The guests took turns approaching Ryen, inventing increasingly bizarre and convoluted reasons to offer a toast.
While their initial expressions of gratitude were genuine, a secondary, unspoken objective quickly emerged: they wanted to drink the Lord of the World under the table.
Unfortunately for them, Ryen accepted every single cup. He downed over a dozen bottles in rapid succession. His breathing remained perfectly even. The color of his cheeks did not change by a single shade.
The crowd stared, a collective sense of bewilderment washing over them. Even if he were drinking pure spring water, his bladder should have burst by now. Yet, his absolute lack of reaction only fueled their competitive spirit. The frequency of the toasts skyrocketed.
Caught up in the escalating fervor, even the traditionally stoic Zhongli could not resist, raising bottle after bottle to his old friend.
However, as the moon climbed higher and the Lantern Rite fireworks finally painted the sky, reality set in. After hours of relentless consumption, Zhongli and the others were beginning to sway in their seats, their vision blurring at the edges.
Ryen, meanwhile, sat comfortably, smiling as he poured himself yet another cup.
A collective epiphany struck the group. Ryen rarely drank not because his tolerance was low, but simply because he couldn't be bothered.
It made terrifying sense. How could a man whose physical constitution allowed him to casually carry the weight of the entire Teyvat continent be affected by mere alcohol? If they dropped him into a lake of wine and forced him to drink it dry, he likely wouldn't even feel a slight buzz.
Other immensely powerful individuals relied on elemental energy to purge toxins from their systems. Ryen's resistance... was purely physical.
Once this horrifying realization sank in, the toasts abruptly ceased. The guests slumped in their chairs, focusing entirely on suppressing their rising nausea and spinning heads.
Ryen raised a brow, a slow, predatory smile creeping across his face.
So, they realized they couldn't break him and decided to call a truce?
What a joke.
They had spent the better part of the evening trying to drown him in liquor. Did they truly believe they could just walk away now? If he didn't drink every single one of them under the table tonight, it would be an insult to his Steve-level constitution.
As for the risk of alcohol poisoning...
What did they think the Totems of Undying were for? At worst, they had the Resurrection Totems as a backup! This was the absolute pinnacle of drinking culture: drinking until death was literally a viable strategy.
Ryen's gaze swept the courtyard, instantly locking onto Zhongli. The Geo Archon had been the primary instigator of the toasting onslaught. He currently sat near the edge of the plaza, clutching a cup of hot tea in a desperate bid to sober up.
Ryen picked up his wine cup and strolled over, his smile bright and unyielding.
"Zhongli. It is a grand festival. Why are you drinking tea? Have some wine."
Zhongli went completely still. A profound sense of impending doom settled in his chest.
Ryen was launching a counteroffensive.
Zhongli attempted a weak defense. "Allow me a moment of respite. Then, we shall drink."
"Respite? Are you refusing to give me face?" Ryen's smile didn't waver, but his tone brooked no argument.
Zhongli's jaw tightened. He stared at the cup in his hand, then let out a resigned breath. He poured a full glass of wine and drained it.
Over the next thirty minutes, the Five-Nation Alliance received a brutal, firsthand education in the terrifying efficiency of Earth's drinking culture. Ryen didn't even pause to eat. He simply moved from person to person, unleashing a barrage of rapid-fire, flawlessly articulated reasons why they had to drink. Within three sentences, the target was inevitably cornered into downing their glass.
The retaliation was devastating. The lightweights, like Diluc, were the first to collapse entirely. Zhongli and the Adepti managed to hold their ground, but given Ryen's relentless pacing, they had perhaps half an hour left before total capitulation.
Despite the overwhelming intoxication, the atmosphere was incredibly joyous. This was the first time they had gathered purely to celebrate, free from the burdens of war and survival.
Baizhu, in particular, was experiencing the taste of alcohol for the very first time. Previously, maintaining his fragile health required absolute abstinence. Now, completely cured by Ryen's world, he could indulge in the simple, destructive pleasures of a mortal man. He was currently unconscious, his face planted firmly on the table, but a peaceful smile graced his lips.
