Vengeance in a Glass of Wine

The steam in the kitchen, infused with the sweet fragrance of osmanthus, suddenly stunned me. The blue-and-white porcelain plate in my hand nearly slipped to the floor. Isn't this the preparation site for the Woods Hotel's Thanksgiving banquet? Am I not already dead? On this same day last year, it was here as well. Tina Miller, my workmate, also a manager of the Woods Hotel, held a jar of red wine from Country A, saying it was meant to entertain the war veterans. I stopped her, saying the veterans could never tolerate that—it was wine from the nation that had once invaded our country, a painful reminder of their bloodied memories. She, however, ran to find Ray Woods, the president of the Woods Hotel and also my husband, crying and accusing me of deliberate obstruction and ignorance of refined etiquette. Later, she colluded with the social media to slander me as worshiping foreign things and pandering to foreign powers. I was dismissed by the Woods Hotel, subjected to cyberbullying by netizens, and ultimately took my last breath in a hospital bed. "Ms. Tyler." My assistant's voice pulled me back to reality, "Ms. Miller wants to see you." I nodded, set down the plate I was holding, wiped my hands, and walked toward the front hall. Sure enough, Tina stood in front of the bar, holding a deep brown wine jar, the characters of Country A emblazoned on it—precisely the same red wine from last year. "Jessica." Seeing me, Tina forced a feigned smile. "This wine was brought back from Country A by someone I entrusted. The vintage is excellent, the flavor mellow. Using this to entertain the veterans tonight is the only way to maintain the proper standard." I understood her calculation, and my heart suddenly tightened; the pain of a past life pierced my heart like a needle. "That's inappropriate." I tried to keep my voice steady: "Most veterans endured the war painfully; the country of the wine once brought our country great suffering and would only reopen their wounds." Tina's smile froze. "What do you know? This is a fine vintage, a sign of respect for the veterans! Besides, Mr. Woods has already approved it." I stopped arguing with her and turned toward Ray Woods' office. When I pushed the door open, he was sitting at his computer handling documents. Seeing me enter, he frowned and said, "What's the problem?" "Tina wants to serve red wine from Country A, which once invaded our nation, to the veterans. I disagree." I said bluntly. Ray put down the mouse and leaned back in his chair. "It's just a bottle of wine, isn't it? Tina says it's appropriate, so it is. Don't make a fuss over nothing." Looking at his indifferent face, I suddenly found it laughable—in my past life, I was exactly like this, arguing with him over and over, only to be dismissed as unreasonable troublemaking. This time, I won't make the same mistake again. "Ray Woods." I took a document out of my bag and placed it in front of him. "This is the marital property division agreement. I'm transferring the shares under my name, along with half of our jointly owned property, to our daughter Serena." Ray was stunned. He picked up the document and skimmed through it. "What do you mean? You want to divorce me?" "Not a divorce, just preparing in advance." I looked into his eyes. "If something goes wrong tonight, I don't want Serena to get caught up in it." Ray thought I was throwing a tantrum. Impatiently, he signed: "Fine,. I'll sign it for you. Just don't cause any more trouble with Tina." I folded the agreement, slipped it into my bag, and turned to leave the office. The corridor lights were bright, yet my mind felt clear—as if the debts of my past life, I must now collect them, one by one. Tina Miller, Ray Woods, what you owe me, what you owe Serena, don't think you can escape. Back in the kitchen, Tina was still boasting to the staff about that bottle of red wine. I ignored her and picked up my phone to call Serena's homeroom teacher. "Miss Murphy, I might have some urgent matters tonight; please look after Serena for a while." After hanging up the phone, I began preparing the banquet dishes — the pork had to be stewed for a full three hours, the cakes steamed fresh and sliced on the spot; every dish had to do justice to tonight's guests and honor those veterans who shed their blood for the country. At six in the evening, the first group of veterans had already arrived. They wore neat suits, medals pinned to their chests, and clutched walking sticks in their hands. Although their steps were slow, they carried an air of dignity. I stood at the kitchen doorway, watching them enter the banquet hall, my heart tightening — the youngest among these elders was already ninety years old; their hands bore the scars of war, and their eyes concealed countless stories. Tina carried the jar of red wine and smiled warmly as she approached. "Gentlemen, this red wine from Country A is something I specially prepared for you. Its vintage is rare, and the taste exceptional. Please, have a taste." Just as she was about to open the jar, an elderly veteran with graying hair suddenly pressed down on her hand. The veteran's hand was rough, his knuckles prominent, marked by a long scar. "Lady, does this wine come from the country that once invaded ours?" Tina nodded. "Yes. This is authentic red wine produced with traditional craftsmanship from Country A. It is quite rare." The Veteran's face darkened instantly. He jerked his hand away from Tina and shoved it aside. The wine jar smashed onto the floor with a loud clang; deep red wine spread across the ground, pungent with the sharp scent of alcohol. "Do you know how I lost this arm?" The Veteran pointed to his empty left sleeve, his voice shaking. "It was severed by the bayonet of that nation's invaders! You bring this to serve us? Have you forgotten your ancestors, or are you deliberately driving the blade straight into our hearts?" The banquet hall instantly fell silent. The other veterans stood up as well, their faces darkened with displeasure. "This is outrageous! This is an insult to us! Is this how the Woods Hotel treats veterans?" Tina's face turned pale with fright, and tears fell immediately. She ran to Ray's side, gripping his arm. "Ray, I didn't mean to cause trouble. I just thought the wine was good. Please explain it to them." Ray frowned but did not speak up in Tina's defense. He stepped before the veterans and bowed. "Sorry, this was our lack of consideration. I sincerely apologize to all of you." Tina did not expect Ray to say such things; her face grew even paler. "Ray! How can you say that? I'm only doing this for the hotel's sake!" Ray ignored her and continued apologizing to the veterans, but they didn't accept it at all. "Is there any meaning to say sorry? You never respected history! We're leaving! We will never come back to this kind of history-abandoned hotel!" At that moment, footsteps suddenly echoed at the entrance, and a group of men dressed in black suits entered. The man at the forefront was tall and composed. He approached the veterans and bowed respectfully. "Gentlemen, I am George Edwards from the Edwards Hotel. I heard there was an incident here, so I came specially to escort you to the Edwards." "We have prepared the banquet, all according to the tastes of the elders." The veterans exchanged glances, and the anger on their faces somewhat subsided. "John Edwards' grandson?" The one-armed veteran looked at George. "How is your grandfather?" George nodded. "My grandpa is still fairly healthy. He often tells me about the days when he and you fought against the invaders." The veteran smiled and patted George on the shoulder. "Fine, we will follow you." George turned around and looked at me. "Ms. Tyler, I have heard your culinary skills are excellent. Would you be willing to accompany us to the Edwards Hotel and help manage tonight's banquet?" I paused for a moment, then nodded: "I'm willing." Ray looked at me, his eyes filled with surprise; Tina trembled with anger but couldn't utter a single word. I followed George and the veterans out of the Woods Hotel. The evening breeze brushed my cheeks, carrying a slight chill. I glanced back at the Woods Hotel's sign, silently repeating in my heart: Ray, Tina, this is just the beginning.