Wang Fugui had not dreamed of the past in a very long time.
Back then, Wang Fugui was merely a dependent apprentice living under someone else’s roof, desperately trying to please his master every single day and walking on eggshells just to scrape by.
The first time he saw Wanniang, the Head Brewer had brought her to the distillery, bowing and scraping as he introduced her to the workers:
“All of you, heads up and straighten your backs! The Qu family spent silver to buy you, not to feed freeloaders!
This is the Eldest Young Mistress of our Qu Family Distillery, Qu Wan.
In the future, the Master will hand this distillery over to the Eldest Young Mistress sooner or later.
Keep your heads clear and understand who you'll be working for; be sharp.
If anyone is brainless enough to invite the Eldest Young Mistress's displeasure, this old man won't even need to kick you out—pack your bedroll and roll out yourselves!”
Wang Fugui had fled to Dingyuan as a refugee.
At home, his father, mother, and second younger brother had all starved to death, leaving him as the sole survivor.
Having endured hunger and cold along the way, he had long developed the habit of keeping his head bowed when around people.
Wang Fugui vaguely remembered waiting for everyone else to finish their greetings before daring to steal a glance upward.
With just that one look, he was stunned.
A pointed chin, curved eyes that seemed to hold a pool of clear spring water, and a delicate, dainty mouth like ripe mountain cherries in the third month of spring.
The Eldest Young Mistress was truly beautiful.
Wang Fugui did not dare to look for long and quickly lowered his head, staring blankly at his worn straw sandals with a hole in them.
Yet Qu Wan walked right up to him, suddenly stopping to ask casually, “Are you Wang Fugui?”
Her voice was as melodious as an oriole’s song.
Wang Fugui’s mind turned into complete mush; he could only nod repeatedly in haste.
Back then, he didn’t overthink anything; he only felt that the Eldest Young Mistress was extraordinarily pretty, just like an immortal maiden straight out of a painting.
—That was the first time Wang Fugui met Qu Wan.
Working in a distillery was grueling labor that demanded hard physical toil.
Before dawn, before even the roosters were awake, Wang Fugui had to get up and, alongside his fellow apprentice brothers, haul grain bag by bag from the granary.
The burlap sacks, half the height of a grown man and packed heavy with grain, could only be carried by human labor, hauled one by one to the kitchen.
The scorching sun in the sky beat down relentlessly, making it hard to breathe, and rice chaff pricked against the skin of his neck through the burlap, itching and stinging.
The coarse hemp rope binding the bags chafed painfully against bare flesh, and after carrying them for half a day, his back would be covered in large purple and green bruises the next morning.
Wang Fugui was born frail with a weak constitution. After just three or four trips, his eyelids would droop with exhaustion, and the sky would turn pitch-black before his eyes.
Yet he had to keep working.
He was someone the Qu family had bought. If he didn’t work, he wouldn’t even get a full meal.
Most of the apprentices in the Qu Family Distillery were boys aged eleven or twelve sent by families from neighboring counties; Wang Fugui was the only one of his older age.
The master brewer looked down on him and, having heard that famine refugees carried lice, hired a barber to shave Wang Fugui’s head into a patchy mess.
The other apprentices constantly called him “Scabby Head” and mocked him for it.
During the day, they dumped the heaviest chores on Wang Fugui, and at night, they always made him do filthy tasks like emptying chamber pots and washing bedpans.
Once, while squatting on the ground scrubbing a chamber pot, he happened to see Qu Wan passing by.
She wore an expensive silk dress, her lustrous black hair styled into an exquisite coiffure adorned with two gold hairpins whose delicate flower ornaments swayed gently with her steps.
She was radiant with a luxury that made people feel unworthy to look upon her.
Wang Fugui didn't know why, but a wave of discomfort suddenly washed over his heart.
He straightened his back, hid the chamber pot behind him, and stole a glance at her.
He was somewhat afraid—afraid Qu Wan would see him scrubbing a chamber pot here.
Yet in his heart, he harbored a petty wish, hoping Qu Wan might call his name again just like the last time.