Ryen turned his crosshairs back to Zhongli. The Geo Archon suppressed a wince. He was out of options. He was already secretly burning Geo energy to stave off the effects, but Ryen clearly intended to keep going until he was face-down on the floor.
"Come, Zhongli!" Ryen cheered, raising his cup. "Wine is the essence of grain! The more you drink, the younger you remain!"
Zhongli stared at him, his amber eyes clouded with a mix of exhaustion and absolute bewilderment. "Where do you learn these bizarre rhymes..."
This was entirely different from Venti's approach. Venti merely slurred, "We are sworn brothers, old man!" Ryen's toasts never repeated, possessed a strange rhythm, and were fundamentally absurd.
"Not a fan of that one? I have plenty more," Ryen chuckled darkly.
Forcing drinks? He had worked within the bureaucracy of his previous world. Combining institutional rhetoric with Earth's aggressive drinking culture against the inhabitants of Teyvat was a dimensional mismatch. It was a slaughter.
Seeing Zhongli's visible reluctance, Ryen narrowed his eyes. It was time to drop the heavy artillery.
His posture straightened, his voice dropping into a resonant, commanding cadence.
"Do you not see the waters of the Yellow River coming down from the sky, surging toward the sea, never to return?"
Zhongli froze, his posture snapping rigid. The surrounding Adepti, previously dozing off, suddenly sat upright, their eyes snapping to Ryen.
Ryen continued, his voice echoing across the quiet courtyard.
"Do you not see the bright mirrors in the high halls mourning white hair, black as silk at dawn, turning to snow by dusk?"
A violent shiver racked Zhongli's spine. Without a single word of protest, he raised his cup and drained it.
"Magnificent!" Zhongli's eyes burned with sudden, intense clarity. He opened his mouth to ask the origin of the verse, but Ryen cut him off, his voice rising in tempo.
"In life, when you find triumph, you must exhaust your joy! Never let the golden goblet face the moon empty!"
Zhongli swallowed hard. He silently poured another full cup. The Adepti around him moved in perfect synchronization, refilling their own glasses and drinking deeply.
"Heaven crafted my talents, they will surely be used! Though a thousand pieces of gold are scattered, they will return again!"
Zhongli remained silent. He drank another cup.
Ryen did not give them a moment to breathe. The verses flowed like an avalanche.
"Boil the sheep, slaughter the ox, let us make merry! For this gathering, we must drink three hundred cups!"
"Master Cen, Scholar Danqiu, bring the wine, let the cups not stop!"
"I will sing a song for you, please incline your ears and listen!"
"Bells, drums, and jade delicacies are not what I prize! I only wish to be forever drunk, and never wake up!"
"Since ancient times, sages and saints have been left in solitude! Only the great drinkers leave their names behind!"
"The Prince of Chen once hosted feasts of peace and joy, trading ten thousand measures of wine for reckless laughter!"
"Why must the host say money is short? Go straight and buy wine, I will drink it with you!"
"Take my dappled horse, take my furs worth a thousand gold! Call the boy to exchange them for fine wine..."
Ryen looked at Zhongli and the Adepti. Their breathing was ragged, their eyes burning with a feverish reverence as they poured and drank continuously. Ryen smiled softly, lifting his own cup.
"...and I will drink away with you the sorrows of ten thousand ages!"
As the final syllable of Qiang Jin Jiu hung in the air, absolute silence reigned for a fraction of a second before Zhongli and the Adepti erupted into thunderous applause.
"Brilliant! 'In life, when you find triumph, you must exhaust your joy!' 'Heaven crafted my talents, they will surely be used!'" Zhongli's voice trembled with raw emotion. "To hear such a masterpiece... it is the greatest fortune of my long life!"
He clapped his hands together, his gaze locked onto Ryen. "With a verse like this demanding a drink, refusing would be an insult to the poetry itself."
Ryen suppressed a smirk. No one could out-drink the Poet Immortal. For scholars and immortals like Zhongli, Li Bai's words were a direct strike to the soul. When Qiang Jin Jiu was recited, you drank.
"Mr. Ryen, I never imagined you possessed such peerless poetic genius," Skybracer said, shaking his massive head in awe. "While we do not know who Master Cen or Scholar Danqiu are, this verse is an eternal masterpiece. Does it have a name?"
