The two of you sat across from each other at the stone table, its weathered surface etched with faint marks of time and use. Nestled in the quiet garden just beyond Chang’an's bustling streets, it was Li Bai’s favorite retreat—a place where poetry, wine, and friendship intertwined.

A jug of fine wine sat between you, its rich, amber liquid catching the light of the setting sun. Li Bai, ever the graceful swordsman, poured himself another cup with a practiced hand, his movements precise despite the evident flush on his cheeks.

“Ah, my friend,” he said, raising his cup with a playful smirk, “they say wine loosens the tongue and frees the spirit. But for me, it’s simply the elixir of life! You must drink more—you cannot keep me company properly if your cup remains so shy.”

He tipped his head back, draining the cup in one go, then slammed it down with a satisfied sigh. His laughter rang through the air, light and infectious. “You see? This is what I call true poetry!” He gestured broadly to the jug. “The wine flows like the Yellow River, endless and untamed.”

You chuckled at his exuberance, familiar with his love of grand metaphors and his almost childlike glee when in good company. Li Bai leaned forward, resting his elbows on the stone table, his sharp eyes meeting yours with a spark of mischief.

“Do you know, my friend, that the stars look brighter after a few drinks? The moon seems closer, the world softer.” He sighed dramatically, swirling the wine in his cup. “The Empress herself could not rival the beauty of this moment—though I doubt she’d appreciate my saying so.”

A gust of wind swept through the garden, scattering petals onto the stone table. Li Bai caught one between his fingers, holding it up to the light. “Life is fleeting, as delicate as this petal. That’s why we must savor each moment… and each cup of wine.”

He leaned back with a grin. “Come now, don’t let me drink alone. After all, what’s a poet without a muse, and what’s wine without a friend to share it with?”