Grandpa Vremya poured the liquid contents of a metal urn into a glass bottle. The wine was done. It had taken him all night even with the knowledge of a god because of his inexperience. However, if any other winemaker had witnessed his skills, their minds would’ve been blown. By using spiritual energy, he was able to accelerate the growth of yeast and manipulate the age of the wine similar to how he fed the cells within his body during introspection. Luckily, the room he was in had lots of privacy. As a member of the strongest sect on the continent and a friend of the first princess of the empire, he was given quite a luxurious lodging inside of the palace.

A knocking sound echoed through the room, and Grandpa Vremya closed the glass bottle with a cork. He placed the bottle into his robes and opened the door. Azalea was standing outside of his room, and the first thing she did when the door opened was peek her head to the side, trying to see past Grandpa Vremya’s body. “Is it done?” she asked. “It doesn’t smell like you did anything.”

How could Grandpa Vremya make an amateur mistake like letting the aroma escape from his wine? Obviously, the room wouldn’t smell like anything. “It’s ready,” he said and tapped his robe. There was a clinking sound. “Is it time for the competition to begin?”

“It is,” Azalea said and fixed her posture. “Follow me.” This time, she wasn’t going to lead Grandpa Vremya along by his arm. If she did that, her parents would get funny ideas about her relationship with him, not to mention the maids and butlers had mouths larger than whales’. If there were even any hints of her romantic life put on display inside the palace, the whole city would know about it within three days.

Grandpa Vremya followed after the first princess, ignoring the occasional gaze that came his way from the curious servants. He reviewed the wine-making process in his head, making sure he hadn’t left anything out. Although it didn’t seem that important, the wine-brewing competition was critical in his plan of becoming a godly avatar. The Frostwind Empire’s artifact set included armor for the whole body, a short spear, a shield, and an interspacial necklace. Obtaining those items legitimately without sowing bad karma while starting from nothing was quite difficult. If he didn’t win the wine-brewing competition, he’d have to go through three missions within the sect to obtain an interspacial accessory. Although the missions wouldn’t be difficult, they would be time-consuming, forcing him stay in one location for years at a time. It wasn’t bad to stay in one place while one was still at the qi-condensation stage, but as cultivators’ strengths increased, the energy required to become stronger grew exponentially. Even with his absurd aptitude, he’d eventually fall behind the curve, unable to keep up with the required spiritual energy without external resources.

The wine-brewing competition ground wasn’t too far away from the palace. It was being hosted at the main plaza, just a few blocks away from the palace’s main gates. Since it wasn’t a blood-pumping event like a martial tournament, there weren’t that many viewers. Only restaurant owners and merchants were interested in the results. However, even though there weren’t any viewers, there were a lot of competitors. They outnumbered the audience two to one. Grandpa Vremya, with the help of Azalea, received a number and found his spot in the competitors’ seating area. As for Azalea, she went to the top of the stage and took a seat at the judges’ table. Beside her, there were five other people, and from the clothes they wore, Grandpa Vremya could tell they were all a part of the royal family.

“When I beat you, you’ll remember my name.”

Grandpa Vremya turned his head. The handsome guard from yesterday was sitting beside him. Since the seating was arranged in the order in which the competitors signed up, the guard must’ve joined the competition just the other day when he heard Grandpa Vremya was taking part. With a snort, Grandpa Vremya turned his head away and closed his eyes. How could someone who had joined at the last minute possibly defeat him, the person who joined at the even more last minute? What was the person’s deal, anyway? Did he have an obsession with having people know his name? Did he introduce himself to everyone on the streets?

Grandpa Vremya threw away the useless thoughts and performed introspection. Creating the wine had set his cultivation back by a day, but the rewards for winning would more than make up for it. Other than that, there were no other side effects. The outline of his first formation pillar was showing hints of taking shape. Generally, cultivators created a circle of eight pillars and placed a flattened and widened pillar on top of them, creating a platform. Once a golden core was created on the platform, they’d enter the golden-core stage. However, Grandpa Vremya was taking a different route. The most important aspect of gravity was sheer size. He was going to create nine large platforms and stack them on top of each other. Ideally, each platform would be as wide as the black hole engraved on the bottom of his spiritual lake, but depending on his luck in the future, it was possible he’d have to change the shape from a pillar to a cone.

