Tang Xiadan immediately looked away as though it hadn't been him staring at Yang Qing like he was a would-be assassin sent after him. As for Yang Qing, it was as though he hadn't noticed the change in Tang Xiadan's eyes at all. That little exchange, from Yang Qing adjusting his guesses to Tang Xiadan eyeing his gourd before shifting his attention to Yang Qing, took no more than the time it took Yang Qing to finish his toast and drink his wine.
Cloaked in an easy-going manner, Yang Qing calmly took a sip. He'd drunk it a couple of times now, and yet no matter how many times he had it, the experience was like reliving it fresh every single time. The taste was beyond extraordinary, to say nothing of all the other inexplicable, otherworldly effects it carried.
