Flip the table and divide the family property! Take his wife and daughter into the mountains and eat

"Bang!"

The huge enamel mug slammed heavily onto the wooden box, making a dull thud.

Vasily wiped the wine stains from the corner of his mouth, his face instantly turning as red as a monkey's bottom.

He exhaled a heavy breath reeking of gasoline, staring defiantly at Zhao Shanhe:

"It's your turn."

"Don't act like a girl."

In the wind and snow, everyone's eyes were focused on Zhao Shanhe.

Jin Wanfu, standing nearby, turned green as he looked at the full tank of 96-degree "water of life".

"Brother Zhao... this is no time for a head-on fight..." Jin Wanfu advised softly.

Zhao Shanhe ignored him.

He slowly picked up the green bottle of "Red Star Erguotou" that Jin Wanfu had brought earlier.

"Sizzle—"

He unscrewed the cap.

But he neither drank it nor poured it into an empty glass.

Under Vasily's questioning gaze, Zhao Shanhe poured the bottle of 65-proof Erguotou directly into the enamel mug that was half-filled with Soviet alcohol.

"Glug, glug."

When the two highly volatile liquids were mixed together, a strange physical reaction occurred instantly, creating a bizarre vortex on the surface of the liquid.

Vasily.

Zhao Shanhe shook the jar in his hand, the liquid hitting the sides of the cup:

"In China, this is called a 'depth charge'."

"Drinking only one type of beverage is no fun."

Zhao Shanhe's lips curled into a cold smile:

"If you're going to drink, then drink a mixed doubles."

Done.

He tilted his head back.

"Glug! Glug!"

The jar of mixed liquor, containing a full seven or eight ounces, was like a fiery dragon, crashing down his throat and into his stomach.

There was no pause.

I finished it in one go.

"ha--!"

Zhao Shanhe put down the jar, his expression unchanged, only his eyes brightened slightly.

He turned the empty cylinder upside down and shook it.

Not a drop of wine was left.

"It's your turn."

Zhao Shanhe picked up a bottle of Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor), poured half a bottle into Vasily's jar without saying a word, and then shoved the jar into Vasily's hand.

Vasily was stunned.

He looked at the murky liquid in his hand, smelled the pungent odor, and his Adam's apple bobbed violently.

He was a drunkard, but he wasn't a fool.

Alcohol mixed with spirits—that stuff is poisonous! It's deadly!

"What's wrong?"

Zhao Shanhe lit a cigarette and looked at him coldly:

"The Soviet heroes, are they afraid?"

"Who's afraid?!"

This spurred Vasily into action, and his characteristic Russian stubbornness kicked in.

He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, picked up the jar, and began to drink.

"Cough cough cough!!"

After taking the first sip, Vasily choked and coughed violently.

The smell, a mixture of koji flavoring and industrial alcohol, was like a saw, tearing back and forth in his throat.

That's too intense!

That's too much!

This is absolutely not something a human should drink!

But seeing Zhao Shanhe's mocking gaze, Vasily stubbornly swallowed the remaining half-jar.

"Bang!"

Vasily threw the jar onto the wooden crate, swayed a couple of times, and quickly grabbed the car door next to him for support.

"good!!"

Zhao Shanhe led the applause.

"Director Vasily has a good capacity for alcohol."

"Come on, round two."

"Pour the wine!"

At Zhao Shanhe's command, Erga Zi, who was already prepared, immediately opened two more bottles.

"Want more?!"

Vasily's tongue was starting to swell, and his eyes were fixed.

"This is nothing."

Zhao Shanhe picked up the newly filled jar, touched it forward, and this time, instead of saying any polite words, raised his voice eight octaves, conveying a sense of solemnity:

"Vasily, that was about our personal relationship."

"This cup..."

Zhao Shanhe raised the jar high, facing the Soviet customs building in the wind and snow, his voice booming:

"For the good health of the great Soviet people!"

"Cheers!!"

After saying that, he tilted his head back again.

"Glug! Glug! Glug!"

Another seven or eight ounces of strong mixed liquor, like swill, were forced down his throat.

Without pausing, without hesitation, and without even frowning.

"Bang!"

The empty jar slammed heavily onto the wooden box, causing the snow on top to fall in a flurry.

Zhao Shanhe wiped his mouth. Apart from his breathing being a little heavier, he remained rooted to the ground in the snow like a javelin, completely still.

"It's your turn."

These three words struck Vasily like a heavy hammer blow to the top of his head.

Vasily looked at the full jar of mixed poison in his hand, his Adam's apple bobbed violently, and he instinctively took a half step back.

That's too intense.

The half-pound he just ate already gave him a stomachache, another half-pound? That would be fatal!

"Zhao... this..."

Vasily was just about to find an excuse to decline.

Zhao Shanhe's face instantly darkened, his icy gaze scraping across Vasily's face like a knife:

"What's wrong?"

"Director Vasily, are you hesitating?"

Zhao Shanhe pointed to the glass of wine, his tone stern, as if he were giving a judgment:

"This is for the health of the Soviet people!"

