Foggy and damp air (Part 1)

The wind by the lake carried a damp scent, gently rippling the water's surface. Under the silvery moonlight, everything seemed to be shrouded in a hazy glow. Sorkov, bathed in moonlight, sat silently on the shore, lost in thought.

He stared intently at the lake, but had no desire to praise such a tranquil and beautiful scene. Sitting by the lake late at night to admire the view was not something he would do; he was simply trying to quietly daydream.

The sad thing is that he couldn't even fulfill such a simple wish.

Why aren't you saying anything?

Sorkov grunted in response, then spoke very slowly, a mocking smile playing on his lips: "What do you want me to say?"

"Just say something," the other person chuckled, speaking in a deliberately playful tone.

"Stay away from me." He said in a strained voice, using the same sticky tone, but the content of his words was not so pleasant.

The other party did not speak.

God knows, if Mrs. Elberlint hadn't recently told him to be more polite, he would never have added those last two words.

"You don't seem to be asking for my opinion."

Because he never intended to solicit opinions democratically.

Sorkov used to dislike daydreaming. His life seemed to be as busy as ever, with heavy studies and training taking up so much of his time that he had no time to clear his mind.

However, this is an exception now, because apart from spacing out, he has no idea what else he can do, and he certainly can't just patiently listen to the people around him talk.

He even began to vaguely regret agreeing to meet her, at least he didn't want to see her.

"Don't be so resistant to me, Luca, we haven't seen each other for years."

Upon hearing that somewhat unfamiliar name, Sorkov couldn't help but frown slightly, a hint of anger appearing on his otherwise calm face: "Don't call me that."

As if she had anticipated his resistance, the other person smiled slightly and spoke in a semi-coercive tone: "When did you become so sensitive that you can't even have your name mentioned?"

"Or have you already forgotten this name, just like you've forgotten your past life?" The other person laughed loudly, the laughter extremely harsh. "I never thought you were so cowardly that you couldn't even bear to hear a name from your past?"

Sorkov finally snapped out of his reverie and gave her a rare, indifferent look. His voice was soft and lazy, as if he didn't want to waste any more breath.

"Your methods of making me angry are so unoriginal, Yelena."

But then, as if suddenly remembering something, he raised an eyebrow slightly, shrugged with feigned regret, and said, "Excuse me, but you don't seem to have this name anymore. Could you tell me your current name?"

Yelena looked at him without saying a word, and for a moment the two of them fell into an awkward silence.

"It seems you don't possess this virtue either."

“I never thought of this as a virtue.”

Now it was Sorkov's turn to laugh. He squeezed out a sharp sound from his throat and said mercilessly, "That's more like you! I knew it, you've started using words like 'politeness' all the time."

"Did you really have to make this meeting so awkward?"

Sorkov didn't bother to look at her, and said without raising his head, "Really? I thought you should have gotten used to the way we interacted by now."

Yelena didn't spend too much time on this topic with him. She rolled her eyes almost imperceptibly and stared at the reeds by the lake. "You know why I came to see you."

Sorkov yawned, then revealed an expression of absolute schadenfreude: "So what if you know? Is this the first day you've met me? That American is really stupid. If someone else were to persuade me, I might hesitate for a while, but if it's you, no way."

“Really?” Yelena retorted, not to be outdone. “I’m also curious why they weren’t willing to investigate the relationship between you and me a little. But perhaps it’s precisely because they know about our relationship that they sent me here.”

"Don't you think so, my dear brother?"

Sorkov took a deep breath, resisting the urge to push her into the lake, though he knew there was nothing wrong with it—they could both swim anyway. "Shut up."

"What, you're not even willing to admit this now?"

There was nothing to admit. His expression grew colder and colder. "Admit? What do you want me to admit? If you want to see some sentimental sibling drama, you might as well go to a mental hospital. The brothers there listen to you much more than I do."

"You still have such a bad temper."

"Obviously."

Sorkov was already getting tired of the conversation; in fact, he had felt that way half an hour earlier. But before he left, his wife had specifically asked him to stay outside a little longer, implying that he should cherish their old family ties. Although he didn't know what was so great about maintaining this messed-up relationship, he agreed out of respect for his wife.

Otherwise, he wouldn't be willing to waste his time here.

Unfortunately, perhaps because she had contacted the lady beforehand, Yelena was well aware of the situation, which is why she was able to calmly provoke him here without worrying about him running away.

Seeing Yelena again after seven years, Sorkov knew perfectly well what her purpose was in coming all this way. It wasn't hard to guess, especially since he had just seen the American off and immediately received her call.

To be honest, although he felt more disgust than surprise, he was still somewhat taken aback. After all, when she left without saying goodbye, the note she left behind clearly stated that she would never come back, not even in death.

As for where she went, it seemed to be a difficult question to answer and impossible to guess. Sorkov was not her parent, so of course he wouldn't bother to worry about her whereabouts. Such a shocking event was of course a big deal in the town, and every household was discussing Yelena's escape, but the conclusions of the debates were all different.

Some say she committed suicide, others say she went to a city in eastern Russia to make a living, and still others say she actually eloped to Western Europe with her boyfriend.

