Winter.

Prosperity…

Sitting underneath an elderly tree, An Fong Wo had an expression denoted as woozy at best—his eyes were lidded beneath his bushy white eyebrows and long, shaggy white ponytail. He had just come off from his shift as a bouncer.

A bottle of jiǔ next to the mesomorphic auburn liger’s side, one could barely even tell if he was awake. Yet, despite the biting cold of the climate, he only wore a black tank top and golden slacks, being barefoot and furred, his mouth agape a bit and face blushing fading reds.

「哦，小龍，唔該你做我第八個奇蹟！」

An’s words were clearly befuddled, but his tone itself from the Cantonese tune he learned from his mother contrasted.

Was this carouser truthfully a master of the Drunken Fist?

“Oh… little dragon, please be… my eighth wonder…! Haha!!” An lazily mumbled again, this time in English, slumping over to the side of the tree and blindly reaching for his bottle again with a wavy, conditioned hand.

Mmm… mmm-hmm.

An Fong Wo lackadaisically grumbled under his breath, his amber eyes closing slowly as he leaned against the tree, his digits finally wrapping around the bottle and gripping it. Bringing the bottle up from the grass, he brought its rim to his mouth with a smile, taking a deep, deep drink before setting it down again and hiccupping loudly.

The shūuung of the bottle’s rim left the liger’s mouth.

Even though An had a massive build, he looked no scarier than some oversized fuzzy cat. His mother’s erhu replayed over and over in his mental scapes to comfort him, his heart feeling just as warm and fuzzy as his face, before he sat up and moved past his stupor to assume a stance!

…A stance…?

It… um… was definitely a “stance”… but he looked like he was about to fall over himself any second now, even though he actually had flawless equilibrium!