The second time brewing, except for making the starter, everything had to be redone. In a flash, nearly thirty days passed, and William Thompson had lost almost ten pounds. This time, he followed the steps on the sheepskin parchment exactly, without the slightest deviation. Today was the day for the third batch of wine, but the wine produced was still sour. Exhausted to the extreme, William Thompson suddenly fainted and collapsed to the ground.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he slowly woke up to see Ethan Foster’s anxious face.

“Brother Thompson! Are you alright?”

William Thompson shook his head. “Maybe it’s Heaven testing us, making us fail again and again.”

Ethan Foster was stunned: “Brother Thompson, do you still want to keep brewing?”

“Yes!” William Thompson nodded firmly. That was his character—once he set his mind to something, he had to see it through, even a bit stubbornly.

“Forget it! There must be something wrong with that sheepskin scroll. Brother Thompson, I think we should just give up!”

“We can’t give up. What’s this little setback?”

“But! But! I really don’t want to brew anymore, I can’t take it!” Ethan Foster couldn’t help but shout, then covered his face and burst into tears.

William Thompson sighed and gently patted his shoulder.

“Xiao Yi, if you want to accomplish something, how can you not go through a few failures? I remember the first time I forged weapons, I broke over two hundred iron rods before I succeeded. My master said my senior brother could never make good weapons because he couldn’t handle failure. So as long as you grit your teeth and push through, you’ll succeed in the end.”

“Brother Thompson, you’re right. How about we find a master brewer, brew wine the old way first, and after we gain some experience, try making new wine?”

“That’s a good temporary solution.”

Suddenly, William Thompson remembered something important. He had been so focused on brewing that he’d forgotten about it. He jumped up in a panic.

“Xiao Yi, hurry to the grain shop and check the current grain prices!”

Ethan Foster’s face turned pale, and he dashed out like the wind. William Thompson lay back down, wondering which step had gone wrong. Logically, Master Xiao would never deceive him; otherwise, he wouldn’t have treated the sheepskin scroll as so important. But which step was the problem? As William Thompson puzzled over it, suddenly—“Bang!”—a loud crash sounded as the door was flung open, and Ethan Foster practically tumbled inside.

“Big brother! The price of grain has gone up! We’ve made it!”

“What did you say?”

“Big brother! The price of grain has doubled since we bought it.”

William Thompson was overjoyed. He leapt out of bed, instantly cured of all ailments.

He immediately sold sixty percent of the grain, netting a profit of ten thousand strings of cash. A few days later, the price rose again, and he sold more, making another ten thousand. Adding in his original capital, he now had thirty thousand strings. William Thompson could hardly stop grinning—when had he ever had so much money?

However, the wine still had to be brewed. It was already near dusk when William Thompson and Ethan Foster went to a large restaurant. They hadn’t had a proper meal in months and deserved to treat themselves.

They found a quiet tavern and went inside. It was a tile-roofed house left from the Northern Song dynasty, with whitewashed walls and dark pillars, black and white in sharp contrast. The tavern backed onto a river, shaded by phoenix trees, lush and green. Under the eaves hung a horizontal pearwood signboard, inscribed with the three black lacquered characters ‘太白居’ in a free and unrestrained style, reminiscent of wild cursive script after a drunken bout. In front of the shop, wine jars were stacked, and on the L-shaped counter, side dishes were displayed, tempting passersby.

Suddenly, William Thompson stared fixedly at the jars by the door.

“I understand! I understand! I understand!”

William Thompson shouted excitedly, “Xiao Yi, I know where the problem was!”

“Where?” Ethan Foster’s small eyes suddenly grew as big as eggs.

“Sealing! We must not have sealed the fermentation barrel, so air got in, and the wine turned sour. Look, all the wine here is sealed!”

“That’s right! That must be it. The sheepskin scroll didn’t mention it, but that’s common knowledge in winemaking! How did I not think of it?”

Having found the root of the problem, the two set up the fire again. At the critical step, they used the traditional method for pickling vegetables, sealing the wine vat with clay during fermentation. Twenty days later, clear, bright wine was finally brewed, and the whole house was filled with a fragrance that intoxicated them both.

“This is really good wine! I’ve tasted all kinds of wine, but never anything so fragrant and mellow. It’s a bit strong, but that’s fine—the second batch will be better. Brother Thompson, if it weren’t for your persistence, I might never have tasted such good wine in my life. I really am not cut out for great things.”

William Thompson was also intoxicated by the rich aroma of the wine. That night, the two drank themselves into a stupor, dreaming together of a bright future.

Chapter Eight: Fame Spreads

Next, they had to sell the wine. As the saying goes, “Good wine is not afraid of being in a deep alley.” But William Thompson knew that without advertising, it wouldn’t work. On the other hand, advertising only builds reputation, not prestige, and ordinary ads can’t create a good reputation. Take Qinchi Liquor, for example—they spent hundreds of millions on ads, but it was still useless.

“We need to do something out of the ordinary!” William Thompson thought of Moutai and came up with a plan.