The winery doors boomed open, kicking up clouds of dust, and Li Qingwu coughed so hard he nearly doubled over.
He stepped inside, surveyed the equipment, and listened to the clang of metal and the hollow echo under the ceiling.
Winemaking, for the most part, wasn't a complicated business. The key here was the number of fermentation tanks. Everything else was secondary.
Reno led him deeper into the winery, towards the center, where a massive cylindrical tank stood. He tapped its side with his fingertip.
"Look," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "Food-grade stainless steel, holds 500 liters of liquor in one go. Wall thickness – 30 mm. A sturdy piece, will last ten thousand years."
"This beauty, by the way, was dug up and cast for me personally by Antonius the Tech-Priest. See, there's even the steel seal of the Cult Mechanicus here."
He brushed away a layer of gray dust – and underneath it, the familiar skull and gears symbol emerged.
Li Qingwu squinted. So, Reno built this factory himself? No wonder it went under not for economic reasons.
He shook his head, dismissing the absurd thought, and focused on inspecting the premises.
Each of the ten stainless steel tanks held 500 liters of liquor, meaning a total volume of 5000 liters. The capacity was clearly sufficient.
There was still plenty of free space in the workshop – in the future, more fermentation tanks could be added, increasing productivity.
The processing department – two heating boilers, a filtration system, a large distiller, and dozens of other units. Everything needed was already here.
In the far corner of the winery, Li Qingwu noticed a spacious niche with a blue tile mosaic forming a deep pool.
He poked it with his finger:
"And what's this for?"
Reno glanced at the pool and grinned:
"Oh, this is for the feet, or rather – for the grapes that are crushed by feet."
"If you can get a few lovely maidens to crush the grapes with their delicate feet..." he paused, "...the resulting wine will fetch a price in the Upper Hive that you wouldn't dare even think of!"
Li Qingwu recoiled as if struck, throwing his head back in comical horror.
"Me? What kind of count in the Upper Hive can tell by taste whose feet crushed the grapes? I'll jump in myself – and no one will notice the difference!"
Reno burst into laughter, the sound echoing under the metal dome.
"True, you won't tell the difference by taste," he said, "but it works on brand effect."
"In the Upper Hive, aristocrats have tried everything imaginable. They want food with added value, otherwise, it's not interesting."
"Gather noble maidens, pure in body and spirit, let them harvest the grapes themselves. Film them – and there's your legend!"
He clapped Li Qingwu on the shoulder, looking at him seriously:
"From a bottle that costs a thousand, you'll get wine for ten."
Li Qingwu whistled.
"Are you serious?"
Reno nodded with all determination.
"Absolutely. These Upper Hive lords are suckers for such stories: 'wine created by maiden's feet,' 'pastry warmed by a beauty's breath,' 'liqueur that passed through her body'..."
Li Qingwu sharply interrupted him with a wave of his hand:
"Enough, shut up! I get it now, how disgusting those old gentlemen from the Upper Hive are!"
Reno shrugged.
"It's not about disgust, my friend. Brewing wine isn't difficult. It's harder to create a reputation and value for it. That's what you should think about."
"Come on, I'll show you the wine cellar."
They moved to the adjacent room – a spacious warehouse, lined with wooden shelves and barrels.
Reno clapped his palm on one barrel:
"There are two thousand birch barrels here. Transfer the liquor into them – and you'll get a light woody aroma. This birch note is a favorite of Upper Hive aristocrats."
"Besides, gentlemen love aged drinks. The older – the more expensive, remember."
Li Qingwu snorted:
"My winery is new, where am I supposed to find old wine for you?"
Reno, engrossed in his craft, readily explained:
"Look. There are 2000 barrels in this warehouse. Let's say, in January, you brew 2000 and sell them. Not everything will sell out, right? Leave at least a hundred or two for show."
"In February – another 2000 barrels, again, sell some, keep some." And so on, every month.
"After a year, the first batch will become aged wine. That's the whole secret."
Li Qingwu finally understood: each new batch needed to be held back a little so that over time it would turn into value.
Reno sighed:
"In this business, time is your ally. The longer the aging, the higher the price. Even if you don't sell the wine immediately – let it mature in the warehouse."
"Its value increases every month. Take grape wine, for example: a minimum of three months aging – and it's ready for sale."
"They won't drink fresh wine: the smell of young mash irritates gentlemen. After three months, good wine is sold as table wine – from 500 to 1000 credits."
"A year of aging – already 1000–2000. Two years – over 4000. Three – 7000. And if, say, a hundred years, then such a bottle could buy you a mansion in the Upper Hive."
He looked at Li Qingwu and finished in a quiet tone:
"Winemaking is a way to scoop wealth from the very river of time. The longer you wait, the more your labor becomes valuable."
"But remember: if you hoard too much at the start – you'll break your own financial chain. There should be a reserve, but a reasonable one."
"Develop the brand from day one, so that in a hundred years, your mark is associated with tradition, not with illicit swill."
"Believe me, sell 80–90%, and keep the rest for the future. That's the power of time."
Li Qingwu listened with growing respect. Reno was essentially sharing not just advice, but a piece of his craftsman's heart.
And yet, the thought wouldn't let him go: could their world even last a hundred years? This is Warhammer 40k – a place where war never ceases for a single day.
Investing in the future sounds beautiful, but in this universe, where apocalypse is not a metaphor, such faith in tomorrow seems a dangerous luxury.