Reports of a female employee allegedly being assaulted at a drinking party in Hangzhou brought back a version of myself from more than a decade ago. Back then, I was one of those young women routinely invited to business dinners.

Seating followed an unwritten rule, with the most powerful person taking the seat of honour, flanked by two young women. Everyone knew what we were there to do: keep the conversation lively, entertain the guests and, above all, keep raising our glasses.

I’ve always been a terrible drinker. Yet under the familiar pressure – “Everyone else is drinking. Why aren’t you?” – I would force down a glass or two. I developed little tricks. Baijiu is clear, so I could sometimes discreetly spit it into a napkin without anyone noticing.

However, that didn’t always work. Once, I was told to drink what they called a “red apple”, or a full glass of red wine. There was nowhere to hide it. I drank it, blacked out later, vomited three or four times and spent the next day with a splitting headache.

What I remember most vividly is not the physical misery. It’s a strange sense of shame. Why could everyone else drink but I couldn’t?

The ability to drink was seen as an important professional skill. The women who could drink without flinching seemed admirable. They knew when to stand, whom to toast and, above all, how to manage the mood of the table. I felt that my own body and personality were holding me back.