Life Is but a Drunken Dream

Pretentious Literary Blurb:

That night, smoke and clouds drifted by beneath the moon, before the trees. The three of us sat beneath the open sky, with no qin, no songs, just a jug of fine wine.

That night, I refused to think about the future and focused only on the present: Let not the cups run dry, with the amber wine so rich.

That night, I meant to indulge and drink myself senseless, lingering together until dawn.

Note:

I'm terrible at writing blurbs, terrible at illustrations, terrible at writing...

This story is mainly set during the Chenghua era of the Ming Dynasty, but the author is terrible at history, so most of what's described is made up. Historical accuracy buffs, please look elsewhere. -_-

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