Little Steve said, "Please wait a moment," and deftly carried a small square tray, about forty centimeters across, toward the counter. Based on his own observations of the guest, he positioned the tray, poured a small amount of several kinds of liquor into little bamboo cups, and, after finishing all this, carried the tray back.

If he remembered correctly, Little Steve hadn’t done this when introducing the wine to the soldiers—was tasting a privilege reserved for officers?

The bowing gesture to offer the wine was performed very smoothly by Little Steve. He made a motion similar to raising the tray to eyebrow level as a sign of respect, then straightened his back, leaned forward slightly, and extended his arms to present the tray: “Please drink, guest.”

Brian Clark picked up a small bamboo cup. He glanced at Little Steve, then at the yellow, cloudy liquid inside the cup, and brought it to his lips.

“You are now drinking Handan wine.”

If he understood correctly, this should be Zhao wine? Brian Clark had no idea that Zhao wine was now recognized as the strongest liquor. He took a sip and only found it rather mild.

He picked up another cup...

“You are now drinking Lanling wine.”

A line of poetry by Li Bai suddenly popped into Brian Clark’s mind, and after drinking, he recited it: “The fine wine of Lanling, fragrant as turmeric, in a jade bowl shines with amber light.” As for the taste, he really couldn’t tell which of the Six States’ wines it was.

This wasn’t an era when poetry was popular, so naturally no one exclaimed, “What a poem, what a masterpiece!” Even Little Steve was only briefly surprised before returning to normal.

After trying several kinds, Brian Clark felt a bit embarrassed under Little Steve’s keen gaze. “Qin wine, then?”

There were many types of Qin wine. To be sure, Little Steve asked again, but how many wine names could Brian Clark actually name? In the end, somewhat muddled, he paid two knife coins, and his leather pouch was filled with a thick, yellowish, slightly cloudy liquid.

After leaving the tavern, Brian Clark took an expectant sip not far down the road. He savored it for a moment: “Isn’t Qin wine supposed to be bitter? Why is this one so sweet?”

He didn’t suspect Little Steve of trickery, just found it puzzling.

Actually, the wine he bought is called “thick wine” in modern times, but back then it was called millet wine. Today, this kind of wine is still very popular in northern Shaanxi. However, in the Qin dynasty, thick wine was brewed from a type of millet, while modern thick wine is made from yellow rice, millet, and corn.

After Brian Clark left, the centurion from earlier came out.

The centurion looked around, then returned to the tent and spoke to the middle-aged man in martial attire: “What was that phrase the shangzao just recited?”

The middle-aged man in martial attire had an excellent memory and extraordinary hearing: “The fine wine of Lanling, fragrant as turmeric, in a jade bowl shines with amber light.”

“Oh…” There was neither praise nor disdain. The handsome centurion shook his head. “I wonder if he’s from a general’s family? I don’t recognize him.” He shook his head again after speaking, as if he found it somewhat interesting.

Don’t be surprised—in an era with a pitifully low literacy rate, it was impossible to be literate without some family heritage. They didn’t think reciting such lines was impressive; they simply wanted to get to know someone who could read. Nowadays, literacy was highly valued.

Chapter 0013: The Long Rainy Season

Old psychological wounds had not yet healed, and new shocks surged in. Bearing the responsibility of supervising military orders, Brian Clark saw Hu prisoners being escorted in every day, only to be executed at someone’s command.

No matter how shocking or disgusting something is the first time, after seeing it enough times, one inevitably becomes numb. He found his nerves growing tougher, his mindset gradually shaped by his environment.

Perhaps, as Edward said, Brian Clark would be grateful that he wasn’t sent straight to the battlefield upon conscription. At least here, he could slowly get used to the bloodshed in a relatively safe environment. On the battlefield, there would be no such chance—a moment’s fear or hesitation would mean instant death.

That’s what people said, but Brian Clark knew it wasn’t so easy to change. Lately, he had gradually taken a liking to drinking, having a little with his meals every night.

No drinking in the army? Brian Clark didn’t know if there was such a regulation. He’d been drinking for many days in a row, and no one had ever mentioned any prohibition.

Drinking helped him make many friends. Since he developed the habit, his social life had become much richer; he no longer just returned to his tent to stare into space after delivering orders.

Edward was a good drinking companion. Under the influence of this man, whose honest face belied a fierce and somewhat humorous nature, Brian Clark interacted more with his comrades, though everyone still had their own circles.

The tun leader, the squad leader, and even the soldiers could all joke and play together, but the tun leader and the centurion could never be so familiar. Even when drinking together, the tun leader, as a subordinate, would remain reserved.

The centurion’s position was a major hurdle for promotion in the army. Many people might serve as tun leaders their whole lives and never become a centurion. In the Qin army, becoming a centurion was no longer just about how many heads you took.

A tun leader could earn twenty ranks by killing enemies, but to be promoted, he needed to understand many military regulations, which meant passing assessments—and assessments often required writing, so a certain level of literacy was necessary. Literate? Was it so easy to learn? Even if you wanted to, someone had to be willing to teach you. Don’t forget what era this is.