Chapter Twenty-Five: Nineteen Flavors

After all the commotion, Yang Jiekai and Han Ning had undoubtedly become the center of attention that night, leaving Zhao Jie fuming with rage. Unwilling to give up, he gritted his teeth and instructed his driver to bring up a bottle of his prized limited-edition red wine from the trunk.

So what if the guy could speak a few foreign languages? Tonight, he’d show him what it truly meant to be among the upper class!

“Since all the esteemed elders and Miss Ning are present, I, as the younger generation, have specially brought up a bottle of wine to enliven the evening!” Zhao Jie announced as he eagerly poured wine for everyone. When he reached Yang Jiekai, he asked with a mocking tone, “Judging by your appearance, Mr. Yang, you must be fond of strong spirits. I wonder if you’re used to something as fine as this red wine.”

“Not really,” Yang Jiekai replied honestly. “Compared to red wine, I much prefer strong spirits, the likes of Baijiu or fiery local brews.”

Hearing this, Zhao Jie was delighted. A country bumpkin would always be a country bumpkin, he thought smugly.

“Sorry, but at high-class banquets like this, we don’t serve the kind of stuff country folks drink. I hope you won’t mind, Mr. Yang, and make do with some red wine instead.” Zhao Jie smirked, deliberately filling Yang Jiekai’s glass to the brim, and sneered, “You probably don’t get to drink this kind of fine wine often, Mr. Yang. Tonight, drink to your heart’s content.”

Yang Jiekai frowned, not because of the mockery, but simply because he genuinely didn’t like red wine. Back when he was on missions in the icy wilderness of Siberia, his favorite was the fiery homemade spirits from tiny distilleries—a single gulp would set his insides ablaze, pure comfort.

“Fine, I’ll make do,” Yang Jiekai shrugged, feeling a bit thirsty. He simply took the glass, filled to the brim with wine worth tens of thousands, and downed it in one go.

To him, red wine was hardly alcohol—just a thirst-quenching beverage.

“Another glass!” Yang Jiekai wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still feeling parched.

With a sneer, Zhao Jie poured what was left of the bottle into Yang Jiekai’s glass. Seeing him reveal his country bumpkin nature, Zhao Jie felt a surge of satisfaction. He then introduced the wine to the table, “This wine was bought during my recent trip abroad. It’s a top-tier red from the Bordeaux Lanton Estate in France, crafted by the master vintner Lanche—an incredibly complex process with ninety-six steps. I’ve never had the heart to open it until today, with the presence of all you esteemed elders and Miss Ning.”

He threw a disdainful glance at Yang Jiekai and sighed, “What a pity. Those who appreciate it see it as nectar of the gods. Those who don’t, well, they just treat it like tap water.”

Then, turning to Yang Jiekai in his sarcastic tone, “So, Mr. Yang, how does it taste? Surely better than tap water, isn’t it?”

Han Ning, sitting nearby, frowned imperceptibly. She might not be fond of Yang Jiekai either, but tonight, he was her husband in name. Zhao Jie’s repeated mockery was crossing the line.

Just as Han Ning was about to retort, Yang Jiekai suddenly spoke. “There is a bit of taste to it, certainly better than tap water, but…” He swirled the wine in his glass and looked at Zhao Jie, “But you’ve been duped. This is a fake.”

His words shocked everyone. Before anyone could react, he continued, “Yes, this wine is from a Bordeaux estate in France, but not from the Lanton Estate. And certainly not crafted by Lanche. At best, it’s from a small winery near Bordeaux, simply branded as Lanton.”

“Nonsense!” Zhao Jie’s eyebrows shot up in anger. “What proof do you have that this wine is fake?”

Yang Jiekai glanced at him and sighed. If Zhao Jie knew the relationship between himself and Lanche, the master vintner of Lanton Estate, his jaw would hit the floor. That old fellow, back when he needed Yang Jiekai’s help, was always running after him. And those top-tier wines Lanche made that never entered the market? Yang Jiekai had drunk them like water. He was intimately familiar with Lanche’s wine. Just one sip told him Zhao Jie had been swindled.

Unhurried, Yang Jiekai set his glass down and explained, “Lanche’s most distinctive feature is how he handles the grapes. Before making the wine, he likes to sun-dry the premium grapes until they’re slightly shriveled, then gently hand-massages them, letting the juice drip into oak barrels.”

“The wine he produces is known for its rich, lingering taste. And depending on how you drink it, you’ll taste different flavors. Glide your tongue flat across the wine, you’ll get a tinge of bitterness on both sides; curl your tongue, you’ll find a sweet and sour note. Through different ways of tasting, a single glass of Lanche’s wine can reveal nineteen distinct flavors.”

