Living on Glewatov’s farm, life during this period has been quite an interesting experience for the aging Black Demons.
Watching Glewatov’s wife nag at him every day, sotis even scolding him when she’s mad, always attracts the attention of a few people, and then Glewatov’s wife becos too embarrassed to continue.
Watching Glewatov’s young son develop a keen interest in a pretty girl from the neighborhood, and how their relationship gradually warms, is also amusing for the old n.
The most popular is Glewatov’s little daughter; almost everyone likes her, so Olya has no shortage of playmates these days, even if most of them are a bit older.
There aren’t many houses on the farm, so when Glewatov suddenly brought back six friends, especially one who was bedridden, his wife didn’t spare him any complaints. However, in front of her husband’s friends, she remained very generous and welcoming.
So, the group of Black Demons still very much enjoys this period of life on the farm.
Alya held a crayon, doodling on a piece of white paper, producing sothing barely recognizable. After all, she just happened to find a crayon and accidentally got a sheet of paper, and she simply wanted to fill the white paper with colors. But her artwork was spotted by Rostotsky.
"You can’t draw like this. This is not right. Should I teach you?"
Olya generously gave up her crayons, as she quite liked Rostotsky, the old man.
Rostotsky picked up a crayon. After looking at it, he enthusiastically began drawing Olya with a red crayon. Soon, a vivid little girl appeared on the paper.
Olya looked at the drawing seriously and said, "This is ."
"Yes, that’s you."
"You drew very well."
Rostotsky laughed with joy, as if he were praised by soone extraordinary, and then he humbly said, "Thank you, but your father is the real artist, an expert in portraits. A pencil in his hand has a soul. Naturally, he’s also good at using a pencil for other things."
"My father can’t draw."
Rostotsky was taken aback. Under Lebyazhef’s disapproving gaze, he quickly smiled apologetically and said, "Ah, yes, your father can’t draw. Co, on the other side, shall I teach you how to draw landscapes?"
While Rostotsky was teaching Olya to draw, Tarta was slowly walking with Pavlovich.
Pavlovich was seriously injured, and his age made recovery slower than for younger people, so he could only walk a short distance now.
"I wonder if Hamr has recovered; that guy is probably losing it in Germany."
"Are you planning to visit him?"
"No, I have no interest in visiting patients."
As the two walked back to the farmhouse, they saw Glewatov’s son sitting on a haystack, guitar in hand, playing a tune that was out of tune.
"Oh, that’s not right. City kids don’t use this thod to impress girls anymore."
"He is a bumpkin, whose farthest trip has been to the nearby town. Are you expecting to teach him new tricks to attract another bumpkin he fancies?"
"Pavlovich, hasn’t your foul mouth ever gotten you beaten up?"
"Those who want to beat usually end up getting beaten by ."
Tarta looked disdainfully at Pavlovich, then loudly shouted at Glewatov’s son, "Hey, kid, you can’t play the guitar like that. Let teach you the right way to play."
Tarta swaggered over, sat on a haystack, and unceremoniously grabbed the guitar, playing a very cheerful tune.
When Tarta finished, he was quite pleased his skills hadn’t regressed much, so he said proudly, "See? Let teach you the technique."
"Not bad, but your tune is too outdated. Can you teach a newer song?"
Tarta was at a loss for words, then loudly said, "I need to hear it first."
When Tarta heard a completely unfamiliar tune from his phone, he frowned and loudly said, "What is this noise? But I can teach you, let listen to it again."
Everyone has their own amusents, but Yarebin’s pleasure was lying leisurely on a recliner, slowly swaying into a nap.
However, the quiet atmosphere was interrupted by a phone ringing.
Yarebin took out his phone, closed his eyes, answered it, and said softly, "Hello."
"Teacher, there’s sothing we need you to handle. Sorry to interrupt your leisure."
Yarebin laughed and said, "I’m almost dead. Once I’m gone, I’ll have endless leisure, so just tell what’s wrong, no need for sentint."
"I need to extract a person alive from the Shah Intelligence Agency and CIA’s grasp in Riyadh. If we can’t bring him back alive, then eliminate the target. I think you might be interested in this."
Yarebin laughed heartily, saying loudly, "That’s right, I am indeed interested and happy. I hope now the old opponents at the CIA and Shah Intelligence Agency have made so progress."
"The issue is ti is very tight, so it might increase the difficulty a lot."
Yarebin said slowly, "Ti is tight, so we can’t waste any on the way. We’ll depart imdiately. Do you have the fastest route and transportation ready for us?"
"You need to go to Cairo, Egypt first. Then soone in Cairo will assist you and take you to Riyadh. You don’t need to worry about transportation issues. Number Thirteen will et you in Riyadh, and you’ll get so support, teacher."
Yarebin smiled and said, "Alright, we’ll set off now. On the way, explain the background of this mission to . I need to know this. Now hang up, and we’ll contact again on the road."
After hanging up, Yarebin closed his eyes, gently letting the recliner rock again, and smiled, "This kind of life is indeed very enjoyable, much comfier than a nursing ho."
Continuing to rest his eyes, after a few minutes, Yarebin opened his eyes, slowly scanned around, and loudly said, "Glewatov, call everyone back. Our ti as guests at your house is over, and we need to set off."
When Yarebin took the call, Glewatov had noticed. Hearing Yarebin’s call, he quietly walked behind Yarebin and said softly, "Captain, is it ti to set out for Yen?"
Yarebin smiled and said, "No, my student has so trouble, so we’re heading to the Shah. And here’s so good news for you: the opponents are the CIA and Shah Intelligence Agency. Isn’t that exciting?"
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