Ruth understood the gravity of the situation.
"If she has asthma, should I call an ambulance?"
"She'll be fine." Serena saw that Wendy had thrown up most of the alcohol.
Serena's expression softened slightly as she shoved Ruth hard.
The other band members pulled their jackets over their heads and followed Ruth back to the private room.
Only Serena and Wendy remained at the booth.
Wendy raised her head, coughing a couple of times, and suddenly let out a laugh. "Aren't you afraid I'll use your friend to get myself killed and frame you for it?"
"You're far too afraid of dying to make it that easy," Serena replied coldly.
She walked over, looked at Wendy's disheveled appearance, and calmly tidied her own soaked hair.
"Besides, this isn't the first time someone's tried to force drinks down your throat. Ruth was drunk and didn't even hold your mouth shut. You barely drank anything. You were just coughing from the smell of alcohol."
Wendy's eyes widened slightly. "You still remember."
"Of course I remember. In that village, having asthma meant being seen as worthless. You survived there until I came to sponsor you—how could you have been worthless..."
Serena looked down at her. She recalled a typhoon day in that village, when Wendy had no one to rely on.
The village chief had arranged for her to stay with a neighboring family for a few days.
Outside, the wind howled and brought down the chicken coop next door, killing several fat hens.
The family blamed Wendy's presence for the disaster.
The next morning, after the storm had quieted, two women forced Wendy's head into a basin of water.
"Why wasn't it you who died? Without those hens laying eggs, how is my grandson supposed to get the nutrients he needs!"
"You bring misfortune! You're just a useless child raised in the countryside! Why would the village chief make us feed you and care for you? You should've died already!"
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