, right? I want to go home! I don’t want to be the wretched Emperor of Mount Tai!”

The man shook his head. “You must become the Emperor of Mount Tai. There’s no room for negotiation.”

Yang Meng nearly burst into tears. Who the hell wanted to be the damned Emperor of Mount Tai?

But the man continued, “However, I do have a way to send you back.”

“Huh?” Yang Meng was stunned.

The man said calmly, “Nobody ever said the Emperor of Mount Tai has to stay here, right? The divide between immortals and mortals is only a separation. It doesn’t mean you can’t return.”

Yang Meng blinked, then grinned. As long as he could go home, that was enough!

He looked at the man with a fawning smile. “Brother, you’re my own brother! Can you tell me how to get back?”

The man waved his hand, and a stone table and chairs appeared out of thin air. “Where’s that bluster you had earlier? You really use people when you need them, then toss them aside. Changing faces so fast—are you part dog?”

Yang Meng smiled sheepishly. “Big brother, I was just upset.”

The man sat down and gestured to a round stool. “Sit. I haven’t spoken to anyone in ten thousand years. Since you’re here, keep me company for a bit.”

Yang Meng was anxious but had no choice. To hear someone say they hadn’t spoken to anyone in ten thousand years—that was a truly ancient power! Better to play it safe.

He handed the wine gourd back. “Brother, have a drink to moisten your throat?”

The man said, “That gourd is for you.”

“For me?” Yang Meng was surprised.

The man nodded. “Yi Di, that foolish woman, in her era, wine was for medicine. Even after becoming the wine goddess, her thinking stayed in those days. So the wine in her treasure is mainly medicinal—it can cure a hundred illnesses! But who’s ever heard of immortals getting sick? With the divide between mortals and immortals, it’s useless. I was trapped for ten thousand years and banished from my homeland. Your arrival is my way out, so I ought to thank you. I have nothing else to give, but for a mortal, this ‘useless’ treasure is actually perfect. So I went and stole it for you.”

Yang Meng was dumbfounded. “Are you Illidan?”

“I was imprisoned for millions of years and banished from my homeland. Now you dare intrude upon my domain—you court death!” That’s Illidan’s famous line from World of Warcraft!

The man was puzzled. “What’s ‘one egg, two eggs’?”

Yang Meng shook his head. “Forget it. Brother, you mentioned your homeland—where is it?”

The man pointed at the ground. “This is my homeland!”

“Huh?” Yang Meng thought for a moment. “Oh, so that’s why you’ve no surname or clan—you’re a guardian here. How were you trapped?”

The immortal merely smiled, offering no explanation. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is, I’m back.”

Yang Meng hurried to flatter him. “Congratulations, big brother!”

The man continued, “I thought my gift to you would settle the debt, but listening to you, it seems you’re not satisfied with the wine. Tell me, what other gift would you like?”

Yang Meng shook his head like a rattle. “Big brother, if you can send me home, that’s the best gift. But I don’t know how to get back.”

The man simply raised his hand, and a ball of black flame appeared. “This is the first flame in all worlds, called ‘Black Domain.’ If you let it burn you to ashes, you can return home!”

Yang Meng stared in horror. “Burned to ashes?”