Night falls, Drunken Flower Tower.
Outside, the icy wind howls and snow flies, while inside the tower it is as warm as spring, and the atmosphere is lively.
Seated comfortably on a soft wolf-skin rug, Yang Lang rubs the beauty in his arms with his left hand, and raises his cup high with his right, laughing loudly: "Brothers, tonight we won't return until we're drunk!"
"We won't return until we're drunk!"
The men in the tower responded with a roar, pushing the atmosphere to a climax.
Beside each man sat a lightly dressed concubine, whispering sweetly, their warm bodies and fragrance filling the air with the aroma of alcohol and cosmetics.
"Big brother."
One of the men leaned over, picked up the wine pot, and attentively filled Yang Lang's cup, laughing: "You've spent so much today, we really followed the right big brother!"
Yang Lang laughed heartily, leaning contentedly back into the arms of another concubine.
