Chapter 6: Cultivation Advancement

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After Ronan finished describing the current state of his home, everyone present immediately drew a conclusion.

“You had a burglary,” Karl said seriously but without panic.

The Loire Valley province, outside of Paris, had the highest theft rate in all of France.

This area was dotted with beautiful large estates, many of whose owners only stayed for short periods during Christmas, Easter, and summer, leaving them empty the rest of the year.

The tightly drawn blinds and iron locks on the grand doors all signaled one thing—no one was home.

Thieves could operate undisturbed for months, pulling off big heists with ease.

Locals often heard stories of how, given the long theft season, the thieves’ audacity, duration of their crimes, complexity of the process, and shocking outcomes were all astonishing.

That was until they heard about Ronan’s experience...

“You mean the two stone pillars in the center of the living room are gone too?” Louis asked, confirming again.

“Gone. Everything’s gone! The terracotta pots, statues, the iron gate on the terrace... all gone! The living room only has a fireplace left!” Ronan was on the verge of collapse.

So the system’s warning about an empty home was a hint that his house had been completely ransacked.

Karl’s wife handed Ronan a glass of red wine to calm his nerves, then said in horror:

“More ‘insane’ than the legends suggest.”

“What should I do now? Call the police?” Ronan asked.

Karl’s expression turned serious.

“Michel last came here at Easter two years ago. The house has been empty for a year and a half. Reporting now is pointless; their efficiency isn’t even as good as my seventy-three years.”

Louis clapped his hands.

“Right now, you need to buy home insurance as soon as possible. I’ll call Renault first thing tomorrow morning—he’s the most reliable agent; he can even help you lock your fridge.”

Ronan looked troubled.

Home insurance in France was expensive, and agents forced you to upgrade doors, windows, wall thickness, even ventilation holes to reduce the chance of future theft.

Ronan could tell just by thinking about it that his home had many structural hazards and he didn’t have the funds to cover those costs at the moment.

“I know an insurance agent,” Ronan lied. “Is there any way to reduce the risk of being robbed instead of relying on compensation afterward?”

There was nothing left to steal in his house now; the priority was lowering the risk.

Who knew if other theft gangs might target him again?

At that moment, the slightly plump Freddy spoke up:

“The butcher in Fontaine village just had three Doberman puppies. I’ll get one for you.”

Dobermans were lively, brave, and loyal—a perfect choice for guarding a home.

Ronan’s face lit up.

“How much?”

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Such purebred dogs were expensive in Paris but certainly cheaper than the full cost of home insurance.

“Young man, in Provence, dogs are family, not commodities. As long as you raise it well and keep it healthy, there’s no cost,” Freddy said, holding the birthday dog asleep in his arms.

It was just an ordinary countryside dog but had its own birthday to celebrate.

“I’ll take good care of it,” Ronan said firmly and gratefully.

Like family.

...

The next day.

[Waking up in a bare house increases happiness by 1 point]

One hundred points reached!

Ronan quickly upgraded his [Farming] skill to Level 2.

With the upgrade, a flood of basic agricultural knowledge filled his mind.

He dressed and went out to his vineyard filled with grapevines.

Feeling the soil texture, and judging from the newly acquired knowledge, there was no need to water now.

“But I need to weed and prepare fertilizer,” Ronan decided clearly on the next tasks.

A few days ago, when cleaning the donkey stable, he found farming tools—hoes, sickles, shovels.

The previous tenant farmer was meticulous; there weren’t many weeds. Ronan finished the weeding in just one morning.

But fertilizing was not so simple.

First, there was no fertilizer; relying solely on his own output couldn’t meet the demands of eight acres.

Second, doing it all by hand was too slow.

After some thought, Ronan left his home and headed toward Louis’s house.

Louis and Lia had gone to work; Viery was in class. Zoe, who worked from home, opened the door for Ronan.

“Can I help you?” Zoe asked politely.

“Do you know where I can get fertilizer?” Ronan guessed that Zoe, a native of Lourmarin village, surely knew.

“To the north, at the village’s edge where it meets the forest, there’s a big pile of fallen leaves you can use,” Zoe said, tightening her collar.

“Is it far?” Ronan asked.

“Not far, but you’ll need a big guy to carry it,” Zoe said with obvious concern.

Like other villagers, she didn’t believe Ronan could farm.

“I remember Louis said your family has an unused tractor?” Ronan recalled from the gathering.

Zoe nodded:

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“It’s lent to Frank, but I don’t know how to drive it. You can come by this afternoon, and Viery can help you.”

Ronan pointed toward the village with his head:

“Where does Frank live? I can drive; I’ll go myself.”

“You can?” Zoe’s eyes widened. Tractors were much harder to drive than cars, especially in the fields. “How do you know?”

“I prepared well before coming here,” Ronan smiled broadly.

He hadn’t wasted his month in Paris—he learned to drive a tractor.

Zoe closed the door behind her and looked into Ronan’s smiling eyes.

“I’ll take you there.”

...

The greatest feature of agricultural labor was the extreme unevenness in time demands.

Autumn was unbearably busy—farmers wished for 48-hour days.

But winter was slow; farmers had little to do.

At this season, nine out of ten men sitting in the café were farmers.

Henry, with a mouthful of rotten teeth, held coffee in his left hand and a cigarette in his right, loudly complaining to his peers about the weather.

“The past three years, winters have grown colder and colder. It’s all those capitalists’ fault! The Siberian winds reach our village faster now, with less warming time, because those people turned trees and farmland into their private party spots!”

After cursing loudly, he continued:

“Eight fewer acres soon! Can those people just go back to their cities already!”

Another farmer who had spoken to Ronan defended him:

“He said he’ll take care of the vineyard himself, won’t tear it down.”

Henry gritted his teeth.

“I’d sooner trust a dentist than Parisians. They’re all crooks trying to take your money.”

From outside came a rhythmic but somewhat chaotic “putt-putt” sound.

Listening carefully, one could picture screws and metal parts trying to break free from the iron casing.

Everyone in the café knew that sound all too well—it was a tractor!

“Who’s working so hard, starting in the morning?” someone asked, curious, stepping outside.

Then came a surprised scream from outside:

“My God, that Parisian can actually drive a tractor!”