Ryen chuckled, shaking his head. "I possess no such talent. In my world, this is the eternal masterpiece of the Poet Immortal, Li Bai. Its name is Qiang Jin Jiu, which translates to 'Bring the Wine'. It was written specifically for occasions such as this."
Zhongli leaned forward, an unprecedented hunger for knowledge in his eyes. "The Poet Immortal? Is he an Adeptus of your world?"
"No. My world has no supernatural elements," Ryen replied, his tone turning reverent. "The title of Poet Immortal was bestowed upon him by time and the billions of descendants who read his work. He was a mortal whose demeanor was closest to that of an exiled god. His masterpieces are innumerable."
"He is the absolute pinnacle that all scholars and poets of subsequent generations strive to reach. His life was brief, yet it shines like a sun across our five-thousand-year history. It is said that 'with a measure of wine and half a poem, he suppresses the world.' In his era, and indeed across all of history, the only man who could stand beside him was his contemporary, the Poet Sage, Du Fu."
"It is often said that encountering Li Bai ruins one for life. His existence is the greatest honor of all poets, and simultaneously, their greatest tragedy."
Zhongli nodded slowly, processing the weight of those words. "With the nature of a mortal, yet the bones of an immortal. His brilliance... I am vastly inferior. He is truly worthy of standing at the apex of all writers across eternity. To be offered wine through Qiang Jin Jiu... I would gladly drink until I collapse tonight."
Ryen smiled. "In my world, there is a legendary group known as the Eight Great Masters of Tang and Song, the ultimate authorities in literature. The Poet Immortal and the Poet Sage stand above them all. And Li Bai once wrote a poem so devastatingly beautiful that it cast a shadow over another legendary writer, the 'Poem Demon,' nearly driving him to madness."
The Adepti leaned in collectively. A poem capable of nearly breaking a man titled the 'Poem Demon'? The suspense clawed at their minds.
Ryen did not drag it out. He turned his gaze toward Ganyu, Ningguang, and his wives. His eyes softened, carrying an immense, quiet warmth.
He spoke slowly, letting each word land heavily.
"The clouds remind me of her garments, the flowers of her face. The spring breeze brushes the balustrade, the dew lies heavy."
"If we are not to meet atop the Jade Mountain, we shall surely encounter one another beneath the moon at the Jasper Terrace."
The words struck with physical force. Even Lisa and Yae Miko, who rarely engaged with classical poetry, felt the verse resonate deep within their bones.
Ningguang, Ganyu, and the others found their vision blurring instantly. Their chopsticks slipped from their fingers, clattering softly against the porcelain dishes. Ryen knew the original poem, Qing Ping Diao, was written to praise the legendary beauty of Consort Yang. Yet, in his heart, Consort Yang's beauty paled before the women sitting beside him. Reciting it for them was the only fitting use.
"This..."
Zhongli's cup slipped from his grasp, shattering against the stone floor. He stared at Ryen, his lips silently mouthing the verses over and over.
"For over six thousand years, Liyue has birthed countless scholars and an ocean of poetry," Zhongli murmured, his voice hoarse. "Yet never has there been a verse depicting a woman's beauty... no, never has there been any poem that can compare to this."
"This is the absolute apex. It transcends the mortal coil. It is not something a human, or even an Adeptus, could conceive."
"The Poet Immortal, Li Bai... The Poet Immortal..." Zhongli sighed, a complex mixture of defeat and absolute reverence on his face. "I am vastly inferior."
Ryen shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Truthfully, Li Bai's free-spirited, unbothered attitude toward life was a major factor in his ascension to the title of Poet Immortal. While his name is immortalized, his actual life was fraught with political failure and exile. It was quite tragic."
Zhongli nodded solemnly. "Still, if he knew in the afterlife that he was crowned the Poet Immortal, he would surely find joy in it."
Ryen pursed his lips. He looked at the moon, then slowly shook his head.
"While I live, let me enjoy my cup of wine. What need have I for fame that lasts a thousand years after I am gone?"
"He never cared."