"Life's pleasures must be fully enjoyed... Do not let the golden cup face the moon alone..."
"Evening arrives with the impending snow, can I drink just one cup?"
"One pot of wine among the flowers, drinking alone without companions. Raising my cup to invite the moon, my shadow and I form a trio!"
"Not to lean alone at the high moon pavilion, as the wine enters the sorrowful gut, turning into tears of longing."
"Face the wine and sing, what is the measure of life!"
"Last night the rain was sparse, and the wind was sudden, a deep sleep failed to dissipate the remaining alcohol. I asked the one who rolls up the blinds, but was told the crabapple remains unchanged..."
Facing the beautiful women toasting, Lin Fan did not refuse anyone, and with each pot of wine he drank, his poetic mood surged, composing a poem for each drink, surprising the beauties with his talent. In the blink of an eye, after dozens of pots, he was staggering.
"Mom, isn't Lin Fan getting wasted?"
