Zhao Lang really wanted to tell Jiang Yan the truth.
He had lived seven lifetimes.
In his previous life, he was nearly messed up because he drank too much.
So in this life, he started training his drinking capacity from a young age.
When he was in Chixia Village, he would drink half a jar of Uncle Zhao's homemade wine every day.
The handmade wine was much stronger than the ones sold on the market.
Even if he drank half a barrel, nothing would happen.
Let alone these foreign wines.
Finally, when Jiang Yan finished his eighth bottle, he could no longer hold it in.
With a "crack," the bottle in his hand fell to the ground, and he slumped over the table, clutching his stomach in pain.
Zhao Lang quickly went over to check on him.
"Are you okay?"
He looked at the servant beside him, "Go get the hangover soup and feed it to your young master."
Jiang Yan's stomach hurt, but his mind was still somewhat clear.
Upon hearing this, he felt ashamed.
