It was unclear whether she had reached the peak of shock and fury, her strength out of control, or if Cillian Grant had deliberately given her a way out.
Eleanor fled the VIP room in a panic, escaping the mall.
After the winter solstice, the first rain ca suddenly. Amidst the mist, a taxi conveniently stopped beside her.
Eleanor opened the door and sat in the back seat.
Her mind was a storm of anger; she couldn’t think of a suitable refuge and forced herself to tell the driver, "Just drive around, don’t stop."
The driver seed unfazed, didn’t ask any questions, started the ter, and rged into the endless sea of vehicles.
Eleanor lay against the car window; the entire city was shrouded in rain and fog, the skyscrapers cold and enigmatic.
She desperately avoided thinking about Cillian Grant and the breach he had torn open with his own hands.
So things can only be ignored in ignorance; being a fool is better than being fully aware, completely clear.
Otherwise, how should she face a present that’s fragnted, riddled with holes, the reason she’s disfigured and bloodied is because Cillian Grant couldn’t bear to part with her, wanting her to bear children, converting the rest of her life into countless periods of four years.
The feeling was like when mountain bandits suddenly fancied soone, breaking into the house at midnight, burning, killing, and looting everything, then taking soone away as a concubine.
Every ti Eleanor thought of it, her heart felt like it was gripped by an invisible iron hand, squeezing tightly, making breathing a burden.
In the afternoon, Eleanor had nowhere to go. After learning Elaine White was off, she went to Elaine’s place for another antenatal injection.
Afterward, she spent a blurred night at Elaine’s ho.
The next day, Elaine went to work, and Eleanor regained her spirits and arranged to et Mr. Ghost.
This ti, she learned from experience and scheduled the eting at a private internet café in the old district. The keyboard was greasy, the chairs showed exposed foam, and the air was thick with choking cigarette smoke.
Soone of Cillian Grant’s status would never set foot in such a place, even if passing by.
Mr. Ghost was not bothered, but he also didn’t want to stay long. "President Sinclair entrusted , so I’ll definitely do my best. Give your docunts, and et at the bus station ticket counter at six the morning after tomorrow. We’ll leave the province by fishing boat, then switch to another boat to enter the neighboring country, and from there arrange for you to fly to Cryos. Then you can hide out there or move elsewhere later."
"So crossing borders requires docunts, right?"
Mr. Ghost confird, "Dostic control is strict, but abroad is like a sieve. Rest assured, we won’t use your docunts to apply for entry and exit before the day after tomorrow, we are cautious about that."
Eleanor relaxed slightly, hesitated, but asked, "Does it have to be the day after tomorrow? Can’t it be earlier?"
Mr. Ghost raised his eyelids, surveying her, "You’re in a hurry?"
Eleanor nodded.
Mr. Ghost said, "Even if you’re in a hurry, you have to wait. Without President Sinclair’s influence, I could send you abroad right now, but your whereabouts wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny."
"Speaking of which, you’re supposed to take the route that only handles going abroad. It was President Sinclair’s careful instructions that made activate the sea route. This is the escape route I prepared for myself. Once everything is in order, you won’t even fear The Reaper chasing you."
Eleanor handed over the docunts and paid a deposit of one hundred thousand in cash.
After Mr. Ghost left, Eleanor also departed from the internet café.
Since it rained yesterday, the ground in the old district was uneven, with many small puddles accumulated. Trying to avoid them, as she left the urban village, she unexpectedly ran into soone.
Simon Fenton.
He was dressed in a casual military-green flight jacket, vintage blue jeans, with the trouser legs tucked into the boots.
No longer wearing the glamorous brand shell from before, he stood at the entrance of an old red-brick courtyard like a disheartened youth who couldn’t enter his ho. A constant stream of elegant gift boxes was thrown out from inside, splashing mud, rolling to his feet.
Eventually, there was no space left by his feet, the jeans and boots covered in layers of dark mud, the door locked from the inside, intermittent mocking and scolding of a hag could be heard.
"Take your things and go. If you like fa and fortune, being a person above others, then stop pretending to care about , it’s disgusting."
Simon Fenton bent down, picked up the gifts, took out tissues to clean them, and neatly placed them by the door. "Grandma, I’ll be leaving then. Take care of yourself."
Eleanor backed away to one side.
She could deeply empathize; when soone is in a ss, their mood is an abyss, just sinking, wanting only to silently drop alone, the presence of others, even without a sound, is inconvenient and awkward.
Unexpectedly, Simon Fenton stopped before her, "Miss Eleanor, is it a convenient ti for you this ti?"
Inevitably, Eleanor thought of that shaded road at The Erald Residence.
In hindsight, they were quite fated, starting with a mistaken date, aggressively witnessing each other’s chaotic disgrace.
"It is." She stepped forward, leaving the red-brick courtyard behind.
She ntioned nothing about earlier, Simon Fenton caught her off guard again, and suddenly said, "I actually don’t want to return to the Fenton Family, nor do I want to bear that surna."
Eleanor wasn’t good at comforting others nor interested in prying into personal affairs, usually stopping tily when such topics erged.
Simon Fenton looked over.
He had ’Tony Grant’-like eyes, attentive, deep, sad. His caral-colored pupils under thick lashes had a honeyed tint when smiling, and when not, they resembled a potent wine sharing age-old sorrows.
His face was sincere yet subtle, inviting one to quietly share a drink.
"Before returning to the Fenton Family, I had a two-story bungalow in Serenval, at the feet of Mount Prospect, next to a wheat field. The countryside yard is huge, with six plots filled with vegetables and fruits, sumr cucumbers, winter cabbages."
"A peach tree grows at the corner of the west wall, and before the bungalow stands an apricot tree, its crown wide, blooming splendidly under sunshine, casting radiant spots all over the yard, no plotting or coercion, sleep as late as desired."
Eleanor listened intently.
Her eyes were clear as if filled with spring water nurturing two rcury-like marbles, crescent-like upward-tilting corners glimring like the moon, others’ disdainful comnts echoing within her with serene sincerity.
A gentle stream.
Simon Fenton was hooked by the crescent moon, surprisingly feeling, "Isn’t it a bit naive?"
"Not at all," Eleanor asked, "Can cucumbers be grown in Rhoden Province?"
"They can." Simon Fenton turned his head, adapting to her pace, slowing down steadily, "The North is where cucumbers are planted."
At the ntion of this, Eleanor also turned her head. She’s grown cucumbers in Soldane Province, strong and sturdy, blossoming and producing fruit continuously.
"The year I left at eighteen, the governnt led the establishnt of an agricultural base, producing nationwide supplies. The cucumber you’re eating now might very well be from our base."
Eleanor imagined mountains covered with cucumber blossoms and sincerely praised, "It must be beautiful there."
The laughter in Simon Fenton’s eyes erged, his pupils like amber sugar, gazing at Eleanor.
Near noon, sunlight leaked through the eaves and walls, casting a fragnted golden light upon her face: her skin delicate as cream, fine and dense fluff, playful with a speckle on the nose.
"Eleanor," he suddenly changed the way he addressed her, "The blossoms have faded, you are not the plump pear."
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