The evening clouds were like soldiers standing in formation, row after row, column after column, spreading from one side of the sky to the other.
Once bathed in golden sunlight, they transformed into the most dazzling and radiant sunset glow beneath these heavens.
In such surroundings, Zhang Yang felt he could first down three large cups in succession, to honor the scene before him.
What a pity there was no poetic feeling to it.
A heart as greasy as a fat pig's was unworthy of poetry.
Yet that did not stop him from standing atop the highest mountain peak beneath these heavens, drinking the finest wine, watching the most beautiful sunset, and enjoying himself—he had not come here to complain, much less to drown his sorrows in alcohol.
It was simply because he was relaxed, leisurely, content, comfortable, and pleased with himself—but absolutely not so pleased that he had lost his head.
His little cousin had left, and neither of them had felt any awareness of an earth-shattering parting. They had not even felt the slightest melancholy—that was impossible. It was just like Zhang Yang forgetting to tell Mu Shaoan that he seemed to be able to blood-sacrifice someone one more time, while someone else had never once mentioned the curse-worm in his chest, the one covered in Zhang Yang's heads.
"Splish, splash!"
Clear fine wine poured into the cups, reflecting the sunset in glittering ripples, full of every imaginable charm. This was not a slip of the tongue; the wine really was reflecting an incomparably beautiful figure at the same time. Together with the sunset, it was intoxicating to an almost maddening degree.
This was a fact.
It was also an awkward fact.
Zhang Yang was immensely grateful that his vicious little cousin had already left. Otherwise, at this