Personally, Ji'an detested drinking wine.
In her previous life on Earth, she had been a chef whose palate was her most prized asset; drowning it in cheap alcohol was a culinary sin.
In this life, alcohol was even worse, usually infused with random, volatile spiritual herbs that tasted like fermented gym socks and battery acid.
Being forcefully presented with a flagon of warm, unbalanced, arsenic-laced garbage under the guise of a "toast" had deeply offended her professional sensibilities.
She slowly turned around.
The silver flecks in her eyes were not glowing with the manic, drill-instructor fire of the swamp, nor the victorious, unhinged glee of the colosseum.
They were cold, flat, and completely devoid of amusement.
"Go to bed, everyone," Ji'an commanded softly.
Her baritone voice, magically maintained by the dull-looking artifact locket her father had given her, which currently rested securely beneath her clothes, echoed across the courtyard with finality.
