"You really went to a lot of expense, Ms. Ban Yang."
The always jovial middle-aged man touched the back of his head, issuing a hearty laugh, "According to the customs back ho, it should’ve been my treat."
Hearing herself addressed as "Ban Yang" rather than "Leona," the lady with flaxen curly hair and blue eyes nodded demurely.
A well-concealed sense of joy and satisfaction flickered in her eyes.
Did being addressed by her surna satisfy her?
Annan observed every detail, silently calculating in his mind.
The nonchalant and easygoing manner he embodied, capable of getting along with anyone without seeming contrived, had been learned from a prophet wizard known as "Giralda"... or rather, from that very statue that had been brought to life.
It was the prototype for Annan’s "Final Work" Curse Binding.
Now, through Lin Yiyi’s eyes, Annan saw another person from the Underworld, a man nad Niusel, with a clean, innocent, simple, and bright smile on his face, which Annan quickly absorbed and mastered.
Statues are undoubtedly rigid, even hard.
But "Giralda" was different.
It wasn’t acting; it was in the nature of the animated marble golem to mimic human behavior. Just as cheetahs chase prey and eagles soar.
Thus, Annan now had a new expression to use.
Ms. Leona, her face also adorned with a smile, felt a strong liking for this stranger she had only t once.
—Naturally, it wasn’t because of his foreign rchant attire.
The Ban Yang family was not short of money.
It was simply because of that pure and cheerful smile.
Of course, Leona knew that a rchant couldn’t possibly possess a soul that could produce such a smile. It must be a disguise or an act.
But what of it?
She wasn’t planning to marry him or conduct any significant business; it mattered not to her what his true character was. If their relationship was rely one of superficial friendship, then choosing the one most pleasant to be around was the Righteous Path.
How to choose one’s friends—Leona was an expert at that.
Or rather, the Ban Yang family was.
"In our Winter, we don’t have the custom of letting guests foot the bill."
Leona said with a smile while pouring Giralda a cup of light white turbid wine, and then filling her own cup.
She lifted her glass, drank it in one go.
Then, happily smacking her lips, she turned her cup upside down to gesture to Giralda.
Giralda’s affable and cheerful smile never faded.
He just smiled and drank his cup of wine, placing the emptied glass back on the table without a change of expression.
"More surprising than treating," Giralda sighed, "is that my first conversation with a stranger here involves drinking."
"Of course."
Leona laughed lightly, refilling her glass, "Where do Noah people prefer to et strangers? The teahouse? The theater?"
"The theater as well, but usually, it’s our own manor. Strictly speaking, there aren’t that many strangers... During the social season, Noah nobles host two to three banquets each week.
"Everyone is either hosting their own party or on their way to soone else’s. By the ti they are at the party, they are already familiar and no longer strangers."
Giralda answered offhandedly after downing his drink.
Leona too drank her wine without a change of face, chuckling as she topped up her glass, "Your capacity for alcohol isn’t bad, Mr. Giralda. I thought only folks from Winter loved to drink."
"The alcohol tolerance of us Noah people isn’t that poor, either. Especially when you develop it at parties," Giralda said with a beaming smile.
—Trying to get drunk?
Sorry, although it may seem a waste of wine... I’m just a stone person.
The real person of iron and stone.
Leona raised her eyebrows in a bit of surprise upon hearing the implied aning in Giralda’s words, "Oh?"
His implication was that "he frequented parties".
So she followed the topic and asked, "Could it be... you are a second son of so family?"
In the Winter Duchy, the eldest son usually inherited the title and lands, while the other heirs received a sum of money after reaching adulthood, relying on the connections they had made in their youth and an initial sum of funds to run their own business.
They refer to inheritors who have not taken a noble title and instead turned to comrce or politics, irrespective of birth order, simply as "younger siblings."
Giralda just smiled.
He did not answer the question, but instead asked courteously:
"Before answering that question, I too have been aning to ask...
"Ban Yang—is it the Ban Yang I am aware of?"
Of course, this was a polite way to phrase it.
He certainly had never heard of a "Ban Yang" family.
At the very least, if it were a prominent noble family, Annan would certainly have co across it in books.
Upon hearing this, Leona’s lips curled into a slight smile.
But before she could reply, Annan heard another voice that was sowhat familiar yet sowhat strange:
"Ban Yang, eh? The Mad Hounds now have a na they take pride in, do they?"
The man snorted and lifted the thick leather windbreak, entering the private tavern where few custors lingered.
Wrapped in a gust of cold wind laced with frost, he sat down next to Annan.
Leona originally furrowed her brows at the man’s words, her face imdiately turning cold.
But upon recognizing the newcor, she paused, then quickly stood up and respectfully greeted him.
"...Your Highness Dmitry."
It was Annan’s brother, Dmitry Winter.
But this Dmitry was slightly different from the brother he had seen in his two nightmares.
The Dmitry in the dreams... was a stylish man, impeccably dressed. He had an athletic build and a straight back, with pure black hair that fell to his waist. Not a hair was out of place, not a stain on his clothes, not a speck of dirt under his fingernails.
Yet the Dmitry of the present seed to Annan... aged more than just ten years since those dreams.
The habitual furrows in his brow were now etched with three deep wrinkles. The skin where his brows t appeared like a grim totem.
He wore a thick coat made of Frost Beast fur, his arms not put through the sleeves; the shirt underneath had its cuffs tightly rolled up to his elbows, and he clenched a very thick cigar in his mouth.
His hands were still clean, but the backs, white and strong, now showed pronounced veins.
"It has been a long ti, Miss Leona."
Dmitry said in a deep voice while keeping the cigar clenched in his teeth.
Leona’s face turned slightly pale.
In Winter, the standard way to greet is as brothers and sisters, or as uncles and nephews. Due to the existence of the grandmother, people of Winter regard each other as family—at least in terms of etiquette.
If one does not use such greetings, it ans the "relationship is not there yet."
But the relationship between the Ban Yang family and the Winter family was not like that.
...It seems His Highness Dmitry is upset.
In an instant, Leona dared not utter another word.
He sat on the right side of Annan, diagonally across from Leona.
Dmitry rested his elbows on the armrest, interlaced his fingers, and casually placed them in front of his stomach.
He exhaled a thin mist, the cigar smoke slowly diffusing around him.
"It’s been about two years since we last t.
"But you still have ’Ban Yang’ on your lips."
He lightly bit the end of the cigar, his voice still deep and magnetic: "It seems ti cannot change much, can it?"
Compared to five or six years ago, perhaps due to excess smoking, Dmitry’s voice had beco a bit hoarse.
Dmitry did not continue to trouble Leona.
After a slight warning, he softened his tone and turned to Annan— or rather, "Giralda."
"And this is...?"
"Giralda," the black-haired, black-eyed middle-aged man replied with a smile, slightly leaning forward in his chair to greet Dmitry politely, "My full na is Giralda David Buonarroti... Your Highness Dmitry."
Upon hearing the na, Dmitry’s pupils narrowed slightly.
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