In front of the county magistrate's mansion, there was a mad monk who sometimes cried and sometimes laughed. Even an elderly lady wobbly walking down the street looked like a flirtatious beauty to him, and even the dogs on the street seemed to become more charming.
The monk cried and cursed at times, "You disrespectful youngsters, putting something in my drink to fool me, the monk. This is pure waste of good wine. What a pity for the hundred-year-old liquor in my gourd. This wine was meant to ease sorrow, but now it's the monk's bitter water..."
And then he laughed and cursed, saying, "People have enemies; the monk also has enemies. This is the retribution destined for me. I can't hide from it, so this wine, the monk still has to drink."
Clearly, there was something wrong with the wine, but the mad monk still picked up the gourd at his waist and took a swig without a care.