Spoiled and mad critic of powerful ministers

Shen Qiongju poured the wine she had bought into a pot and started a fire.

Soon, a faint bubbling sound came from the pot.

"I'm furious."

A cold, clear voice suddenly came from the side.

Shen Qiongju paused and looked at Pei Zhihui.

He remained standing in the same spot, his gaze fixed on the flames in the stove, his expression serious.

"If you boil it too quickly, too much water vapor will be trapped in the alcohol, affecting the purity of the first brew."

Shen Qiongju's heart stirred slightly, and she did as she was told, instructing the waiter to remove half of the firewood.

The flames subsided, and the boiling sound in the pot became calmer and more sustained.

As the wine was extracted, Shen Qiongju caught it in a small white porcelain cup and took a small sip. It wasn't very mellow and even had a slightly off-taste.

She frowned.

"It's the temperature," Pei Zhihui's voice rang out again. "You only controlled the fire, but you didn't control the temperature of the mash inside the pot."

He walked to the stove, stretched out his slender fingers, and lightly placed them on the outer wall of the steamer, feeling the scorching heat.

Different fusel alcohols have different boiling points. To obtain the purest spirit, the temperature must be stabilized within a specific range.

Shen Qiongju was stunned.

She only knew the principle of re-steaming, but overlooked the most subtle details.

"Then... how do I control it?" she asked instinctively.

Pei Zhihui did not answer, but turned around, picked up a wooden board and a charcoal pencil, and quickly began to sketch on it.

He added a small, openable opening to the side of the original steamer.

"Here, cold iron can be placed for cooling."

He then drew a lid on the top of the steamer.

"Covering and steaming will make the internal temperature more stable."

He explained as he drew, his voice calm and clear.

Those complex principles became simple and clear in his words.

Shen Qiongju was so engrossed in listening that she didn't notice how close the two of them had become.

She could smell the familiar, refreshing herbal scent emanating from him, mixed with a faint hint of ink.

As he bent over to mark the last detail on the wooden board, a strand of hair inadvertently fell down, almost brushing against her cheek.

Shen Qiongju's heart skipped a beat.

Pei Zhihui also stopped moving.

He looked up and met her eyes, which were filled with a hint of panic.

The atmosphere became subtle at that moment.

He slowly straightened up and handed her the painted wooden board, but his fingertips accidentally touched the back of her hand.

Her skin was cool to the touch and as smooth as fine porcelain.

His fingertips, however, were surprisingly hot from his previous focus and thought.

Both of them recoiled as if they had been burned.

Pei Zhihui concealed his hand in his sleeve, his fingertips unconsciously curling slightly, as if the sensation of that fleeting glimpse still lingered.

He looked away, and a very faint, almost invisible blush appeared at the base of his ears.

"...Modify it this way and try again."

He left those words behind, then turned and walked quickly to the side, his back view showing a rare hint of haste.

After the craftsmen completed the modifications, the new liquor was quickly produced.

A fragrance, completely different from the previous one, wafted out in wisps.

It was an extremely pure, refined, and even slightly sharp aroma that seemed to penetrate to the very marrow.

Finally, under everyone's watchful eyes, the first drop of liquid condensed at the tip of the tube.

It didn't drip down immediately, but hung there like a full dewdrop, reflecting the light and shining brilliantly.

"Tick-tock".

The clear, water-like wine fell into the white porcelain cup that had been prepared below.

The wine in the glass was only a thin layer, yet it was so clear that there was not a trace of impurity. When it swayed slightly under the light, it had a glass-like luster.

She first brought it to her nose and took a light sniff. The domineering, mellow aroma instantly filled her nasal cavity, making her feel slightly dizzy.

That's too intense.

Just as she was about to take a small bite, a hand reached out from the side.

"Young lady, let me taste it for you!"

It was Li Laosan. He had come over at some point, his face full of the restless desire of a drunkard.

Before Shen Qiongju could react, he had already filled a glass to the brim and took a swig.

Shen Qiongju didn't have time to stop it, but it was already too late.

Li Laosan's face instantly turned a deep liver color.

His eyes widened, and he made a strange "hoarse" sound from his throat, as if he were being choked.

The next moment, he suddenly bent over and coughed violently, tears and snot streaming down his face.

"Water...water!" he cried hoarsely.

Shen Huaide, who was standing nearby, was so frightened that he quickly scooped up a ladle of cold water and poured it down his throat.

But the water was like oil poured into a fire; Li Laosan's complexion did not improve. Instead, he clutched his stomach, veins bulging on his forehead, and slowly collapsed to the ground, curling up in pain.

"Oh dear! What's going on!" Shen Huaide was completely panicked.

"It's probably because the alcohol was too strong and burned his stomach."

Pei Zhihui's calm voice rang out.

He stepped forward, squatted down, checked Shen Song's pulse, and then opened his eyelids to take a look.

"It's nothing serious," he concluded, then said to Shen Huaide, "Use the hot ashes from the stove, wrap them in a cloth, and apply it to his stomach. Also, boil a bowl of thick millet porridge oil for him to drink to soothe his stomach."

Shen Huaide suddenly realized what was happening and hurriedly ordered his men to do as he was told.

Fortunately, Li Laosan was a farmer with a strong constitution. After struggling for half an hour, the abdominal cramps gradually subsided, and his complexion regained some color.

Inside the distillery, everyone watched with lingering fear as the wine continued to drip slowly, their eyes filled with awe.

This isn't wine; it's a sharp blade that can cut through your guts and scrape your stomach.

Just how high is this prescription?

Shen Qiongju watched this scene with curiosity piqued.

She picked up a clean glass, filled it to the brim, and carefully took a sip.

boom!

It felt like a fire exploded on the tip of my tongue, the spiciness instantly engulfing my entire mouth, then turning into a scorching line that shot straight up my throat.

But after this extreme explosion, an incredibly mellow and lingering aroma of alcohol slowly rises from the back of the tongue.

It was fine wine, the kind of wine she had never seen or tasted in either of her two lifetimes.

However, it is also a type of wine that cannot be sold directly.

No guest could possibly enjoy such a "blessing".

She straightened up and looked at the half-filled jar of distilled spirit. The fervor in her eyes gradually faded, replaced by the calmness and clarity of a businessman.

"Uncle," she began, her voice regaining its composure, "seal these bottles of wine, store them separately, and label them carefully."

She paused, picked up an empty ladle, scooped up some ordinary rice wine, and carefully added a few drops of the strong liquor that had just been distilled, adjusting and tasting it repeatedly.

Pei Zhihui watched her movements quietly.

Watching her frown, watching her ponder, watching her gradually turn that extraordinary spirit into something "ordinary," making it no different from the "first-pressed liquor" from her own distillery.