Drunk Talk

My tavern deep in the alley only sells three kinds of wine. Beer and liquor are charged. My daughter's forty-year red needs stories in exchange. That day, a middle-aged man in a plaid shirt pushed open the door and asked for the jar of aged wine. I stretched out my hand as usual: "Rules, stories are exchanged for wine." He was silent for a moment and talked about the father who buried his daughter Hong every year. "I always thought it would be a long time until the grass on his grave was green and there were only twenty jars of unopened wine left in the courtyard." I made an exception and poured an extra glass and pushed it in front of him: "This cup is for those who can't wait for Kaifeng."