"Back then, that ghost's corpse was discovered in this very vat."
"The autopsy report said it was drowning, with traces of alcohol poisoning."
"But clearly, there's something fishy about it."
"Who was he here?"
"He was the old master brewer, started working here when he was young."
"Heard that it was a sweet deal—room and board, and all the booze he could want."
"This old guy was the type who'd dunk his breakfast youtiao right into booze."
"Sometimes if he had stuff to do, he'd just wet his lips, and could still down over a catty a day."
"No one knows what his liver was made of—drank one and a half catties a day and, in the end, his liver was the healthiest organ he had."
"Now he's turned into a ghost, still soaking in the wine vat."
Huang Zhiji pointed at the giant wine pool; inside, a skinny old man holding an enamel cup drifted out, swaying about.
Then, like he was taking a bath, he leaned against the edge of the wine pool, sipping from that old-fashioned enamel mug.
