"Just one more cup, just one more! Before my daughter sees, pour me another, I promise I'll stop after this one."
Sang Youming pleaded pathetically, almost ready to kneel.
Opportunities to drink openly were rare, and with kind-hearted villagers playing Lu Sheng and dancing to cover for him, was it really too much to have a few small sips?
The villagers, thoroughly exasperated, reluctantly poured him another cup: "Uncle, take care of yourself. After downing eleven cups, I doubt you'll manage ten steps before passing out."
Gazing at the refilled Cow Horn Cup, Sang Youming chuckled: "Young lady, don't worry, I'm famous for holding my liquor!"
The villager watched Sang Youming finish his eleventh cup with an expression of resignation, knowing full well he'd soon learn the hard way life wasn't so forgiving.
As the welcoming ceremony gradually came to an end, and the notes of the Lu Sheng faded away, Sang Youming casually handed the cup back to the villagers.
