Chapter 47: Visitors from the Zhang Family

Emperor Xuande ordered Eunuch Hai to bring the wine cup and unseal the carefully sealed wine jar. As the layers of sealing—oiled paper, lotus leaf, and white wax wood—were peeled away one by one, an aged aroma of grain instantly wafted into the air. The Emperor, who had been eagerly anticipating this moment, widened his eyes slightly. Despite having raised his expectations high, he could not suppress his inner surprise.

Such fragrant wine! What could this be? Immortal wine, perhaps!

Even Eunuch Hai by his side swallowed hard. How many years had this fine wine been stored to be so mellow and aromatic?

Emperor Xuande immediately instructed Eunuch Hai to pour the wine. The liquid flowed down, crystal clear and transparent. Only when enough accumulated in the cup could one perceive a faint trace of turbidity—barely noticeable, so pale that if not for the Emperor’s keen eyesight, it might have gone unseen.

The Emperor’s eyes brightened. Such clear and pure wine!

Without hesitation, he lifted the cup and eagerly drank. Eunuch Hai, who had been about to test the wine for poison, was too slow; the Emperor had already taken a sip, leaving the eunuch pale with fright.

“Your Majesty, you should not drink unknown wine so casually!” the eunuch urged anxiously.

Emperor Xuande paid no heed. Unknown wine? This was a gift from his disciple! Closing his eyes, he savored the fragrance. The rich taste entering his mouth, the spicy warmth as it went down his throat, and the comforting heat spreading through his body intoxicated him.

That night, the Emperor was drunk. Not merely tipsy—though even distilled liquors blended to nearly forty degrees, twice the strength of his usual drink, and he alone consumed half a jar, nearly two jin of alcohol. It was a wonder he did not suffer alcohol poisoning.

The next morning, for the first time since ascending the throne, Emperor Xuande did not hold court, leaving the ministers waiting in vain. Rumors swirled as no one understood why. Zhao Rufeng scratched his head; he had planned to argue with Duke Yang, hoping to accelerate the relocation of southern people northward. Now, the Emperor’s absence gave Duke Yang an opening.

Among the four great aristocratic families, only the Yang family had a presence in the capital; the other three had only left their officials behind, without anyone in charge locally. But with this southern-to-northern migration plan proposed, the remaining heads of the other three families grew restless. The Zhang family, closest to the capital, sent representatives that very day. It was bound to complicate matters.

At the residence of the Marquis of Kaiyang, a young man of sixteen or seventeen came to visit Qin Kaizhi. This was Zhang Yi, a junior member of the Zhang family from Qinghe, only seventeen years old, slightly older than Qin Kaizhi by half a year. Yet the two shared a close friendship and often went out together. Zhang Yi had recently passed the preliminary, provincial, and metropolitan examinations, qualifying him to take part in the imperial examinations. He aspired to emulate Mo Xuanqing, becoming the youngest top scholar at just seventeen. Though he knew chances of success were slim, he wished to gain experience.

But upon seeing Qin Kaizhi’s barely ambulatory, pitiful state, Zhang Yi’s heart clenched. “Kaizhi, what happened to you?”

Qin Kaizhi’s eyes flashed with resentment as he replied, “I was schemed against by a villain.”

“How so? You have a father who is a count and a grandfather a duke—how could this happen?”

Qin Kaizhi then recounted the affairs concerning Qin Hao. Zhang Yi detected some exaggeration but still seethed with anger. “That Qin Hao, how dare he harm my brother so!”

“Don’t worry, Kaizhi. Now that I’m here, I’ll make him pay.”

“That little Qin Hao, thinking his poetry talent lets him act so boldly!”

Qin Kaizhi nodded in agreement. “Now that I can walk again, I’ll seize the chance to make him regret it.”

Thus, the two immersed themselves in plotting revenge against Qin Hao.

