Chapter 147: The Farm with Secrets

Klan puffed on his cigarette, remaining silent for a long time before finally saying, “Let’s see if our son likes her.” Mag sneered, “I don’t know if our son likes her, but it’s clear you do!” Klan waved his hand dismissively, his normally honest face now filled with the innocence and hurt of someone who’s been falsely accused. “What are you talking about? Do you think our son is just an ordinary person? If I dared to make a move, imagine what he’d do.” Mag huffed. She knew all too well what kind of man her husband was. But Klan was right about one thing—Saryon wasn’t one to be messed with. He might not speak much, but if someone crossed him, no amount of talking would make a difference. There was that time when Klan got on Saryon’s bad side. Saryon nearly beat him to death, and if Mag hadn’t sensed something was wrong and rushed to the village chief’s house for help, Klan might not have survived. But there was one good thing—Mag and Saryon almost never clashed. She didn’t drink, and whether she was faking it or not, she was sweet-tongued. She always praised Saryon’s cooking and work, and their relationship was relatively peaceful. In fact, because of their son, Klan usually didn’t dare to provoke her. Mag gathered all the dishes and cups and took them to the kitchen, clicking her tongue in regret. What a shame—if only that child had grown up with her, she would have made sure he listened to her. On the other side of the room, Klan was puffing on his cigarette, casting sidelong glances toward the kitchen. That kid is too unpredictable. Mag thought she was afraid because of their son? Klan had long since realized that the boy simply found them annoying and noisy. When they argued, he was annoyed. When someone around him caused a fuss, he was annoyed. And Saryon’s solution was always to eliminate the source of the problem. That was the real reason Klan gave in to Mag. Meanwhile… Irene followed Margo all the way to the fields of the farm. Saryon had already begun weeding. He swung his sickle, his muscles rippling in the sunlight, his simple short-sleeved shirt soaked through with sweat. If muscles were built this way, it made sense. Irene observed the scene before her. Klan and Mag clearly weren’t the type to do much work. Leaving such a large farm entirely to Saryon alone meant his sturdy build wasn’t unreasonable. Margo was holding a bottle of water, watching from the side. Irene walked over and sat down on the straw beside her. “Why aren’t you helping? You haven’t even eaten.” Margo seemed a bit more open now. She looked at Irene but didn’t say anything. Smiling, Irene asked her again. This time, Margo finally responded, speaking in a low voice, “He told me not to. He said I should just sit here.” She seemed a bit nervous, with sweat beginning to bead on her rosy cheeks. Irene noticed that she was trembling slightly and said, “You’re really pretty.” Margo blinked in surprise and shyly pursed her lips. “Really?” Irene nodded, gazing at Saryon as he worked. “Yes, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” Margo looked down at the ground, a small dimple appearing at the corner of her mouth. Suddenly, her stomach growled loudly, and Irene burst into laughter. Margo blushed furiously and covered her belly in embarrassment. Irene asked, “Why aren’t you eating? Your stomach’s growling.” Irene pulled out a piece of compressed cheese-flavored biscuit from her pocket and handed it to Margo. “It’s cheese-flavored and really tasty.” Margo looked at the biscuit uncertainly before accepting it, though she clearly had never eaten such food before and seemed unsure of how to proceed. Emma, grinning, took it from her and opened it. Before long, the girls were getting along well. Margo’s eyes sparkled with happiness, and even Emma was laughing cheerfully, the two of them now fast friends. Saryon glanced at them before hoisting a bundle of straw onto his back and heading toward the barn, the distance between him and the three girls growing with each step. Suddenly, Margo turned to Irene and Emma, stammering, “If… if you’re just here to visit, then don’t stay. Leave as soon as you can.” Irene’s gaze deepened. She asked, “Why? They’re my parents, my real parents.” Margo’s eyes dimmed, and she instinctively scooted away from Irene, who gently patted her shoulder, smiling. “I was just found today. They say there was a mix-up at birth.” Margo seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and whispered, “I thought you were like Edward’s wife.” Irene’s eyes instantly darkened, becoming as unfathomable as the depths of the ocean. At that moment, a shadow loomed over them. Irene slowly turned to see Saryon standing there. He looked down at the three girls with an impassive expression before roughly grabbing Margo by the arm. His movements were harsh, but Margo looked pained and delighted, happily running off with Saryon. As she ran, she kept glancing back at Irene, waving to her and Emma. Klan, watching from a window, snorted. “Look at your good son—Margo must be made of gold! Just because his sister was talking to her, he drags her away?” Mag was stunned. She rushed to the window and saw Saryon pulling Margo along while Irene and Emma remained seated where they were. Mag pursed her lips. “Something’s wrong. The boy must have noticed something.” Behind Mag stood an elderly man, about eighty years old, leaning against the bed, wrapped in thick, soft blankets. His face was stern as he spoke, “Ask him directly. He’s one of us, not an outsider.” “If Irene’s really a problem, tell the village chief to keep an eye on her,” the old man said, coughing twice. Mag smiled, “Okay, Dad, we know what to do.” Klan added, “Dad, you should eat some steak. Saryon made it—you know that boy is lazy, but his steak is the best, though he rarely makes it because it’s too much trouble!” “Ha ha, alright, I’ll eat more,” the old man chuckled. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to Irene?” Klan replied, “What’s the point? Let’s wait until she’s fully settled down, so she doesn’t spill any of our secrets!” The old man nodded in satisfaction, his expression cold and stern. “Right, that’s a good idea.” The old man’s room was a hidden chamber within the building. From the outside, the entrance appeared to be just an ordinary decorative wall, making it nearly impossible to discover that it concealed a well-furnished room. Mag and Klan lived in a three-story rural-style villa made from local red bricks, mud, and wood, which gave it a warm and inviting appearance without looking expensive. Trying to find which window belonged to that room would be a challenging task. Mag was confident that even if the police came, they wouldn’t find a thing!