"You're not drinking... do you want the Soviet people to be unhealthy?"

Or perhaps...

Zhao Shanhe narrowed his eyes, his expression menacing: "You're not patriotic enough? Don't you have the people in your heart?"

This huge label is even more intoxicating than 96% alcohol.

There were so many Soviet soldiers and workers watching all around!

If you don't drink, it's like publicly admitting you're unpatriotic, which is a political mistake!

"No! Nonsense!!"

Vasily was so provoked that he shuddered, and his stubbornness, which had been pushed to the brink, completely erupted.

"For the Soviets!! For the people!!"

Vasily roared to bolster his courage, closed his eyes, grabbed the jar, and started pouring the contents into his mouth.

"Glug... Glug..."

Every bite felt like swallowing razor blades.

The spirit, a blend of two different brewing techniques, churned violently in my stomach, producing a chemical reaction more terrifying than an atomic bomb.

Finally, we finished drinking it.

"Bang!"

The enamel mug fell to the ground.

Vasily was swaying precariously, his face, flushed red and purplish, was covered in sweat, and his eyes were beginning to roll back.

"Good! A seasoned Bolshevik!"

Zhao Shanhe gave him no chance to catch his breath.

"Ergaizi! Fill it up!!"

"Again...again?!"

Upon hearing those two words, Vasily's legs went weak, and he almost knelt on the ground.

"Of course we'll come!"

Zhao Shanhe picked up the third glass of "depth charge" that had just been filled, raised it to the sky again, his expression even more solemn than before:

"The Soviet people have finished drinking, so what about us Chinese people?"

"Our Sino-Soviet friendship will last forever; we cannot favor one over the other!"

Zhao Shanhe slammed the jar towards Wasi, whose face was filled with despair, and roared:

"This toast! To the health of the Chinese people!!"

"Cheers!!!"

After saying that, Zhao Shanhe tilted his head back again.

The way he was drinking it made it seem like he was drinking water, not wine.

"Bang!"

The third empty jar was smashed on the table.

Zhao Shanhe wiped his mouth and looked down at Vasily, who was almost unable to stand:

"Director Vasily, it's your turn."

"For the Chinese people."

Vasily looked at the jar of sloshing liquor as if it were a cup of poison offered by the Grim Reaper.

His stomach was still cramping violently, and the bitter taste of bile filled his mouth.

"No... Zhao... I can't take it anymore..."

Vasily waved his hand, instinctively shrinking back, all traces of his earlier arrogance during the bayonet charge gone, his voice trembling with tears:

"This is really bad... people will die..."

"What's wrong?"

Zhao Shanhe's eyes turned cold, and he took a step forward, exuding an overwhelming sense of oppression.

"You drank so heartily for the Soviet people just now, but now that it's the Chinese people's turn, you won't drink?"

"Are you looking down on the Chinese people?"

Zhao Shanhe's voice was as cold as ice:

"Vasily, this isn't just about a glass of wine. It's about attitude! It's about stance!"

"Do you discriminate against the Chinese people?"

This series of questions was like a series of slaps to Vasily's face.

Discrimination against the Chinese people?

Damaging Sino-Soviet friendship?

If this charge is proven true, he won't be able to keep his job as the foreign trade director anymore; he can just go to Siberia and count trees!

"No! No, no!!"

Vasily was so anxious that he could barely speak. He looked at the glass of wine, then at Zhao Shanhe's emotionless eyes, and his heart was filled with despair.

Drinking it might kill you.

If I don't drink it, I'll definitely die.

"For...for friendship..."

Vasily reached out, his hand trembling, and grabbed the jar of wine.

"For the Chinese people!!"

He let out a desperate cry, closed his eyes, and poured the rest of the wine into his mouth.

however.

Just as the liquor slid down my throat...

The body's self-protection mechanism has finally been activated.

"vomit--!!!"

Vasily's stomach suddenly spasmed, as if he had been punched hard.

He could no longer suppress the overwhelming nausea, and the enamel mug in his hand clattered to the ground.

Immediately afterwards, this 1.9-meter-tall Soviet giant, like a toppled mountain of flesh, suddenly knelt down in the snow, opened his mouth wide, and sprayed wildly into the snow stained black with engine oil!

"Wow--!!"

He even vomited bile.

The pungent smell of alcohol and sourness instantly filled the cold air.

Vasily braced himself on the ground with his hands, his face covered in snot and tears. He looked as if his spine had been removed, slumped in the snowdrift, and gasped for breath.

He lost.

We lost completely.

"I give up..."

Vasily lay on the snow, vomiting and mumbling incoherently:

"Zhao...you're a devil..."

"I give up... I'm completely convinced..."

"From now on, whatever you want... just ask... I'll give it to you! We're friends! Best friends!"

Vasily finished shouting those words incoherently, as if he had exhausted his last bit of strength.

He rolled the back of his eye.

"Thump!"

This 1.9-meter-tall Soviet mountain of flesh fell straight down in the snowdrift, completely unconscious.