Old Wu's brewery was nothing more than a humble two-story wooden building.
In front of the door, a few stoves were arranged using green bricks and yellow mud, and there was also a shed to shelter from the wind and rain, with some unburned firewood piled up at the side.
On normal mornings, the stove fire would be blazing, and the fragrance of alcohol would waft in the air. That familiar old man would have already opened the door, hunched over, carrying tables and chairs out of the house; those who arrived early would already be seated.
Old Wu had not set up his stall yesterday. Regular customers didn't think much of it, as the snow had been falling heavily recently, and it was bitterly cold and freezing. Early in the morning, most people really couldn't endure it. After all, he was old and taking a day off seemed normal.
