Wuming Town is not a big town, with about a hundred households crowded together at the intersection of two dirt roads. There is not even a decent archway.
When the drunkard arrived at this place, it was already dark. He smelled the smell of wine on the official road thirty miles away. The aroma of wine came out of the north wind and tickled his nose and dragged him all the way here.
White lanterns hung at the entrance of the town, made of paper, and the candlelight shone through, making them look miserable white.
"It's nothing." The alcoholic stood at the entrance of the town, smelled it, and nodded, "But the wine is good."