Who could have guessed that this time, Qu Wan merely cast a fleeting, indifferent glance his way, knitted her brows, and walked away accompanied by two maidservants?
—It was as if Wang Fugui were no different from a blade of grass, a stone, or a tree branch by the roadside.
Wang Fugui stared after Qu Wan’s receding figure in silence for a long time.
He had originally thought Qu Wan was different from the others.
Yet in the end, she looked down on him just the same.
So from that day on, Wang Fugui held a breath of resentment in his chest.
He wanted to climb up.
No matter the cost, he had to climb up.
Once, when the master got drunk, in his half-asleep, half-awake stupor, he told Wang Fugui the truth.
It turned out Master Qu had taken him in specifically to recruit him as a matrilocal son-in-law for Qu Wan.
—Wang Fugui had no father or mother, his entire family was dead, and even if he became a matrilocal son-in-law in the future, he wouldn't be able to bully Qu Wan.
Wang Fugui said nothing, quietly slipping out of the room as if nothing had happened.
From then on, Wang Fugui became even more attentive, dutiful, and filial toward the old master, surpassing even a biological son.
When the master beat him, Wang Fugui greeted him with a smiling face; when the master scolded him, Wang Fugui showed no anger.
Even when the master lost his temper and spat in Wang Fugui’s face, he would wipe away the filth with a chuckle, as if he didn't care in the slightest.
In private, Wang Fugui was even more diligent.
In summer, he held a fan to drive away mosquitoes for his master; in winter, he held his master’s cold feet against his chest to warm them.
Bringing foot-washing water, beating his master's shoulders, and massaging his back were everyday matters.
If the old master told him to go east, Wang Fugui would never go west.
If the old master told him to catch a dog, Wang Fugui would never chase a chicken.
—In private, his fellow apprentices cursed him and gossiped behind his back, but Wang Fugui never got angry.
Whenever he saw the satisfaction in the old master’s eyes, he knew he had made the right choice.
When Qu Wan turned eighteen, Wang Fugui was betrothed to her.
Everyone thought the Qu family had lost their minds, letting such a delicate blossom fall upon a destitute wretch like Wang Fugui.
Yet only Wang Fugui knew how much he had sacrificed for this marriage.
An ethereal maiden who had once been beyond his reach had suddenly become his future wife, making Wang Fugui feel that the heavens were favoring him.
Yet who could have expected that when Qu Wan saw him, she still wore that same lukewarm, distant expression?
Once, Qu Wan fell severely ill, her nagging cough persisting for a long time without improvement.
Hearing that wild loquat leaves could cure it, Wang Fugui risked his life climbing Wenshan to gather a whole basket of loquat leaves.
He thought that finally, he would earn a smile from Qu Wan.
Yet Qu Wan still retained that same indifferent expression.
It was as if she were born superior, having no room for anyone else in her eyes.
She cared about only three things: brewing wine, brewing wine, and brewing wine.
Wang Fugui believed he had shown her every courtesy and catered to her every whim, yet in the end, all he got in return was a wooden, unresponsive Qu Wan.
He could no longer remember when the wicked thoughts had first taken root.
Was it when Qu Wan obtained the immortal treasure?
Was it when he heard that Qu Family Distillery’s “Immortal Brew” had caught the favor of noble patrons in the imperial palace?
Or was it after Qu Wan ignored him countless times?
Wang Fugui couldn't recall.
Thirty years had passed, yet he still remembered how inside the prison, panic had finally appeared on Qu Wan’s usually breathtakingly gorgeous, calm, and composed face.
How beautiful she had looked.
Just like a peony battered by rain, full of alluring grace, yet so fragile and delicate.
How many times, waking in the dead of night from a dream, did Wang Fugui feel a rush of sheer exhilaration remembering that expression on Wanniang’s face?
Didn’t you look down on me?
Weren’t you always obsessed with brewing wine?
Weren’t you always so high and mighty?
Wouldn't you even spare me a smile?
Then I will drag you down, cast you into this quagmire, and drag your whole family through the mud under the stigma of “murder.”
Let’s see how you stay clean and pure then, let’s see how you remain high and mighty!
Wang Fugui had been so thrilled that he couldn't sleep for days.
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