Exploring Baijiu: The Strong Spirit That Reveals Character.

A letter on the subject of drinking baijiu.

My dear Little Plum,

You asked, in your last letter, if it is true the men of our city drink something unseemly strong. It is so strong, they say it can make a grown scholar weep into his sleeves.

Yes. It is true. The drink is called baijiu, and despite the name—white liquor—it is neither innocent nor gentle.

I first encountered it properly at a dinner where I had been invited to advise on an old man’s joints. The host was generous, proud of his household, and determined to show respect by filling my cup again and again. I accepted the first ganbei out of courtesy. Out of politeness, I was told to drink it slowly. By the third, I began to suspect that politeness was a trap.

Baijiu does not sip. It announces itself. One moment, it smells faintly of grain. The next moment, it burns like a lecture you did not ask for and cannot escape. It warms the chest, loosens the tongue, and convinces sensible people they are far wiser than they truly are.

I watched a merchant explain trade policy to a teapot. The teapot did not argue, which encouraged him.

Men insist baijiu is strengthening, good for circulation, and excellent for fellowship. This is partly true. It certainly encourages honesty—sometimes far more than is useful. Secrets come loose. Old grudges surface. Songs are sung that should remain buried.

Women, as you might imagine, are expected to drink less or not at all. This suits me well. I learned fast, I could tell them I drink slowly. I have no wish to argue philosophy with furniture.

That said, baijiu has its place. A small cup in winter does warm the bones. A single toast can seal goodwill faster than ten formal bows. And when taken sparingly—sparingly, Little Plum—it can ease stiffness after a long day.

But remember this: baijiu reveals character more than it builds it. Watch how a person behaves after the cup is empty. That is the truest measure.

Smile when offered a drink. Wet your lips and let the men think you have shared their courage. Wisdom, after all, does not require proof.

Write soon and tell me whether Mother has begun rearranging the house again. I worry about the cabinets.

Your sister,
Zhenyan

P.S. If anyone offers you a fourth cup, claim a sudden headache. It is not a lie. It is a prophecy.