Chapter 3: The Village of Lurmaran

Because Ronan refused the dessert carrot cake and the local digestive liqueur after the meal, even though he had eaten the equivalent of a whole day's worth of food, he was still labeled the "picky Parisian eater."

“We’re used to a hearty lunch and a simple, modest dinner. Next time, you must experience a Provençal lunch,” said Carl, the white-haired elder who had lifted Ronan up the moment they met. Carl was the former mayor of Loulmaran village.

Ronan smiled in response. “I’m looking forward to it.”

This dinner deepened Ronan’s understanding of his new neighbors—or rather, the Provençals. They were warm and cheerful, passionate and generous, yet fond of boasting… Ronan didn’t believe there could be a more lavish lunch than tonight’s.

Unless the Provençals’ stomachs were bottomless.

Suddenly, Carl brought up a topic related to Ronan. “You also bought a few acres of farmland together. By law, after the transfer, any previous contracts need to be renewed. Are you planning to continue working with the former tenant farmers?”

Not every villager owned their own farmland. Many cooperated with landowners through long-standing tenancy agreements. Once both parties signed the contract, after harvest, two-thirds of the profits went to the tenant farmers, and one-third to the landowners. Of course, the landowners bore the costs of seedlings and other expenses.

Landowners like Michel didn’t rely on farming for a living; leasing out the land was profitable. But Ronan was currently strapped for cash, and he wasn’t willing to let others take the majority share…

“Do the previous tenants want to continue leasing?” Ronan asked.

“Old Charlie is nearly sixty and won’t renew. You’ll need to find new farmers to cooperate with,” Carl said, lighting another cigarette. As the former mayor, he was well-informed.

Ronan nodded. He planned to observe the growth rate of his Happiness Index before deciding whether to lease the land. The system had a planting option, and it would be best if he could manage the farmland himself.

Seeing Ronan deep in thought, the enthusiastic Louis spoke up, “I can give you some recommendations. Good tenant farmers are in high demand. I had over a dozen clients competing to hire me before.”

Louis was currently a real estate agent, but he had once been the village’s best farmer. His son, little Vieri, was working hard to carry on the legacy, though he wasn’t yet an adult, so the title of best farmer in Loulmaran remained out of reach.

To the villagers, Ronan—the “young master” used to a luxurious life in Paris—simply couldn’t be skilled at farming. He would definitely lease out the land, no doubt about it.

“I’ll think about it and reach out if I need help,” Ronan told Louis.

***

The entire meal lasted over four hours. When everyone left, they had already set the date and theme for the next gathering: celebrating Carl’s dog’s thirteenth birthday.

“Provençals really love lively gatherings,” Ronan sighed on the way home.

He had initially guessed they gathered to see him, the outsider. Now he had changed his mind; these people just needed an excuse to eat and drink together.

Paris might be known as the “capital of relaxation,” but that was on an individual level. In Paris, people rarely went out of their way to organize large get-togethers for drinks; if they did, it was always small scale. Compared to that, Provence was even more relaxed.

In contrast to the lively atmosphere of the gathering, Ronan’s home was too quiet.

The bedroom had only a solitary wooden bed and a large wardrobe. The bedding smelled musty, so Ronan had to sleep in his clothes.

“I need to do a thorough cleaning tomorrow and buy some supplies,” Ronan quickly decided.

At the end of the long day, he opened the system.

[Experience available: 29]

From 12 to 29!

The Happiness Points he earned on his first day in Provence exceeded what he had accumulated living in Paris for a month.

Ronan guessed he would soon have enough points to upgrade Planting to level 2 and manage the farmland himself.

“This system should be renamed the ‘Lie-Down-and-Relax System,’” Ronan said, rubbing his round belly and closing his eyes in bliss.

***

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

Ronan rubbed his eyes.

It was like sleeping in the backyard, maybe even less happiness than sleeping outdoors.

Yesterday, he only slept a few minutes yet gained 1 point. Today, he had truly slept for 12 hours.

But sleeping outside was impractical in January. Ronan had to find a way to improve his indoor environment.

The good news was, he had slept very well.

No quarrels from next door, no flushing noises upstairs—he woke up naturally, though it was a bit cold.

***

Ronan got up and changed clothes. With no supplies at home, and an important cleaning ahead that would affect his happiness index, he decided to go shopping first.

The early morning sun was hazy. Between the fields and forests drifted a faint white mist, carrying a subtle scent.

Ronan couldn’t quite describe the smell but found it pleasant.

Finally, when he reached the village center, densely packed with houses, he understood the source of the mist and scent—it came from chimneys releasing the aroma of burning wood, a primitive and simple fragrance rarely smelled by city dwellers.

City homes had fireplaces too, but they were decorative; fire indoors was prohibited by fire codes. In Provence, people still used fireplaces.

The wood came from oak or hornbeam trees harvested in the Luberon Mountains, which explained the appealing scent.

He followed the snail-shell-shaped path slowly into the center, passing by the grocery store, laundromat, flower shop, butcher, tobacco shop, bakery, café, and restaurants.

Greenery and forest birds were everywhere. The houses were carefully decorated like a miniature town—brightly colored walls, vibrant potted plants, sky-blue shutters. Ronan fell in love with the small village at first sight.

Yet he didn’t see a single car on the road, and only four or five people.

“Is nobody up yet?” Ronan wondered, though it was nearly 10 a.m.

The bakery owner Alain, a familiar face from the gathering, shrugged after taking a big sip of wine when Ronan voiced his doubts.

“In Loulmaran, if you see ten people on the street in one day, it means something big has happened.”

Ronan chuckled awkwardly, silently scolding himself for judging Provence by city standards.

He bought two freshly baked country breads and a box of handmade cherry jam at the bakery. Not wanting to waste “happiness opportunities” from meals, he also picked up a large slab of butter and a small box of caviar on the way home.

Southern Provence bordered the Mediterranean, and here caviar was cheaper than chocolate spread in Paris.

With caviar as a guarantee, Ronan was confident he could rack up experience points.

Passing the grocery store, he also bought cleaning supplies.

He wanted to buy a new set of bed sheets and covers but was told none were available in Loulmaran; he could wait for Friday’s market or visit neighboring villages.

At dinner, neighbors had repeatedly mentioned the market. Across the whole Luberon region, dozens of villages held lively, themed weekly markets selling all kinds of goods.

Ronan planned to check it out sometime. Farming took too long to return funds; he needed to find other ways to make money.

With the system, he believed it wouldn’t be difficult at all.