After breakfast, Chale Cheney went to school with the driver.
The rain was still falling.
Jasmine Yale knew the training ground was not far from the villa, so she suggested to Butler Santana that they take a walk there.
She also wanted to see the current state of the training ground.
"Miss Yale, wear a thicker coat, or I won’t feel comfortable taking you there. It’s raining and windy, quite cold," Butler Santana advised.
"Hmm." Jasmine Yale took a thick khaki trench coat and tied her hair up with a headband.
Upon leaving the villa, a left turn, around a hundred ters, would bring them to the training ground’s gate.
Green grass spread everywhere, and many potted plants were placed at the entrance, lush and vibrant, seemingly unafraid of the wind and rain.
Butler Santana held an umbrella, while Jasmine Yale carried breakfast in her hand.
The training ground had a European style, with a strong dieval retro feel, heavy in both decoration and design.
As Jasmine Yale stepped in, her footsteps beca heavy, and even her breathing lightened.
Raindrops fell on her face, cool as ice, and her long eyelashes were covered with a layer of mist.
Jasmine Yale didn’t know the way, so after Butler Santana explained their purpose to the gatekeeper, soone led them to find Chale Cheney’s master.
Inside, it was heavily guarded and as quiet as night.
Here, Jasmine Yale could clearly hear her own footsteps and heartbeat, one after the other.
Jasmine Yale was both unfamiliar and curious about this place; it was where Sylvan Cheney stayed before she t him.
The training equipnt made Jasmine Yale feel uneasy.
Thankfully, after she was with Sylvan Cheney, he didn’t send her here.
Had he really sent her here, she would have been utterly helpless.
After walking another fifty or sixty steps, Jasmine Yale saw from afar under an eave, Chale Cheney’s master and Charles Mcintosh sitting on the ground, watching the rain and talking.
The old man’s gaze was calm, with a noble air of defiance, his cold and serious expression looking ahead.
Charles Mcintosh was very silent, rarely speaking, only smoking one cigarette after another.
Smoke enveloped Charles Mcintosh’s face.
Jasmine Yale paused her steps, watching Charles Mcintosh intently.
Charles Mcintosh had grown much thinner, with damp mist on his forehead, and his gray-black long trench coat seed loose on him, with stubble on his chin looking unkempt for several days, his face full of weariness.
Jasmine Yale hadn’t expected to et Charles Mcintosh in this way.
She and Charles Mcintosh had lost contact for a long ti.
From a distance, Jasmine Yale watched Charles Mcintosh for quite a while.
The old man and Charles Mcintosh seed to notice soone’s presence and looked over.
Jasmine Yale saw Charles Mcintosh’s hand tremble slightly, but he quickly regained calm.
"Master, Mr. Mcintosh, you haven’t had breakfast yet, I assu?" Jasmine Yale walked over. "Co inside and eat sothing, I’ve brought you so."
Charles Mcintosh couldn’t refuse Jasmine Yale’s kindness, nodded, and stood up.
Butler Santana put away the umbrella, also glancing at Charles Mcintosh, feeling a dull ache in his chest.
The once-spirited Assistant Mcintosh looked so haggard now.
Inside, it wasn’t as cold as outside, and it was even quite warm.
It was also a pure European-style room, dominated by platinum colors, luxurious, with a strong sense of retro heaviness.
Butler Santana poured them tea separately.
None of them were enthusiastic people, and silence filled the room for a while.
They ate very little, perhaps, they just weren’t in the mood.
"So of the snacks were made by , if they don’t taste good, please bear with ," Jasmine Yale said with a soft smile.
"The craftsmanship is very good," the old man praised.
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