A little earlier in the day, Old Man Bu had watched from behind his desk as the two young disciples departed his warehouse.

  The water essence would be good for the boy - provided he knew how to use it properly. What was more intriguing was how he'd managed to negotiate so naturally - without being overly deferential or obsequious and yet without being excessively guarded or paranoid.

  "No visitors for the next couple of hours," he told the woman who had escorted the pair into the warehouse. "I have some...private business to attend to."

  She bowed and then left the warehouse without comment.

  At least this one knew when not to ask questions.

  Good help was extremely difficult to find these days.

  When Old Bu was alone again, he made his way to a hidden door behind his desk, which triggered a series of mechanisms that led to a stairway down. The warehouse itself might be his public face, but this was where his real sanctuary lay.

  The room beneath was utterly unlike the cramped and cluttered space above.

  Spirit wood paneling covered the walls; each had been carved with preservation formations that had taken decades of painstaking effort to develop. Row after row of wine vessels sat upon shelves, not the ordinary spirit wines used by most cultivators for drinking, but genuine immortal vintages. Some of the vessels had been aging for millennia; the spiritual essences contained within had grown stronger with each passing year.

  Old man Bu’s frail physique flickered and then faded like morning mist to reveal a middle-aged man. This was the elder from before, Elder Chen Yong. He stretched, allowing his spiritual pressure to expand now that he no longer needed to maintain the illusion of a crippled mortal.

  "That kid..." he said to himself, choosing a particularly suitable jar from his array. "The World Tree Sutra, of all things. No wonder he needs elemental essences."

  The aroma of the wine filled the room - scents of mountains and summer storms, along with a faint hint of starlight that suggested its high quality. The elder chugged down the wine - allowing the spiritual essence to blend with his own cultivation.

  "The Sect Master was right to take an interest," he continued his musing. "But I doubt even Yuan expected the boy to make progress this fast. Beyond Heaven rank cultivation methods during Qi Condensation..." He laughed. "Either genius or insanity. Possibly both."

  The boy showed promise yes, but what was more important was that he had the right kind of caution.

  Elder Chen Yong didn’t mean the paralysing fear that kept so many disciples bound by convention, but the practical wariness that might actually keep him alive long enough to accomplish something of note.

  "A favor from someone like that could prove quite valuable," Elder Chen Yong murmured.

  Usually, the elder didn’t get involved in political games, he let the other elders waste their time with that.

  Elder Chen Yong simply wanted to drink in peace.

  But having someone who cultivated a Beyond Heaven technique owe him a favour could get him out of a pickle further down the line.

  The wine was already working its magic; its spiritual essence was mingling with his cultivation as he poured another cup. Most cultivators viewed drinking as a vice; a distraction from proper cultivation. They failed to realize that anything could become a pathway to immortality, provided it was sufficiently refined. They just believed he was merely a lazy drunk who had somehow achieved the peak of the Stellar Realm through sheer dumb luck. Let them think that - it was easier than explaining the profound truths he'd discovered at the bottom of ten thousand celestial wine jars.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Despite tens of thousands of years cultivating the dao, the various sects continued to cling to their absurd classifications of what constituted 'righteous' versus 'demonic' cultivation methods.

  As if the Great Dao cared for such petty human designations.

  The heavens were vast and mysterious - why shouldn’t the path to comprehend them be just as diverse? Some found enlightenment through meditation; others through bloodshed and sacrifice.

  Ultimately, all rivers flowed to the same sea.

  Elder Chen Yong believed that it was better to allow cultivators to pursue whatever path calls to them. His role wasn’t to judge; it was to observe and occasionally guide those who walked a path likely to lead them to destruction before they learned something meaningful.

  The other elders could retain their strict dogma and unending politicking. He would continue to sit here with his wine, selling whatever people needed, allowing the Great Dao to determine the fate of the rest.

  "I bet that boy would agree with me..." Elder Chen Yong slurred slightly as he opened a third jar, "Maybe I'll take him as a disciple."

  The idea was probably the wine speaking, but it had a certain allure.

  Clearly, the boy possessed talent, and more important, he seemed to grasp the importance of remaining out of trouble. Unlike other disciples who treated cultivation as a contest to determine who could attract the most dangerous enemies.

  As the next jar began to take effect, Elder Chen Yong allowed his spiritual awareness to turn inward toward his Inner World. Most cultivators at his level had precisely ordered cosmos within their Inner Worlds, while his was...unusual.

  Wine-rivers flowed among the stars that burned like crystal moonlight. Planets composed of crystallized spiritual wine orbited suns that radiated the essence of ten thousand fermented experiences. The vacuum existing between celestial entities was filled with a fine mist of spiritual alcohol; producing auroras of drunken enlightenment.

  It was beautiful in its own disorderly manner.

  A universe governed by the natural laws of inebriation as opposed to the established order that most cultivators strove to create.

  And, in a particular juncture of wine-river and starlight...

  Chen Yong narrowed his eyes, as he struggled to concentrate on the anomaly existing in his Inner World. A small spark of awareness had formed in one of the wine-oceans of his Inner World - a primitive life form generated from the confluence of spiritual alcohol and celestial forces.

  “Creator...” it whispered.

  "Oh no, no, no," he groaned, as if trying to shoo away the thought with his wine-cup. "Don’t you dare call me that. I'm not ready for that kind of responsibility."

  For decades, he'd intentionally suppressed this breakthrough.

  To advance to the Life Realm meant experiencing tribulation; tribulation meant actual work.

  It was for more convenient for him to simply stay at the peak of the Stellar Realm, drinking his wine and avoiding troublesome responsibilities. However, like an unwanted infant, the spark refused to be ignored.

  The tiny life form had already begun to multiply, its existence reverberating through his inner world like ripples in a cosmic wine cup.

  “Creator…” Each new spark called out.

  The vibrations increased, all of them now singing that damned word.

  "Dammit, here we go..." he muttered as early warnings began to manifest.

  First, a crushing pressure pressed down on every part of his inner world.

  Next, a light appeared.

  It was nothing like the gentle glow of his wine-stars, it was harsh and unforgiving.

  The Tribulation was close.

  This wasn’t going to be simple lightning strikes that some lower realm cultivators experienced.

  This would be a true heavenly trial meant to test his understanding of the Dao of Drunken Immortality.

  Chen Yong frowned as he looked at his unfinished wine.

  Now, he would have to focus; would have to confront whatever the heavens deemed an adequate test for his somewhat unusual cultivation methodology.

  "Should’ve just stayed drunk," he sighed as the first waves of tribulation energies began to materialize in his Inner World. "So much for a quiet night..."

  The elder could only hope that this wouldn’t take too long; he had several excellent, promising vintages that he had planned to taste tonight.

  Assuming he survived, of course. Though dying drunk wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

  Well, at least the boy's visit added a bit of excitement to an otherwise dull evening.

  Almost made up for the fact that he had to endure this breakthrough nonsense. Almost.

  “Alright,” he decided to finish his wine. "Time to wrap this up. I've got a date with a three-hundred-year-old spirit wine that I'd hate to keep waiting."