"You're leaving in two days—why don't you start packing?" Bernice, who had appeared in the opening sentence for the second chapter in a row, glanced at the Greenland seal teasing—well, now officially called Baimao—and then looked at Jiang Hai, who was teasing Baimao in return. She shook her head helplessly. Honestly, when it came to Jiang Hai, Bernice couldn't deny that he lacked the vigor and drive typical of a young man.
Jiang Hai was undeniably lazy—without ambition, without a fighting spirit, and seemingly devoid of passion.
Since he bought the cow and returned, Jiang Hai had fully slipped into what could only be described as old-cadre retirement mode.
His daily routine was simple. Well, not exactly early morning anymore—he'd get up around nine o'clock, wash up, eat breakfast, then head out for a ride on his four-wheeled motorcycle.
The highlight was always going to the beach to visit the dolphins and Dasha, then to the stable to ride Xiaoxia for a bit. After feeding her some carrots, he'd hop on his bike again, lie down on his white jade lounge chair, and start gaming.
He played until noon. After Xiaoya prepared lunch, Jiang Hai would go inside to eat while Darlene and Marian cleaned. Then he'd either nap or lounge on the sofa watching TV as the afternoon passed by. Evening meant a big meal, a shower, and then bed.
Recently, Bernice noticed that Aphra and the others no longer found any suspicious activity involving Jiang Hai in the bathroom.
That was a relief, but she didn't know the battlefield had simply moved to Jiang Hai's bedroom.
At night, after the day's "battle," Jiang Hai would cuddle the two girls and sleep soundly.
The next day, he'd repeat the same routine. Bernice could only sigh in disbelief.
There was no sign of youthful ambition in Jiang Hai. If she hadn't seen him every day, she might've thought he was in his fifties—why else would he treat everything so lightly? The things young people usually care about, he simply didn't.
If you talk about the virtues of youth, it's ambition, drive, and hard work. After all, youth is the time to fight for a better life—whether that means better status, more money, or a brighter future.
But Jiang Hai had none of that.
Dreams? According to Master Xing, what's the difference between a person without dreams and a salted fish?
Dreams and ideals are basically the same—goals people work hard for. In novels, this is the main storyline: a person rejected from an engagement vows to prove everyone wrong. That's the goal, the ideal, the dream.
Jiang Hai had tried to spark some passion once, but one day realized it was actually nice to be a salted fish. No dreams, no ideals—because he didn't even know what he wanted.
Power? No interest. Money? He had enough. With money, free time, and women, being a salted fish was no big deal. Unless he had to, Jiang Hai was unwilling to change his lifestyle.
But to Bernice—or any normal woman—Jiang Hai was downright weird.
Of course, people like Aphra and Darlene didn't count—they admired and fully supported Jiang Hai. If he farted and claimed it smelled good, they'd agree.
Feng Yunchen and Ai Xiaoxi were different—their relationship with Jiang Hai wasn't romantic at first.
Qi Li and Jiang Hai were different too—Qi Li had originally been way above him socially, and Jiang Hai was just an accessory. Then suddenly, the accessory rebelled—no, it was an uprising—and saved her life. Their messy story was far from resolved.
Xiaoya had been sheltered all her life, inexperienced in the world. Her only dream was to live peacefully under the sun. Jiang Hai helped her realize that, so in many ways, she was just like him—except she was a woman, and he was a man.
Outside of Jiang Hai's quirky circle, most career-driven women found him naive and boring. If he had so much free time, why not make more money, improve his social status, find a purpose, help subordinates, or study to better manage the manor, ranch, and fishery? Strong women couldn't stand watching Jiang Hai waste his potential doing nothing.
"Why bother cleaning? You told me to handle it last time. If you need something, just buy it when you get there," Jiang Hai said, teasing Baimao while pulling the thick meat on the seal's body. He held up a herring caught by Edward Anderson.
Herring, also known as Pacific herring, could be found in both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Among the four major fisheries, Peru's industry had thrived largely on herring. Herring and cod were the two most economically important fish, though cod numbers were dwindling as New Zealand's fishery in Canada collapsed.
Herring was the most caught fish nowadays, and it had a famously awful way of being eaten: canned directly after being caught. When opened, the smell was—well, disgusting. Compared to that, China's stinky tofu was like a molehill compared to the Himalayas. Jiang Hai, of course, would never eat herring that way—he wasn't crazy.
After catching them, Edward Anderson and his friends used herrings as bait—almost all fish would eat them. They ranged from 18 to 40 cm long and tasted great fried, especially with beer. They could also be eaten fresh right off the boat. The sheer number of these fish was no joke.
So Jiang Hai fed the extras to Baimao, who accepted the food without hesitation.
"Buy, buy, buy—you only know how to buy. You're so rich... but seeing how wasteful you are, you'll starve to death and end up begging for food someday!" Bernice snorted at Jiang Hai, continuing her nagging.
Jiang Hai just smiled and didn't argue. Maybe to others, Bernice was annoying—but to him, her nagging was a comfort.
It reminded him of family. If he had any wishes or dreams, the most important would be "a son wants to support his parents, but they're not around." Bernice was much younger, but her nagging made him feel like she was family.
So he took her words kindly.
Perhaps Bernice knew her words wouldn't change Jiang Hai, because after a while, she sat down beside him again and joined him in teasing Baimao. Seeing her pretty face so close, Jiang Hai smiled. She was truly an interesting girl. If possible, he wished she'd stay forever.
But their relationship? Well, Jiang Hai couldn't quite define it—it wasn't that simple.
Just then, Bernice's phone rang, the screen lighting up with a message labeled "Sister." She stood and stepped aside to answer.
Jiang Hai didn't move, just watched her. He didn't really know Bernice's family background; she and Xiaoya never talked about it, and they never went out together. He didn't even know their real names.
Bernice was what Xiaoya called her, and she'd been that way for so long that it felt natural.
Now it seemed Bernice had an older sister. But why had she never talked about her family?
If she didn't want to say, Jiang Hai couldn't pry. He just watched her go, vaguely hearing Mandarin and words like "Mid-Autumn Festival." It sounded like her sister was asking if she'd come home to celebrate.
But Jiang Hai recalled he had asked Bernice, and she said she wouldn't be going back for Mid-Autumn Festival. Sure enough, she returned shortly after.
"Did your sister ask if you'd go home for the festival?" Jiang Hai couldn't help asking.
"Yeah, I told her no, not for Mid-Autumn. Maybe Chinese New Year," Bernice replied, quickly changing the subject and pointing at Baimao. "What kind of drug did you give this little guy? He actually lives up to the name Baimao—it's really ugly."
"Oh, how lovely…" Jiang Hai smiled but kept the news about spiritual energy to himself.
At that moment, his phone rang. He saw Qi Li calling.
Maybe it was because the Mid-Autumn Festival was coming up.