Chapter 394 — How Do You Mean to Drink?

"What I mean is, if you can't hold your liquor, you should drink less. A third of a bottle is plenty—a whole bottle is far too much..." Wei Zhao said.

"Wha—?!" Yang Ganglou felt the blood surge and the alcohol rush to his head with it; he very nearly keeled over dead drunk on the spot. A third of a bottle is enough? A third? Why didn't you say so sooner—why didn't you say so sooner, why...

An Liwen, Su Taiwei, and Su Taiwei as well all wore expressions of sympathy and indignation. There was no way Wei Zhao had simply run out of time to speak. If he had wanted to say it, he could have said it the moment Yang Ganglou began drinking—there was no need to wait until he had finished before letting that remark slip out, unhurried as you please.

So it was certain: Wei Zhao had been toying with Yang Ganglou. No matter how much the man drank, Wei Zhao would always have something to say to needle him.

Such is the truth of "the bystander sees clear while the player is blind": tricks An Liwen could plainly see became invisible to Yang Ganglou. He thought himself a strategist of surpassing intellect, a man born to scheme against others—and yet in the end he had been out-schemed by Wei Zhao. How was he supposed to live that down?

He hadn't needed to drink so much at all, and yet like a fool he had downed half a bottle—some strategist he was! Stars burst before Yang Ganglou's eyes; the anger rose, the liquor rose with it, and he slumped straight onto the table, dead drunk.

An Liwen frowned. Yang Ganglou's mental fortitude was a bit too weak, wasn't it? And this was the man who called himself a strategist?

Still, by now everyone at the table had taken turns drinking with Wei Zhao, and the fellow had already put away six bottles of baijiu in all—how was he still fresh as ever? Had the boy been raised in a vat of liquor? Yet An Liwen could not simply let it go. Now that the contest of wills had begun, how could he stop? Wouldn't stopping mean admitting defeat to Wei Zhao?

Damn it! If no one were watching, admitting defeat would be one thing—he could simply deny it later. But Wei Zhao, curse him, was fiddling with his phone over there, and everything happening now had probably been recorded. If Gu Mengyao saw it, his image would be utterly destroyed!

"Let's continue!" Su Taiwei gritted his teeth. The Su family was not the An family; in many business matters they had to rely on An Liwen. His cousin might be one of the Four Young Masters of Songshan, but his influence was far beneath the An family's. The Ans had reach across the whole province, while the Sus were confined to Songshan City.

So when Su Taiwei saw the hesitant, troubled look in An Liwen's eyes, he resolved to grit his teeth and press on.

"Heh, and here I was worrying I'd have no opponent!" Wei Zhao glanced at Su Taiwei. The man really was willing to risk his neck.

Su Taiwei opened a bottle of Moutai. He hesitated, then still asked: "A third..."

His limit was five bottles, but that was only when sipping slowly, a steady trickle. Drinking at this pace, he doubted he would last much longer. His stomach was in agony already, and Su Taiwei had no choice but to show weakness, hoping to ask Wei Zhao whether they could drink by his earlier standard of one-third.

But Wei Zhao gave him no chance to speak at all: "Brother Wei's the real deal, not like that loser just now who collapsed after half a bottle! Brother Wei downs it straight from the bottle without batting an eye! How else could he be called Brother Wei—otherwise he'd be Brother Loser! Right?"

"That..." Su Taiwei's face went green. Couldn't you let me finish before you open your mouth? Couldn't you? Couldn't you! Su Taiwei was cursing inwardly, but Wei Zhao had needled him in front of everyone, and there was no way he could bring up the one-third business now—wouldn't that make him Brother Loser? Helpless, Su Taiwei could only say: "Fine. But I may not be able to drink very fast—please excuse me!"

"Heh, no problem!" Wei Zhao smiled and raised the bottle of baijiu before him, draining it in one go.

Su Taiwei sighed. There was no help for it—he followed Wei Zhao's example, lifted his bottle, and drank it down mouthful by mouthful. He had to stop several times for breath before he finished it. It seemed Su Taiwei was nearly at his limit.

Seeing that Wei Zhao was still fine, still ruddy-faced with not a trace of fatigue, Su Taiwei wanted to weep but had no tears. How had he ended up in a drinking contest with a madman like this? Had he known, he would have competed in anything but drinking—he'd sooner have competed at eating shit!

"Shall we continue?" Su Taiwei truly could not take much more. He had already downed four bottles in a row; normally five was his limit, but after five he was generally off being sick. Now, though, he couldn't—he could only force it down.

"No more." Wei Zhao shook his head, and Su Taiwei let out a long breath of relief—An Liwen and Su Taiwei relaxed as well. Yet they found it rather strange: why would Wei Zhao stop? Had he reached his limit too? That couldn't be, could it? But so long as he stopped, all was well—who cared whether it was his limit or a belated attack of conscience!

"Just as well you don't continue. There's no meaning in a drinking contest like this—pouring bottle after bottle down your throat is so boring!" Su Taiwei agreed.

"It really is boring, which is why I decided to stop!" Wei Zhao smiled, then said: "How about we play something interesting instead?"

"Wha—what interesting thing?" Seeing that radiant smile on Wei Zhao's face, Su Taiwei suddenly felt something was off. Had he been had? What was Wei Zhao up to?

"Waiter, bring some red wine!" Wei Zhao called toward the door of the private room.

"Red wine?" Su Taiwei was taken aback for a split second, but then his face lit up with delight! The alcohol content of red wine was nowhere near that of baijiu. If they switched to chugging red wine, he could hold on for a good while yet!

Su Taiwei reckoned Wei Zhao must have reached his limit too. He himself had put away four bottles, but Wei Zhao had consumed seven! What did seven bottles of baijiu mean? It was a miracle the man hadn't drunk himself to death!

Perhaps Wei Zhao was only putting on a flawless show on the surface, making everyone believe he was perfectly fine. Otherwise, if nothing was wrong, why switch to red wine? Afraid Wei Zhao might change his mind again, Su Taiwei quickly shouted along: "Waiter! Red wine! Hurry up!"

"Yes, sir, coming right up!" The waiter walked into the private room carrying a case of red wine. Thanks to the earlier experience with beer and baijiu, no instructions were needed this time. He simply walked straight in with a case of red wine.

An Liwen and Su Taiwei both breathed a sigh of relief. They had genuinely feared Su Taiwei wouldn't be able to hold out and would collapse on the spot. But now it didn't matter. In a red wine contest, Su Taiwei could certainly last quite a while.

An Liwen set two bottles of red wine on the table, handing one to Wei Zhao and placing the other in front of Su Taiwei.

"How do you want to drink it? You call the shot!" This time Su Taiwei was bold and hearty. Drinking red wine, he feared no method. Never mind one bottle; he could down two without a care! Su Taiwei's confidence was running sky-high this round.

┊┊┊┊┊┊┊┊┊┊┊┊┊┊RU