Solkov didn't believe any of these answers, because she was too selfish to give up her own life, wouldn't be willing to go to great lengths to work long distances, and couldn't possibly be blinded by love.

However, the answer to this question now seems quite clear.

The diamond ring on her hand sparkled in the moonlight. Solkov had actually seen it long ago, but he had been habitually ignoring it until now, when he turned his head and looked at her ring finger thoughtfully.

"How interesting, is my dear brother-in-law American?"

Yelena seemed surprised that he suddenly brought this up, and still subconsciously retorted sarcastically, "What, is it only now that clever Andrei has realized this?"

Oh, she went to America.

Judging from the designer clothes she was wearing and the numerous luxury necklaces adorning her neck, her brother-in-law, whom he had never met, seemed to be a very wealthy American.

"You're married?"

"No."

It's not a question, it's an affirmative sentence.

"What, can't I be the one who earns the money to buy these jewels?"

Bored, Thor began counting blades of grass: "If you were really that diligent, you wouldn't be Yelena."

Yelena gave him a cold look: "God, Andrei, I really hate your smug look. Do you know how much you deserve a beating at a time like this?"

Sorkov suppressed the urge to sneer; he knew he was right the moment he saw her reaction.

The long, pointless chatter seemed to have completely exhausted Yelena's patience. She stopped looking at him, her tone still sharp, "I really don't understand what you're still hesitating about, you idiot. Master has extended an olive branch to you, what reason do you have to refuse? Or are you really going to waste your time in this lousy place?"

"A run-down place?" Sorkov asked calmly, without any surprise.

"That's interesting. Didn't you also grow up in this lousy place? Or is it that slander can somehow salvage a shred of dignity that doesn't even exist in your heart?"

"Yes, so I left, it's that simple."

She left—those three words were so casually uttered. Of course, she left quickly and decisively, dragging her suitcase and looting all the valuables in the house. She left that shameful, dilapidated place without looking back, completely unaware of what would become of that home after her resolute departure.

She didn't know, and even if she did, she probably wouldn't care.

And Sorkov wouldn't say.

Years later, when she brought up what happened back then, it seemed like nothing to her, but it was real pain to him. He remembered that night when the rain was pouring down, tears and anger swept in with the storm, leaving only a mess and an empty room.

How interesting, people who leave without saying goodbye...

Sorkov lowered his head, seemingly deep in thought. Yelena thought he was finally starting to think about immigration and finally showed a relieved smile. However, the next second, he looked up at her with a smile.

“You know what, I had almost let go of my hatred, but you just mentioned leaving so casually, and now I can’t help but hate you again.”

He was smiling, but there was no smile in his eyes, only a deep disgust and resistance.

“I have to say, it was a complete mistake for Master to bring you here. Did he really think you could trick me into going to America under the guise of family ties? How naive! I can finally tell you for sure that I will never go to America with you, not even if I die.”

"I would rather die than say it." Anyway, it won't hurt to say it. If she could say that when she left back then, why can't he?

At least in terms of determination, Sorkov did not feel he was weaker than her.

“Ha,” she said after a moment of silence, then suddenly burst out laughing, “You really are incredibly stupid.”

“What good will it do you to stay here? You’ve already offended everyone, and now your reputation is ruined. You have to find your own coaches and training facilities. This country can’t help you at all; it will only hold you back as always. You don’t actually think that being so stubborn is the right thing to do, do you?”

"Although I'm reluctant to say it, Master is very sincere. He has offered you very generous terms. I don't understand why you would refuse. Who would turn down money?"

Sorkov gave her a nonchalant look.

Yes, he is the one facing this choice today. If it were Lena, she would probably agree in less than half a second. After all, she is by no means someone who turns down money. On the contrary, she is even a little too fond of money.

"Yes, you're absolutely right. So, should I agree to your proposal just because I'm telling the truth?"

He even found it somewhat amusing, shrugged, and remained completely indifferent, not taking her words to heart at all.

"As for you, you seem to be meddling too much. Don't always try to intimidate me with your older sister's aura. I don't think Luca and Lena have any connection anymore. After all, none of us still use our old names, do we?"

Lena watched coldly as he stood up from the lawn, yawned wearily, and then turned and left.

"Are you really not going to reconsider?"

Without turning his head, Sorkov said, "If you're trying to persuade me as Leena, I won't consider it."

He didn't finish the rest of his sentence, but both of them knew what the unspoken words meant.

In other words, if you try to persuade him in any other capacity, he won't consider it.

"Aren't you still blaming me for leaving back then?" Lena's face darkened, finally unable to contain her frustration any longer, and she shouted loudly in his direction, "Idiot, if you were me, you would have chosen to do the same, and I have never regretted my decision!"

Her volume was just within Sorkov's hearing range, but he was too lazy to pay attention to her anymore. He glanced at his phone and realized that the entire meeting had lasted for half an hour. His patience was getting better and better.

“That’s interesting. Have I ever told you that you and I have never been two different people?” Solkov said without turning his head.

Lena and Luca are, after all, two people who have nothing in common.