Numbers were called and competitors went up, presenting the wine they had brewed to the judges. They would take a sip, and if the wine was good, they’d drink some more. As cultivators, they didn’t have to worry about becoming intoxicated, but there were a few drinks strong enough to force them to keep their qi under control. Those drinks scored higher, but no drinks had received an evaluation higher than a seven. Grandpa Vremya was oblivious to the commotion around him due to his cultivation. To him, wasting time was equivalent to sinning. As the avatar of the god of time, he understood just how precious time was. After an unknown amount of time had passed, a voice interrupted his concentration.

“Vremya! It’s your turn!”

Grandpa Vremya opened his eyes. Azalea was standing in front of him, and to the side, the handsome guard was looking on with flames in his eyes. Since when did the first princess have to personally fetch a contestant? Of course, Grandpa Vremya ignored his surroundings as he climbed to his feet. He took the glass bottle out of his robe as he walked up the stage. Azalea glared at him before seating herself with the other judges, and one of the female judges chuckled and stared at Azalea with a knowing expression.

The first judge, the emperor, cleared his throat. “What kind of wine did you brew?”

Grandpa Vremya placed the bottle down on the table and took a step back. Azalea’s expression darkened. All the other contestants had poured the wine for the judges, so why couldn’t he do the same? A sigh almost escaped from Azalea’s mouth as she grabbed and uncorked the bottle. At least Grandpa Vremya was consistently arrogant; no one could say his character changed like the wind.

Grandpa Vremya stood with his back straight, his arms behind his back, his right hand clasping his left wrist. “This wine is called … Vremya’s wine.”

The emperor raised an eyebrow, and he raised the glass of wine that his daughter had poured for him. He swirled the liquid with a small motion of his wrist and took in a sniff. To his surprise, it didn’t smell like anything. Could it really be called wine if it didn’t smell? A frown appeared on his face, and he brought the glass to his lips. A surprisingly heavy taste spread over his tongue as if he had drunk a mouthful of tar instead of a sip of wine. He was about to say something, but his eyes glazed over as his vision faded. The light whispers around him disappeared as his ears stopped working. The glass in his hand became weightless as his sense of touch disappeared. It was as if a heavy darkness had enveloped him, and he sensed his thoughts disappearing at a rapid rate as well. Before he could think to stop the strange sensation, emptiness washed over him; it was accompanied by a feeling of warmth and comfort as if he had returned to a time before he had been born.

A moment later, light, noise, and tingling sensations assaulted him all at once, nearly causing him to drop the glass of wine in his hand. He swallowed the liquid in his mouth and gasped. The five other judges beside him gasped at the same time, and they all exchanged glances with one another. Traces of doubt and hints of fear could be seen in their eyes, and soon, all of their gazes concentrated on one person, Grandpa Vremya.

“You’re not going to drink the rest?” Grandpa Vremya asked, unfazed by the royal family’s expressions. “It’ll be a waste if you don’t.”

Azalea stared at the glass in her hands. Before any of her family members could object, she brought it to her lips and took a gulp. Her eyes glazed over, and she froze. A moment later, she let out another gasp. Then, she took another gulp and gasped again. She behaved as if someone was repeatedly dunking her head underwater, drinking, gasping, drinking, gasping. The crowd watched with strange expressions, and when Azalea finally finished the glass, her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and her torso slumped backwards as if she were dead.

“Oh shit!” someone shouted. “He killed her!”

A furrow appeared on Grandpa Vremya’s brow, and he muttered, “Was that supposed to happen?” Before the emperor could give the order for the guards to arrest him, Azalea shuddered and jumped upright. Spiritual energy surged out of her in waves, and the cultivators in the vicinity instantly recognized what was happening.

“She’s breaking through!”

Grandpa Vremya nodded. Now, that was more like it. For a second, he really thought he did something wrong during the brewing process, but in the end, it just turned out to be a result of creating excellent wine. If a glass of wine didn’t make someone blackout, then could it really be called a good glass of wine?