Zhou Dagen straightened his spine; he was already over fifty. One only lives once, without the chance to plead for another fiftieth year. He was gifted; even as a child, he had a tongue more sensitive than anyone else’s.
He loved wine, but it was also wine that left him single and alone in his twilight years. At the age of thirty, he had the opportunity to further his studies in the sacred land of wine, France, but it was also then that he was offered a position by a domestic winery who appreciated his talent, hiring him as a wine taster. After weighing the pros and cons, Zhou Dagen chose to stay in Mo City.
Little did he know that the winery offering him an olive branch specialized in creating counterfeit and branded wines. Lacking any choice, he reluctantly turned a blind eye, helping the winery forge various types of wine that came close to the taste and quality of branded ones.
When he turned forty, the fake wine factory was forced to shut down by the government, and his behind-the-scenes counterfeiting was exposed. His peers shunned him, and he forever lost the chance to go abroad to further his studies—no one would appreciate a wine taster with a tarnished reputation.
Pello’s words were nothing special, but they unearthed the past that Zhou Dagen had buried deep in his heart. His footsteps toward the staircase momentarily halted as he sighed, "George Ballantine began brewing his first bottle of Ballantine’s at the age of nineteen, and I am already fifty-three."
"Youth must have its desires, middle age must have its reflections, and old age must have its realizations (I plagiarized this ad from Drunkard Wine because I thought it was well written). Perhaps, you can brew your own ’Ballantine’s’ when you reach one hundred years of age. Success that comes too early isn’t necessarily a good thing," hummed Su Ziceng indifferently, as if in comfort or perhaps wishing luck. Regardless of the intent, such words coming from a woman who had been drinking took on a different meaning.
Drinking should be a shared activity; few people drink alone like Zhou Dagen. Drinking alone often means drinking one’s emotions rather than the wine. When men drink together, they often entertain thoughts of competing in drinking prowess. But when a man drinks with a woman, especially with a woman he admires, the wine can taste distinctly different. The usual restraint between drinking buddies lessens, and spontaneity increases. The gentle words of a woman become the best appetizer for drink.
At this moment, Su Ziceng’s cheeks were flushed with the color of rouge due to the wine, her beauty blossoming like peach blossoms amongst toasting cups. It was a sight even more delightful than any exquisite wine, making even an older man like Zhou Dagen dazed.
Pello said no more, his gaze fixed on the reflection of Su Ziceng’s face in the wine within his glass. He could not have anticipated that today, along with wine tasting, he would also discern the heart of the woman sitting across from him with such clarity.
Su Ziceng once was an ostentatious oil painting, but at some unknown point, she washed away the excessive vibrancy, revealing the delicate beauty typical of Eastern women. Each frown and smile sculpted a uniquely charming style.
"Hahaha," Zhou Dagen burst into laughter, realizing that he couldn’t even compare to a young girl. The fleeting years passed easily and should leave just as relaxedly. Zhou Dagen, alone and unaccompanied, when had he started succumbing to the deceptive allure of numbers like forty and fifty? After one drinks too much with no place to vent, it turns into muddled old tears falling from the corners of the eyes: "Well said—a fitting ’Ballantine’s.’ It looks like it’s time for me to come out of retirement."
Su Ziceng was suddenly speechless, exchanging a glance with Sister Mu, unable to believe that Zhou Dagen, who they failed to persuade even with endless coaxing and pestering, had surrendered over the course of a meal.
After the meal, Sister Mu left some space for Su Ziceng and Pello. After the leftovers were cleared from the table, Su Ziceng formally thanked Pello. Without his efforts and the wine he offered, Zhou Dagen might not have agreed so readily today.
"No need to thank me; just accompany me for a drink when I need it in the future," Pello said with a smile, shaking his head and making such a peculiar request for gratitude. Most of the time, he was as gentle and polite as he was during his time at Kelly Women’s College, and his usual demands were reasonable. But today, his smile was particularly intriguing.
"Agreed," Su Ziceng replied disingenuously, as the day had completely darkened, as if overlaying a pitch-black night curtain within the room. She didn’t know what to say at that moment and could only mechanically wipe the table over and over again until the silhouette of the man standing beside her disappeared from the bright surface.
When she returned home, the living room had been tidied up again. Su Ziceng glanced at Chang Mei’s room. After the confrontation earlier that day, Chang Mei surprisingly did not complain to Su Qingzhang. Today’s events had gone too smoothly. Never mind that, now that they had secured a qualified appraiser, the next step was to straighten out the Wine Shop. She would go tomorrow to sign the wine shop transfer contract and then find a way to coax Shang Yin into forking over some more good wines.