There Is Wine and There Are Stories

Chapter 33: Wine and Stories

The girl stood up after laughing, then turned and walked out of the church.

When she reached the doorway, she even glanced back and smiled at Sun Hao and the others.

Sun Hao swallowed hard.

Where did Fernandez say churches ranked on the list of places for romantic encounters?

But by the time they stepped out of the church, that woman was long gone.

Just like countless times before, their romantic encounter plan had fallen through again.

"How about we hit a bar tonight?"

Fernandez was the first to suggest it.

They say practice is the only standard for testing The Truth.

Now that they'd practiced so many times without success, they had no choice but to pull out the big guns.

Bars—ranked number one on the list of romantic encounter spots.

"You're underage. You can't get in."

Sun Hao immediately crushed that hope.

Though more than two years had passed and he himself was now of age, Fernandez was only fourteen.

If you weren't old enough, no amount of wishing would change that.

"No, I know where there's an underground bar in Sicily."

But what Sun Hao hadn't expected was that Fernandez had already scouted out an underground bar!

This guy came prepared!

But wait—hadn't Sicily been a last-minute change of plans?

"You in? I paid for that info while you were spacing out."

Fortunately, Fernandez quickly explained himself.

This guy really... never took a break.

Sun Hao nodded.

Just how boring it was for two people who spent all their time together to sit in a café—

They'd already experienced that back in Zaragoza.

If they had to go through it again here in Sicily, they'd probably go crazy.

More importantly, actually scoring a romantic encounter was secondary now. The main thing was the experience.

After all that effort, if they still came up empty, that would be the ultimate failure.

The key was... they'd already been trying for two years.

Sicily had three famous local specialties: lemons, olive oil, and wine.

Sun Hao had already seen the lemons and olive oil when he first arrived.

As for the wine, you could tell from the vineyards you'd spot in the suburbs, and the wineries nearby.

The underground bar Fernandez found was hidden inside a winery that looked completely ordinary.

If you hadn't come specifically looking for it, you'd never guess there was something hidden inside.

The bar was in the basement. Fernandez exchanged the password he'd paid for, and the owner at the door let them in.

As they entered the basement, the first thing that hit them was the metallic music pounding their eardrums.

Looking up, they saw plenty of men and women drinking and having a good time.

At the center of the bar was a stage with a full band.

Even though it was an underground bar, it seemed pretty legitimate.

One special thing—when they reached the counter, they noticed most of the recommendations were wines.

That was a nice local touch.

They ordered two glasses of white wine and found a seat.

The first thing Sun Hao did after sitting down was drink, but Fernandez had already gotten up to scope out targets.

That guy was really impatient.

Don't say—this white wine really did taste different. A little sweet, a little astringent, with that authentic flavor.

This underground bar was worth the trip.

After drinking for a while, Fernandez still hadn't come back.

Sun Hao leaned back on the sofa. Maybe it was the bar's atmosphere, but images started flashing through his mind.

First came the woman he'd met in the church that afternoon—that tempting pose, that stunning glance, and the way she'd turned her head to look back.

That really was a beautiful Italian woman!

But slowly, that image was replaced by Jocelyn's face.

Her smile like a flower after putting on makeup, the deep kiss outside the hotel, and those words.

When Fernandez told him to go to America to find Jocelyn, he refused.

He had to refuse, because that wasn't his style.

But after drinking, Sun Hao realized.

Even though more than two years had passed, he still hadn't let go in his heart.

That was the first relationship he'd ever had in his 28-year career from his past life plus the three years of this life—31 years total.

It was a bit embarrassing to say, but it was his first love!

Even if it only lasted three days.

"Sun! Sun!"

Fernandez's shout pulled Sun Hao back to reality.

Sun Hao shook his head and noticed that Fernandez had returned, and he'd brought two women with him.

"You?"

When he focused his eyes, his face was full of disbelief.

Because one of the two women was the one he'd met in the church that morning!

Long legs, a floral skirt, a slender waist, a silver short-sleeve top, a devilish figure, slightly wavy long hair, and that face.

That morning, because the church was dimly lit, he could only see a rough outline.

Now in the bar, a wave of mature allure hit him head-on.

If Jocelyn was an apple with a hint of red in its green, then the woman before him was one that was fully ripe, ready to drop at the slightest touch.

And with her high nose bridge and full lips, she was full of Italian charm.

"It's you."

The woman replied with a smile.

Their eyes met, and both their gazes held something called fate.

Sun Hao smiled and nodded.

First Jocelyn, then this woman.

He suddenly felt that after his transmigration, his luck with women seemed to have improved.

"Angela."

"Sun."

The woman extended her hand first, and Sun Hao stood up to shake it, introducing himself.

Her skin was very smooth.

Meeting in a bar, everyone was a stranger, and getting to know each other required a certain spark.

Either locking eyes, having high enough looks, or casually flashing some wealth.

Sun Hao and Angela had already met in the church, so all that was skipped.

And soon, they were chatting together.

Angela was a local from Sicily, Sun Hao was a tourist, so there was no shortage of topics.

Like the differences between Sicilian puppet shows and Chinese puppet shows.

Like how this was once the birthplace of the Mafia, and the stories that circulated.

Like the changes Archimedes brought to this island city after he became famous.

And as the alcohol went down, the topics started to deepen.

Like Angela's age.

Like Angela's skin.

Italian women have healthy skin; many Victoria's Secret models from here practically glow on stage.

This kind of skin isn't natural for them.

Basking in the sun every day, then bathing and moisturizing—that's their secret.

And the moisturizers they use aren't those so-called skincare products mixed with various natural ingredients.

They use ancestral secrets, the kind that grandmothers and mothers nag about tirelessly.

Olive oil, or lemon.

Olive oil is called "the gold of the gods" in Italy.

Because it contains anti-aging vitamin E and moisturizing squalene, it is wildly loved by women in Italy.

As they chatted, Angela gave Sun Hao a live demonstration on the spot.

She took a bottle of olive oil from her bag and poured it onto her hand.

Then, right in front of Sun Hao, she evenly applied it to every inch of exposed skin.

From top to bottom, from left to right.

Sun Hao felt the wine's aftereffects kicking in, making him a bit dizzy.

At some point, their seating arrangement had changed, and Angela was now sitting right beside Sun Hao.

The topics of their conversation grew deeper.

Angela seemed to have had too much to drink as well, and began sharing her own experiences.

She lived here—or rather, she had married into this place.

Her husband was the son of a vineyard owner here.

Like many ordinary people, they met and fell in love in college, then got married.

But not long after their wedding, a tragic story arrived.

In 1990, she—or rather, he—was 22 years old.

That year, the Gulf War broke out. Western nations formed a non-binding anti-Iraq coalition, consisting of over forty countries.

Italy was one of them.

Her husband, the man often scolded by his father as a parasite on the estate, volunteered to enlist and threw himself into that war.

The Gulf War ended in a comprehensive and overwhelming victory for the coalition, but one inevitable thing about war is death.

Unfortunately, her husband was one of the numbers reported in the news.

She, newly married, became a widow.

And then she had to endure her often-drunk father-in-law.

"I hate this place, but I can't leave, because this is my husband's home."

By the end, Angela's eyes were rimmed with red, her state pitiful and endearing.

And at some point, Angela had leaned against Sun Hao.

But Sun Hao was feeling a bit dazed.

This damn wine had a much stronger aftereffect than he had imagined.

I suspect your true nature is a book, otherwise why would the more I look at you, the more I want to sleep?

Remember to cast your recommendation tickets, big shots~ (`) Heart.