Drinking is, in itself, a kind of knowledge. Most people look down on those who love to drink, but being able to drink and knowing how to drink are two completely different things. Those who can drink simply drink, but those who know how to drink can turn alcohol into a form of cultural art, even a philosophy of life found everywhere. Alcohol is not just for drinking; it can be a mood, a pattern of love, a fleeting memory, or a close friend who always dances with you in a corner of your soul.

Lovers of good wine are called drunks, but those who taste, read, and study wine are connoisseurs who truly understand its threefold essence. A connoisseur, in fact, represents a certain state of being. As for those who make connoisseurship a profession, they are the sommeliers, the elite of the industry. In short, a sommelier is someone who uses sensory evaluation techniques to assess the quality of wine, guide the brewing process, storage, and blending, and is involved in wine design and new product development.

A good sommelier is absolutely a hot commodity. The reason he later rose to become one of the few sommeliers in the country was mainly because heaven had given him a set of perfect, almost supernatural senses: an extraordinary sense of smell and taste. His nose and taste buds seemed born for wine tasting; no matter what kind of wine, as long as he could look at it, swirl it, sniff it, and taste a little, he could basically judge the quality and composition of the wine. The alcohol content, the acidity, whether it was more or less watery—all could be discerned with a single taste.

Of course, sensory wine tasting is built on a deep mastery of brewing techniques and wine culture. Having a good nose alone is useless.

That day, he drove to a small town in Jiangnan to interview a certain master of Chinese studies, also a gentleman of wine. The master gladly invited him; in the rainy season of Jiangnan, they boiled green plums in wine, drank together, and discussed literature—what joy! They drank from noon until dusk, and in a drunken haze, amid wild words, the master quietly passed away, and he too drank himself into oblivion. This drunkenness, unexpectedly, carried him all the way to the flourishing Tang Dynasty.

So he had time-traveled, and accepted his fate, but never expected to find himself inside the jade pendant hanging on the chest of a courtesan singer. The sight of her soft, fair bosom was pleasing enough, but it was hardly a long-term solution! He stayed in that jade pendant for more than half a year, and finally got another chance at rebirth—only to find that the body he possessed was in such a sorry state.

Being poor and ugly was nothing, and being lustful was no big deal, but why did he have to be a disgusting, half-baked wastrel? To call him a wastrel was even flattering—after all, he squandered money he had swindled from his future father-in-law’s family.

He didn’t know how long he had stood there in silence when a loud, melodious bell rang in his ears. He snapped out of it and smiled bitterly, “Ryan Carter? Fine, fine, it’s just a body. Even if he was a rapist, what does that have to do with me?”

With that thought, he started walking, his steps becoming lighter.

At both ends of the Luoyang Bridge were rows upon rows of taverns and shops, the crowds so vast that he was amazed. They say the Tang Dynasty was a golden age of prosperity—seeing it with his own eyes today, it truly lived up to its reputation.

As he strolled along, a rich aroma of wine wafted into his nostrils. No, to be precise, it was two different wine aromas—one sweet and soft, lingering with a hint of acidity; the other clear and sharp, strong but not harsh. He paused, then, in sudden delight, twitched his nose: it seemed that with his time-traveling rebirth, his extraordinary sense of smell for wine had not disappeared, but had “traveled” with him into this body, and was even more sensitive than before. Without hesitation, he judged that the tavern before him, named Yuhuchun, sold two kinds of wine: one was a low-alcohol grain wine, the other a roughly brewed grape wine.

He reached into his pocket—hmm, not bad, this fellow still had some copper coins. After a moment’s hesitation, he entered the bustling, fragrant tavern. Imitating the Tang people around him, he awkwardly knelt on a stool, called the waiter over, ordered some side dishes and a few pots of wine, and was about to drink alone when a mocking, slightly disdainful voice reached his ears: “Well, well, where did the sun rise from today? Ryan Carter Young Master Carter dares to drink today too?”

Chapter 002: Scenting the Wine (Part 1)

Ryan Carter looked up and saw a young man in fine clothes standing not far away, lips curled, twirling a bamboo folding fan. With starry brows and bright eyes, tall and slender, he did have some of the dashing elegance of a Tang scholar.

William Harris Matthew Harris?! The son of Yang Xuanjing, former local official of Henan Prefecture, the young master of this tavern, a student at Luoyang Academy, and an old acquaintance—Ryan Carter immediately recalled the name.

After a pause, he had no choice but to rise and, imitating Tang etiquette, salute, saying loudly, “So it’s Brother Matthew, long time no see.”

William Harris sneered, “Long time my ass. Just the other day you came to borrow a string of coins from me. But what really surprises me is that you, who never touch a drop, are actually drinking today?”

“Never touch a drop?” Ryan Carter was slightly taken aback. Apparently, this fellow had a strange allergy to alcohol—just two small cups would leave him drunk as a puddle.

Ryan Carter chuckled, “I drink on occasion, haha.”

With that, he ignored William Harris, picked up his cup, and drained it in one go.