He paused, then looked around and fixed his eyes on Zhao Jie with a playful smile. “Your bottle, though decent, is worlds away from being called ‘top-tier.’ At best, you can distinguish three flavors. So, it’s definitely a fake.”

Zhao Jie’s face flushed in anger. “What proof do you have? How do we know you’re not making this up?”

“I can vouch for that!” an elder from the business world suddenly spoke up. “I’ve heard of Lanche, the master vintner of Bordeaux’s Lanton Estate. I can confirm Mr. Yang’s words. Wines made by Lanche truly can reveal nineteen different flavors.”

He sipped from his glass, tasted carefully, and declared, “Indeed, this wine only reveals three flavors. It can’t be Lanche’s work.”

Zhao Jie was dumbfounded, wishing he could crawl under the table. He made a lame excuse about possibly grabbing the wrong bottle, then hurriedly found an excuse to slip away to the restroom.

Han Ning, meanwhile, found herself viewing Yang Jiekai in a new light. It was one thing to memorize “I love you” in dozens of languages—anyone with time could do that. But to speak so authoritatively about Lanche’s wines was something else entirely.

She’d tasted Lanton Estate’s wines herself and merely found them delicious, but everything Yang Jiekai had just described was completely new to her.

Who exactly was this man?

As Han Ning was lost in thought, she suddenly felt a gentle nudge at her waist. Glancing over, she saw Yang Jiekai beaming at her with a smile brighter than sunlight.

Only then did she realize she had been staring at him. Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she quickly turned the conversation toward business projects with the other industry elders.

Having eaten and drunk his fill, Yang Jiekai found the business talk completely uninteresting. Bored, he let his gaze wander, wishing the dull banquet would end soon so he could go home and watch TV dramas.

As he was dozing off, someone walked past him. Yang Jiekai glanced up and instantly felt a jolt of surprise.

Unbelievable—what luck!

His mind raced through a series of memories, and as he watched the man return to a nearby table, he was certain: this was a fugitive wanted for a serious assault case from over a decade ago!

Yang Jiekai’s memory was extraordinary, and he browsed the Ministry of Public Security’s wanted database almost daily, so he remembered many profiles by heart. It was how he’d made a living for quite a while.

The man had committed his crime ten years ago, and though now middle-aged and overweight, with his appearance changed considerably, Yang Jiekai’s keen eye saw through his disguise at a glance. He decided he’d make his move after the banquet—there was a fifty-thousand reward for this one, an easy windfall.

He wasn’t worried about the man escaping. No one he’d ever marked had managed to get away. In his mercenary days, his nickname had been “Night Owl.” If he set his sights on someone, it was as good as a death warrant. He might have left that world, but his tracking skills remained undiminished.

Just then, the host’s voice rang out from the stage. “Honored guests, tonight is a special—”

He was cut off as Zhao Jie strode over, snatched the microphone, and announced, “Distinguished business leaders, since we are all gathered here by fate, I’d like to play a piece for you all. And at the same time…”

He paused, turning his gaze to Han Ning. “At the same time, I wish to dedicate this piece to the person I care about most—Miss Han Ning.”

His words drew a chorus of playful whistles from the audience. Han Ning’s brows furrowed; she nearly lost her patience with Zhao Jie.

While her marriage to Yang Jiekai was contractual, no one else knew that. Under these circumstances, Zhao Jie’s previous actions had been barely tolerable, but to publicly declare his feelings for a married woman was too much.

Still, the guests tonight were all powerful and wealthy, and Han Ning was just starting anew, so she couldn’t make a scene. Subconsciously, she glanced at Yang Jiekai beside her, only to see him propping his chin with one hand, dozing off. Irritation flared within her, and she took it out on the oblivious Yang Jiekai.

“Wake up! How can you be sleeping at a time like this?”

She stomped on his foot under the table. Yang Jiekai winced in pain and shamelessly replied, “Naturally, after eating and drinking, it’s time for a nap!”

With that, he continued his slumber, this time laying his head on the table and snoring away.

As a scion of a wealthy family, Zhao Jie had been trained in all the refined arts since childhood, and his piano playing was indeed impressive, drawing applause throughout.

He played three pieces in a row, earning constant praise. When he finished, he walked over to Han Ning, raised his glass, and said emotionally, “Ning, this toast is for you. You may not know, but I…”

Before he could finish, Yang Jiekai suddenly woke up, bleary-eyed, snatched the glass from Zhao Jie’s hand and downed it, grumbling, “Who the hell was playing the piano just now? What an earsore, kept me from sleeping!”