Chapter 21: The Will to Win

Zoe was not a native of Ménerbes, so securing a market stall there was not as smooth as it had been in Lourmarin. It would take three to five days for a response, and there was no guarantee the application would be approved.

The markets in the Golden Triangle were exceptionally popular; one could not simply join at will. Ronan told Zoe not to feel pressured, suggesting that if it didn't work out, they could keep asking at other villages. They weren't tethered to Ménerbes.

During the days spent waiting for word from the Ménerbes market management office, Ronan continued to forage for truffles in the woods. He would take over thirty dumplings with him each day, eating them with hot water when he got hungry at noon—a life far less bitter than before.

However, the arrival of a cold front brought temperatures down to minus two or three degrees, accompanied by biting winds every day. Digging for truffles required long periods of squatting, and for the past two days, his back and legs had been struggling to cope.

"If only the system had a massage skill, I would learn it without hesitation..." Ronan limped, rubbed his lower back, and squatted down once more.

At 3:30 PM, he stopped his search on time and returned to Lourmarin.

Louis had called him the night before to mention a party, so Ronan drove straight to Louis's doorstep. Before he even stepped inside, he heard unfamiliar voices and laughter drifting from within—sounds that didn't belong to anyone Ronan expected to see there.

Had the group gained new blood?

As soon as he entered Louis’s house, Ronan was hit by a wave of potent alcohol fumes, so thick he felt as though he had stepped into an old tavern rather than a home.

"Did someone spill the wine?" Ronan asked Zoe, who had opened the door for him, with a straight face.

"Something like that." Zoe stepped aside to let him in.

Upon entering the living area, Ronan stopped in surprise. "Theo and Pierre! What are you two doing here?"

Beyond these two unexpected figures, Ronan also saw a stranger. He didn't know the man, but his clothes identified him as a farmer, albeit one dressed more "exquisitely" than Pierre or Theo.

Winter was the season when farmers doused themselves in wine, and with three "drunkard" farmers present... no wonder the air was so heavy with it. As Ronan thought this, he completely forgot that he was something of a drinker himself.

In his usual style, Pierre introduced the stranger to Ronan: "This is Lucas, Theo's older brother. You’d never guess that the brother of Lourmarin’s biggest drunkard would be the wealthiest farmer in the village."

The word "wealthy" was enough to make Ronan drop his guard. He broke into a bright smile and proactively reached out his right hand. "Hello."

Lucas held Ronan’s hand with a half-smile. "Greetings, the most formidable truffle hunter in Lourmarin."

Ronan couldn't help but feel embarrassed.

Do you Provençal people find it impossible to speak without adding a title? What a terrible habit!

...

Ronan usually sat next to Louis, but whether due to the newcomers or a change in seating, Mrs. Leah had arranged for him to sit next to Zoe.

After a day of labor in the forest, Ronan began to wolf down his food the moment he sat. Back when he was starving, he had thought the idea of eating an entire ox was just a "metaphor," but now, it was a reality. He could not only finish an entire Provençal-style feast but also have a few extra glasses of wine with some cheese once he got home.

This was growth!

[Tasting raisin cream bread, happiness increased by 1 point.]
[Tasting herring fillet, happiness increased by 1 point.]
[Tasting creamy oyster soup, happiness increased by 2 points.]
[Tasting ham and mushroom wrap, happiness increased by 1 point.]
[Tasting brown sugar vanilla waffle, happiness increased by 2 points.]
...

Accompanying the constant stream of notifications in his ears was the rhythmic chatter of the party.

"Lucas is the person I admire most in the village. He only needs to work a few months a year to earn what others make in several. By the way, Lucas, which house did you buy recently?" Louis raised his glass to Lucas.

"Another house? Didn't you say you regretted buying that property in Avignon? You called city life 'crap'." Pierre chimed in, looking at Lucas.

Avignon was the capital of the Vaucluse department, where real estate prices were significantly higher than in the Luberon.

Lucas spread his hands, feigning innocence. "I sold the Avignon house and bought an apartment in Marseille."

"My God!" Pierre showed unconcealed disdain. "Marseille is even more chaotic!"

Lucas laughed heartily. "I bought a <i>pointu</i> boat. I’m going to experience life as a boatman this summer."

A standard <i>pointu</i> is a traditional Provençal fishing boat with pointed ends at both the bow and stern. They don't create waves or leave a wake when moving, making them perfect for leisure. Because they have no keel, they don't need a dock—dragging them onto the shore is easier—but the maintenance costs are high. Each one is unique and handcrafted, costing more than a brand-new car.

Ronan slowed his chewing and looked at the "radiant" Lucas in the crowd. The man exuded the scent of "wealth," which explained why everyone was fawning over him. Still, the truffle business was indeed profitable... a fact Ronan knew intimately.

Noticing Ronan’s gaze, Lucas looked back at him. "Did you go truffle hunting today?"

As a veteran truffle hunter, he had keenly smelled the scent of earth on Ronan.

Ronan nodded. "Yes."

"How was the harvest?" Lucas asked, seemingly casual, but many at the table noticed a glint of "competitiveness" in his eyes.

Ronan shrugged lightly. "Not bad."

"Not bad" meant there was a harvest—a significant one! While others might have only felt envy or jealousy, for Lucas, who had won championships but never achieved the corresponding status, a surge of uncontrollable irritation flared up.

"Care to share how you find truffles without the help of a hunting dog? I’ve heard of a few methods, but those are old tricks from people in their sixties or seventies. Have you mastered some new secret?"

Ronan’s smile faded. "Can I choose not to say?"

My "Secret Garden" is meant to be kept private; why would I share my truffle-hunting secrets with you? Have your brains been scrambled by your <i>pointu</i> boat and all this flattery?

The dining room fell into a brief, awkward silence. Everyone had expected Ronan to crack a joke to smooth things over, which would have given Lucas face. Surely, the proud Lucas wouldn't get angry over this?

As the host, Louis was about to intervene, but Lucas spoke first: "Is this kid really from Paris? I thought Parisians were all hypocrites full of excuses. Ronan, are you sure you don't have Provençal blood? Oh, wait, wait—Ronan is of Chinese descent! Hahaha—"

Lucas raised his glass to toast Ronan. "I must have had too much to drink to ask such a stupid question... The first meeting requires a proper toast!"

Ronan put on a warm smile as well. "I hope Louis has enough wine."

The tension in the room dissipated. Thankfully, nothing bad had happened. See? As long as someone is willing to yield, things just pass, don't they?

Wait... the person who yielded was actually Lucas?