Returning from the Dead: His Secret Lover

After putting down his phone, Ian was about to wash his face when he heard another voice downstairs calling for Susan.

"Hey, Small Fry," the man asked upon seeing Ian emerging from his room, "have you seen Ms. Jadeson?"

"No"

Looking as proud as ever, Ian's already foul mood worsened when he heard yet another request for Susan, prompting

him to give a retort that was as cold and stiff as his stance.

Why does everybody only want her help? What about the rest of us volunteers? We might as well go home!

"Oh man, who's going to help me count for the sale of my wares if she's not here?" the middle-aged man wailed. *l'm

selling all my lumber today, Small Fry! Say, are you as good as Ms. Jadeson? Why don't you come with me instead?"

"Me?" Ian wondered if his ears deceived him.

Before he could give a definite answer, the panic-stricken villager was already bounding up the stairs toward him.

"Yes, yes, you will do just fine," the man said impatiently as he tugged on Ian's arm. "Hurry up and come with me please;

the driver is about to leave. What if I get scammed without an accountant present?"

Ian instinctively took a few steps back.

As was the culture within the village, every important sale necessitated an educated opinion wherever possible.

Even the sale of timber required the careful calculation of its mass to ensure equity for both parties.

In the end, Ian decided to consider it a favor to Susan by obliging the villager.

Several minutes later, his snow-white shirt caught the crowd's attention almost as soon as he arrived at one of the

drying fields of the village.

Aside from his natural good looks, he had an aura of nobility emanating from his bones. Upon his arrival there,

even his fellow volunteers stared at him blankly.

"What are we evaluating today?"

Pretending not to notice the stupefied glances, Ian turned to the villager who sought his help.

The man, who was a farmer, immediately pointed to a pile of peeled fir trees on the ground. "All of that,” he said.

"The buyer will come and measure it. After that, please record it in my ledger and exchange the necessary

documents with him."

That's it?

Ian took the paper and pen.

The buyer arrived soon after.

With a single disdainful glance at the seemingly inexperienced teenager, he took out a measuring tape and

conducted his usual routine while mumbling the dimensions under his breath.

"Wait a minute. Is that all?" Ian stopped the pair of burly men stepping forward to carry the wood.

The buyer glared at him.

"Yeah. What else are you expecting?"

"What about the foliage?" Ian asked as he cast a glance at the sizable mass of branches while opting to ignore the

man's impertinence.

He noticed that the buyer measured only two-thirds of the actual length while conveniently leaving out the top of

the tree.

What is this wily fox up to?

"Don't they teach you how to measure wood in university, young man?"

"Enlighten me."

"The leaves and branches are useless to us," the buyer retorted. "Why should we pay for it?"

By that point, the villagers around Ian, especially the middle- aged farmer, were glancing at each other in dismay.

After witnessing the newcomer's anger, he began to panic at the prospect of losing a reliable buyer.

"Small Fry, let's just-" the farmer began.

"Fine," Ian cut across to address the buyer, instantly crushing the latter's arrogance. "Then they'll saw off what you

didn't pay for, and you can keep the part you do have a use for."

The buyer and the villagers were struck dumb with astonishment.

Such a demand to saw off the branches is unprecedented! Will the buyer still agree?

Sure enough, the buyer did not take the threat kindly.

"You are deliberately causing trouble, aren't you? Well, I don't want the wood anymore. You can sell it to someone else!"

At that, he turned around and made to storm off to the villagers' horror.

Ian's voice rang out again impassively at that moment and interrupted the villagers' flattering pleas to the buyer.

"I would think twice if I were you. If you leave this village today, I guarantee you will never be able to do business here

again."

"What did you say? Who are you to make this kind of 'guarantee?'"

"Try me."

Clad in his white shirt, the eighteen-year-old young man stood positively sparkling in the bright morning sun as he held a

man twice his age in a vice grip with nothing more than several words and a refusal to lower his gaze.

Although he did not lose his temper or raise his voice, that was a warning sign to those who knew Ian well.

Fortunately, the buyer was wise enough to hesitate. After regaining his composure from his short burst of temper, he

noticed how his young adversary carried himself. Not only did he fail to intimidate the boy, but the boy's presence had

him at an unusual loss for words.

Finally, he turned to address one of his subordinates without taking his eyes off Ian. "Who is he?"

"They're volunteers from a famous university, boss. And expensive, too. Their families must be powerful people."

The buyer gulped.

Ten minutes later, the measurement was redone without so much as a twig left out of the equation.