Chapter 482 You’re Not Afraid of Snakes, Are You

• Shawn Lawson’s mom suddenly remembered that the man her son had always idolized—Casper Frost—had just gotten married, and word was his wife was pregnant. Was her son really going to copy even that? She was stunned and totally speechless. She never imagined her son was even more outrageous than she thought—not just learning from Casper Frost, but actually keeping Casper Frost’s woman and daughter… Shawn Lawson seemed like a different person. Casper Frost felt like he’d had his soul swapped. Casper Frost had really settled down in the village. He wore rough cotton and linen, ate plain food, and lived in a shabby little yard. He didn’t know what he was looking for or what he could find. He looked numb, detached. Still, Ironstone couldn’t stand the sight of him, which made Casper’s numbness hard to maintain. Like right now, Ironstone ordered him to come along and cut pigweed. A bamboo basket was thrust at Casper. He frowned at it and didn’t move. Ironstone snapped in that booming voice, “Put it on your back. Or are you planning to carry the grass home in your arms?” Casper’s brows knit tighter. “Did Rhea Wood have to do this when she was here?” “Of course not. She’s pregnant. How could she do heavy labor? You’re a grown man—don’t tell me you want to compete with a pregnant woman?” Ironstone was downright righteous about it. He talked fast because his mom had gone to the garden to pick greens. Otherwise, once she got back, she’d shield Casper and forbid him from working. Hearing that, Casper wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or annoyed. Pleased that Rhea Wood hadn’t needed to do this; annoyed that he had to—and he couldn’t find a decent rebuttal. The tricks of buying people off or throwing money around were useless on Ironstone. Ironstone didn’t give Casper time to hesitate. He shoved the basket toward him. Seeing Casper still hadn’t slung it on his back, Ironstone let him carry it in his hand without comment, then handed him a grass-cutting knife. Noting his mom wasn’t back yet, Ironstone urged, “Move it. If we stall any longer, the sun’s gonna be blazing.” It was only seven in the morning… Back before he met Rhea Wood, Casper Frost basically didn’t have mornings. Because of his insomnia, he rarely got up before noon; even in the afternoon he looked lazy and drowsy. No way had he ever been this diligent. Heading out at seven to cut pigweed… But since he was staying here, he followed Ironstone out the gate. After half an hour, Ironstone finally stopped. “All right. This is the spot. Let’s get to it.” The whole way had been nothing but grass, and Casper didn’t get why they had to walk so far. But he was always detached with everything, so he didn’t bother asking. He copied Ironstone, picked up the knife, and started cutting. It didn’t take long for Ironstone’s booming voice to rise again. “Casper Frost, what the hell are you cutting? You can’t just grab any grass. I’m starting to think you’re trying to kill my pigs! Don’t tell me you don’t even know how to cut pigweed!” Casper had been abused before, but never despised like this. His eyelids twitched. “You really think I’d mess up something as low-level as cutting pigweed?” What CEO needs to know how to cut pigweed… Ironstone was dead serious. “It’s fine if you don’t know, but then you gotta ask. If you don’t know and you don’t ask, and just hack at random, yeah, that’s a problem.” Casper took a long breath, unsure how to answer—because Ironstone was right, and earnest. He didn’t know, and he couldn’t be bothered to ask. That was on him. What felt trivial to Casper was a big deal to Ironstone—this was how a family got by. Casper’s face went dark, his voice colder. “Then what should I be cutting?” Ironstone didn’t care how cold he sounded. He explained carefully, “Goosegrass, five-leaf vine, chicory, grain amaranth, lamb’s-quarters, wild peas, wild canola, wild buckwheat, plantain, dandelion, purslane, wild lettuce…” He rattled off a long list, and Casper’s face kept getting darker. Ironstone suddenly realized, “Uh… you probably don’t recognize half of that. I’ll point them out. This patch here—it’s all good. Cut this side.” Casper didn’t bother replying. He just lifted the knife and got to work. Ironstone kept teaching like a patient coach. “Cutting pigweed’s got its own rules. Pigs eat tender, not tough; sweet, not bitter; fresh green, not withered; clean, not dirty; wilted, not raw…” Casper’s anger slowly settled. Maybe that’s true. Deal-making is a craft, and cutting grass to feed pigs is a craft too. Rhea Wood never felt inferior because she worked the fields, and never got cocky because she held Frost Corporation shares. She was always bright and sincere. Ironstone was sincere too, which left Casper with no good counter. And yeah, Ironstone was sincerely not fond of him. His sister had left to get away from her husband. She was gorgeous and sweet; the brother-in-law looked like a demon, mean and menacing, and not a good guy. Now who knew where she’d gone, whether she and Gogo were okay? The more he missed Rhea Wood, the less he liked Casper Frost. Ironstone was a kind man—he’d been scammed out of his money and still took it in stride, hardly ever hated anyone. But he truly hated Casper Frost. In the end, Casper did sling the basket onto his back, and soon it filled with grass. Dew soaked his clothes. Mud smeared his polished shoes. He actually looked like a tall guy out cutting pigweed—except that face of his was still too cool and aristocratic. They walked back in silence. Casper wasn’t talkative. Ironstone didn’t want to talk to him. Then, passing through a tangle of weeds, they saw a sleek black shape sliding through the green—a striking contrast. A snake. Inky black, a broad head, tongue flicking as it coiled and slithered. The brush had hidden it; by the time they noticed, it was right at their feet. Casper’s eyes changed. Dark. Full of malice and violence. He loathed snakes. Back when he was locked in a basement, that crazy woman had poisoned him until he couldn’t move, then dumped snakes in to bite him. They weren’t venomous, but the cold, slimy slither over his skin—he still remembered the disgust. In the end, the snake bit him, and he bit the snake to death. His body couldn’t move, but his teeth could. The salty tang of blood flooded his mouth, vile and icy. In that instant, he felt just like that snake—cold-blooded, heartless. Nauseating and hateful. Right now, Casper Frost was like a viper himself, radiating danger. The next second, Ironstone sprang into action. Basket on his back, yet nimble as hell. The big guy lunged and grabbed the snake right at the seven-inch mark. The basket was too full; his dive sent grass flying, covering his head. He popped up grinning, gave his wrist a snap, and stunned the snake. “Guess we’re feasting tonight,” he said, delighted. Then he noticed Casper’s face looked off. Ironstone quickly held the snake farther away from him, blinking. “Casper Frost, you’re not afraid of snakes, are you?”