Meanwhile, at the Princess’s residence, Qin Hao was busy. After a night of distillation, most of the wine was completed, with only a small portion left to be finished by helpers. Exhausted, the three of them crowded into a room and fell asleep. Upon awakening, it was already evening. Refreshed and spirited, they said nothing and, carrying their fine wine, headed to the Fengyue Pavilion.

Tonight, their wine would shake the capital.

They named their creation Baixi, meaning the liquid was as clear and pure as a white stream.

At Fengyue Pavilion, after three days of meticulous preparation, everything was ready. Under the charismatic leadership of Miss Mei and Miss Xue, more than half the city’s literati gathered. Following a rehearsed narrative, they vividly told a touching story about the wine’s origin: it was crafted by a solitary Wine Immortal, who, without wife or children, began brewing at age ten and died at eighty, dedicating seventy years to perfecting the art, leaving behind this exquisite wine and its recipe.

The Baixi on sale was one of the Wine Immortal’s treasured vintages, sealed for twenty years—a rare, crystalline nectar.

The story captivated the literati, who prized refinement and artistic conception. Hearing that this wine was the life’s work of the Wine Immortal, their curiosity was piqued.

But that was not all.

The poem “Cherishing the Empty Cup” made a grand debut, igniting the scholars’ fervor for Baixi. The verse alone multiplied the wine’s value several times over.

Qin Hao had initially thought pricing Baixi at a hundred taels—ten times the cost of the capital’s finest wines—would suffice.

He had underestimated the wealthy patrons of the capital.

With the poem’s influence, the limited Baixi sold for three hundred taels per jar. As a relic of the Wine Immortal’s final years, it would never be found again. Even replicating the recipe could not recreate its essence. Scarcity made it precious.

That evening alone, twenty jars were sold, bringing in six thousand taels. The entire Fengyue Pavilion was suffused with an intoxicating fragrance.

Qin Hao was pleased, even more than expected. This was truly the fruit of his hard three-day endeavor.

Ma Yingze and Zhao Guangnian were stunned, staring blankly at Qin Hao.

“Damn, there must be limits to fabrications,” Ma muttered. “This wine is obviously made from lees and some inferior liquors. Though it tastes good, claiming it’s a twenty-year vintage is outrageous.”

The most incredible part was that people actually believed it.

“Old Qin, have I... made money?” Ma suddenly slapped himself, trying to stay grounded, then asked foolishly.

Qin Hao smiled. “You invested ten percent; tonight’s profit is six hundred taels.”

Zhao Guangnian still couldn’t fathom why the wine sold for such a price.

Qin Hao explained, “It’s not that the rich don’t want to spend; they simply lack a reason to spend. Besides, with Miss Mei and Miss Xue’s rising fame, their recommendations naturally attract buyers. Add a good story and a poem, and tell me, didn’t you feel tempted to buy just now?”

Zhao Guangnian nodded vigorously. “Yes!”

Qin Hao continued, “If you didn’t know how the wine was made, would you say three hundred taels for the Wine Immortal’s limited edition is worth it?”

Zhao Guangnian nodded emphatically. “Absolutely!”

“That’s it,” Qin Hao chuckled. “As long as you make buyers feel it’s worth it, even if you sell it for ten thousand taels, they’ll still buy.”

Zhao Guangnian felt enlightened, as if a new door had opened in his mind.

Qin Hao privately mused that if only they had shouted an original price of 998 taels, now just 298, sales might have been even higher.

Ma Yingze pondered and said, “Even if we sell six thousand or ten thousand taels in one night, it’s impossible to make two hundred thousand taels in ten days. Besides, there won’t be wealthy buyers every day.”

Just then, Xue hurried over, breathless: “Master Shen, our boss is calling.”

Indeed, twenty jars of wine bringing in six thousand taels was enough to attract the Fengyue Pavilion’s owner’s attention.

Qin Hao smiled faintly. “Brothers, let’s go. The chance to make two hundred thousand taels has arrived.”

(An earlier name error has been corrected: it is Qin Dewu, not Qin Wude.)