Chapter 4: The Visit

Cleaning the house proved to be a far more arduous task than Ronan had anticipated.

From ten-thirty in the morning until three in the afternoon, he had managed to clear only the kitchen and dining area on the ground floor—and that was under the condition that the house was essentially devoid of furniture. It was hard to imagine how long the entire project would take if there were actually any belongings to sort through. Beyond the interior, a weed-choked backyard and a donkey shed he had yet to even open awaited his "cultivation."

"Cross that bridge when I come to it," an optimistic Ronan reasoned. He carried his lunch out to the open space in the backyard, sat on the ground, and took in the breathtaking views of the Luberon. The sky was a brilliant, cloudless azure, and the sun felt warm on his skin. If one ignored the temperature, January in Provence looked no different from May—it truly was a magical land.

Under the vast blue sky, Ronan unwrapped his hearty country bread. He tore off a slice, some of the golden crust flaking away, and the rich, wheaty aroma immediately filled the air. He experimented with combinations of artisanal cherry jam, butter, and caviar. To his surprise, he found that even plain bread with butter boosted his [Happiness] meter—a stark contrast to his life in Paris, where he ate the same thing daily without ever feeling a hint of joy.

[Tasted delicious buttered bread: Happiness +1]
[Tasted delicious butter and cherry jam bread: Happiness +1]
[Tasted delicious caviar bread: Happiness +1]
...

"Mom was right; the elements of food include appearance, aroma, and taste. Clearly, the natural scenery of the Luberon counts toward the 'appearance'." Though no longer hungry, Ronan stubbornly grabbed another slice of bread and smothered it in butter and jam. He decided that until the indoor environment improved, he would make the outdoors his designated dining room.

Eating nothing but bread eventually grew monotonous. Born in Paris to parents who arrived in France after they were married, Ronan possessed a distinctly Chinese palate. He promised himself that once the house and yard were tidy, he would cook for himself—provided he could spare the funds, as the kitchen was currently devoid of even the most basic utensils.

"I’ll have to let Louis and the others taste authentic Chinese cuisine, too," Ronan mused, popping the last piece of bread into his mouth.

Refueled and energized, he tackled the work with renewed vigor. Whether he had mastered a new technique or simply gained confidence in his future here, it took him only an hour to finish the living room. Next, he would face his greatest challenge yet: the storage room, which was currently so cluttered he could barely step inside.

Just as he stepped in, a knock sounded at the front door. He wiggled his way back out, tilting his head in confusion. Was it Louis back to invite him to dinner again? Or perhaps another neighbor coming to say hello? Carl had mentioned that the villagers of Lourmarin were known for their hospitality and would surely visit to welcome the new owner and offer a hand.

He opened the door to find a man and a dog. Neither were familiar, but Ronan assumed this was another friendly neighbor coming to welcome him. The black hound marked its arrival by urinating in the flowerbed by the door.

The stranger wore a faded, worn-out jacket and trousers of indeterminate color—somewhere between black and blue. His hair was a chaotic mess atop his head, and he sported such a thick, unkempt beard that one couldn't even tell where his mouth was. He seemed to sense Ronan’s unspoken judgment, suddenly grinning to reveal a set of teeth that would drive even the most optimistic dentist to despair.

His appearance was enough to make Ronan want to shake his head, but his speech was even more daunting. He was the fastest-talking Provençal native Ronan had ever encountered, his words racing toward the end of his sentences like a hundred-meter sprinter.

"Hello, outsider. My name is Henri, and I’m the best farmer in Lourmarin," Henri said with a slightly chilling smile.

Ronan politely stepped aside, thanking his lucky stars that he had at least cleared the living room. "Hello, Mr. Henri. Please, come in."

The man Louis had mentioned as the one temporarily filling the role of the best farmer in the village was definitely not named Henri. The word "outsider" naturally created a distance between them, and Ronan found himself leaning toward the information Louis had provided.

Henri declined the invitation, gesturing behind him. "When in Provence, one must stay in touch with nature as much as possible. This isn't Paris, where you have to pay just to park a car."

Ronan offered a stiff smile, mentally placing Henri on his list of "villagers to avoid." While others at the party the previous day had made jokes about Paris, they hadn't made him feel uncomfortable—he had even joined in the complaining himself. But surely Parisians didn't approve of parking fees either? Parisians would rather walk two kilometers than pay for a parking spot—it was a matter of principle!

Speaking with the tone of an agricultural scientist, Henri critiqued the "terminally ill" trees in Ronan's backyard and bluntly declared that the flowerbed design was the sloppiest he had ever seen. Finally, as the sun began to set, he revealed the purpose of his visit.

"Just leave it to me, and I’ll turn the front and back yards, along with those eight acres of vineyards, into the best plot in Lourmarin," he said with a wave of his hand, as if he were discussing his own estate.

"Oh, eight acres, is it?" Ronan nodded. As an incompetent homeowner, he hadn't paid attention to the acreage when buying the house, but now he finally knew. In ancient times, without any machinery, a strong man could manage ten acres by hand. This was 1986; with the help of machines, he surely wouldn't be any worse off, would he?

This only strengthened Ronan's resolve to handle it himself. No one was going to squeeze a single penny out of him! Not a chance!

"Sorry, Henri, I don't think I’ll be outsourcing the work on this land," Ronan said, waving his hand to assert who the true owner was.

"You’ve already found a partner?" Henri asked, his expression darkening.

Ronan shook his head. "I don't intend to find a partner. I want to manage it myself."

Henri let out a roar of laughter, as if he had just heard the greatest joke in the world. "Do you know when to weed? Do you know when to fertilize? Do you even understand how to graft a vine? Don't joke, outsider. You city folk don't understand crops at all. Believing what you see on agricultural shows will only ruin you."

Ronan shrugged. "Scientists tell us that life lies in movement. When we stop moving, our muscles atrophy and our organs age prematurely. In the city, the solution is the gym; in the Luberon, working the fields is the best gymnastics for a better life."

At that moment, the 35 points of [Happiness] in his system were his strongest source of confidence. He had gained another 5 points just from eating! Eat, eat, eat! Even if it meant just eating bread, he would grind his [Farming] skill until it leveled up!

Henri whistled for his dog, signaling it was time to leave, and added with heavy sarcasm, "Typical Parisian." Hmph, a liar through and through.

Ronan shook his head and waved at Henri’s retreating back. "Goodbye, Mr. Henri."

Henri must be an unhappy person; why else would he be so angry over eight acres of farmland? This was Provence, after all—was there truly a shortage of land?

Ronan soon reconsidered that thought. His cleaning plan, originally set for two days, stretched to three and a half, because over those few days, no fewer than ten villagers had visited, all using "welcoming" as a pretext to try and sign a land contract with him. Clearly, his eight acres had become an absolute hot commodity in the village.

Ronan found this very puzzling. What he found even more baffling, however, was that when he went out to buy groceries for the second time, several strangers in the village cast strange looks his way—something that hadn't happened during his first trip.

...

That same afternoon, Vieri, the youngest son of Louis, came to find Ronan.

"Tonight is the 13th birthday of the Carl family's dog. Carl says to save some room, and be at his house by five."

Ronan slapped his forehead in despair. "If you had come half an hour earlier, I never would have eaten that baguette."

To quickly grind experience, Ronan had been eating four meals a day, and he had now accumulated 83 points. His last "simple and plain" dinner had added 16 points of [Happiness]; this party would likely be enough to trigger a level-up! That baguette had really ruined his plans.

"See you later," Vieri said with a smile, waving goodbye.