'Make wine?' The Yellow Spring Great Sage's words gave Bu Fang a pause. It took him a few moments to recall that before he left for Nether Prison, he promised the Great Saint he would make a jar of fine wine with the Nine-leaf Yellow Spring Grass. If truth be told, he never thought that he would come back to Earth Prison so soon.
He slowly rose to his feet. The huge consumption of the mental force had brought a heavy load to his physical body. He felt sore all over. He exercised his neck, flexed his arms and legs, then turned his eyes to the Yellow Spring Great Sage.
"I can make the wine, but not here. Not in this valley," Bu Fang said.
'Hmm? What does he mean?' The Great Saint squinted at Bu Fang, but he didn't find any sign of flinching.
"You don't have any equipment in this valley, so this is not a suitable place to make wine," Bu Fang said seriously.
Making wine was more than just lip service. It took a variety of techniques and equipment.
