Chapter 5: Even the Landlord's Household Had No Surplus Grain

Ronan discovered that even in Lurlmaran, a village with fewer than a thousand residents, there were distinct social circles, as the same group had gathered for the dinner—no one missing, no one added.

The Louis family, real estate agents; the Alain family, bakery owners; the Freddy family, who ran a slaughterhouse in the quarantine village... apart from the former village chief Karl, they were all merchants.

Merchants, with their extensive contacts and timely information, made Ronan the center of attention as soon as he entered the room.

Alain, the bakery owner, patted Ronan on the back:

“My dear friend, have you run into some trouble? Why not share it with us?”

Drawing from his own experience, Ronan didn’t find it hard to connect Alain’s mention of trouble with the strange looks he had received earlier. Slightly troubled, he said,

“I don’t know if I’m overthinking it, but it seems some villagers aren’t very welcoming to me.”

Alain gulped down several large mouthfuls of fennel liqueur, as if it were water, wiped the wetness from his beard, and raised his eyebrows:

“The village rumor is that you plan to tear up farmland to build vacation villas, maybe a golf course or an equestrian center, which has upset many farmers.”

Compared to Freddy, who did business in the neighboring village and only returned to Lurlmaran to sleep, and Louis, who constantly hovered around the house, Alain, the bakery owner, had access to more local intelligence.

In recent years, as Provence gradually became a preferred vacation destination for mainland France and neighboring countries, many outsiders bought property in Luberon for holidays or to host friends.

Many among them destroyed farmland, exchanging precious crops for other pleasures—a behavior regarded by local farmers as sacrilegious.

Ronan declined all offers of cooperation, but everyone unanimously believed he lacked the farming skills to cultivate the land himself. It was likely that one or more disgruntled individuals had complained publicly, thus spreading Ronan’s name.

Fortunately, Ronan had first mingled with the merchant circle, which was very friendly toward outsiders, as their profits depended on economic growth driven by newcomers. Had he mingled with the farmers, he’d probably be at home nibbling on bread, not comfortably sipping fennel liqueur with the mingled aroma of roasted meat wafting about.

“How could I possibly tear up farmland to build villas?” Ronan was dumbfounded.

Those spreading rumors should have first checked his pockets—there was nothing left inside.

Louis was most anxious about Ronan’s adjustment. If the young master couldn’t adapt or live happily here, Louis stood to lose many clients. His expression became even more troubled than Ronan’s:

“Do you have time tomorrow afternoon? I’ll arrange for you to meet Pierre to finalize the tenant farmer as soon as possible.”

Pierre was Louis’s choice as the best farmer in all of Lurlmaran—hard to secure cooperation with him, but Louis could manage it.

Ronan shrugged helplessly, uttering the same words for the tenth time in three days:

“I plan to manage those few acres of vineyard myself.”

Lately, Ronan had done considerable research on cultivation.

His vineyard already had good grapevines planted, needing no reseeding.

In the months before harvest, it only required irrigation, fertilizing, weeding, and pest control—level two [Planting] skills were fully sufficient.

“Are you crazy?”

“My boy, I swear you’re taking this far too lightly.”

---

“No wonder they say that about you. They thought you came for a new job, but it turns out you’re here to steal business. Ha!”

Ronan laughed along.

If I gave them all work, I’d starve myself.

Even the landlord doesn’t have surplus grain.

Even Zoe, who rarely joined the conversations and only played with the dog, couldn’t help but glance over.

After a few seconds of eye contact between them, the cheerful mood shattered. Louis blocked Ronan’s view anxiously:

“By yourself?”

From their previous dealings, he knew Ronan was firm in his decisions, with little room for negotiation.

This only confirmed Louis’s impression of Ronan as a wealthy young master who stubbornly endured hardship and overestimated his own abilities.

Ronan nodded:

“By myself.”

Louis’s wrinkles deepened with concern:

“I can arrange a meeting with Pierre anytime, even if it’s just to chat without cooperating. If needed, I can send Vieri to assist you—he’s the most promising farmer in Lurlmaran and needs practice.”

Ronan opened his arms, smiling brightly:

“Thank you, Mr. Louis.”

“You’re the best real estate agent I’ve ever met!”

...

The slightly tense atmosphere vanished once the dinner officially began.

Glasses clinked and laughter filled the air.

Ronan, spurred on by the constant notification sounds in his ear, temporarily forgot his worries.

[Tasting delicious pepper sausage increased happiness by 1 point]

[Tasting fresh onions increased happiness by 1 point]

[Tasting freshly baked wild boar meat pie increased happiness by 2 points]

[Tasting fragrant roast duck increased happiness by 1 point]

...

Manual labor and four meals a day gradually transformed Ronan’s stomach into a ‘Provence’ one. At the second gathering, he managed to stay until the almond cake dessert phase, just one step shy of the post-meal drink, which would complete the full process.

---

Such exciting progress!

Having a bigger appetite meant he could consume more happiness. At this moment, he was just one step away from reaching 100 happiness points.

When he woke up early tomorrow, he would hit the hundred-point mark, becoming a farmer with some planting ability and silencing those rumor-mongers.

But before that, he had a few questions to clarify.

“Why are so many people eyeing my eight acres? I mean...” Ronan gestured toward the mountains. “There’s plenty of land over there.”

Karl set down his wine glass, folding his arms:

“All the land near the village has owners, and tenant farmers don’t want to work too far from home. Your plot is their dream location.”

Louis also had a say in this:

“Twenty years ago, farmers could afford to buy their own land, but with the rise of the ‘Golden Triangle,’ land prices have soared. Being a tenant farmer is now a better option.”

Ronan nodded. By 1986, Provence was already emerging on the world stage, and many shrewd merchants had moved in early to stake their claims.

The influx of capital naturally drove up house and land prices, but what was this ‘Golden Triangle’?

“Some call the area formed by the villages of Ger, Mena, and Bonnio the ‘Golden Triangle,’ believing it’s the trendiest spot in the Luberon Mountains. I hear many socialites have bought property there,” said Freddy, whose slaughterhouse was located within the Golden Triangle.

Ronan’s question sparked a lively discussion, with everyone sharing their unique views on the Golden Triangle, even Zoe joined in—a rare occurrence:

“Many merchants skip the markets in their own villages, but the markets in those three villages never miss a session.”

Ronan made mental notes of their key points:

First, those three villages had more developed commerce; second, anyone wanting to invest in Provence’s property and land should act quickly.

Afterward, he looked into Zoe’s enchanting eyes and asked:

“Are there any secondhand furniture sellers?”

His house was far too empty and urgently needed furnishings.

Even if he cleaned every room spotless, sleeping there only added 1 happiness point, and the system stubbornly categorized it as ‘bare and empty.’

“There’s no furniture sold at the market. To buy secondhand furniture, you can go to the antique trading market on Sog Island or ask the village’s carpenters and stonemasons,” Zoe patiently explained.

Louis burped from the wine and asked in bewilderment:

“Where do you still have space for furniture? Michel is the most reluctant person I’ve ever met when it comes to throwing things away—even garlic sauce expired by two months, he won’t discard it.”

Laughter erupted around them, but Ronan’s face was ashen.