The moment Jeanne received her revelation wasn't the time she truly set out; sixteen years old was the actual turning point.
This time, Laurent wasn't worried about that.
When she turned sixteen, Jeanne would reach out to her relatives.
Should he stop her?
Or rather, should he follow her and help?
For a moment, Laurent was lost.
Ultimately, what kind of feelings did he actually hold towards this girl now?
Uncle Jacques hadn't said anything particularly important when he'd called Laurent for a talk—most of it had been about Jeanne, like asking him to take care of her and so on. As for the food situation, Jacques said he'd handle it himself.
Laurent naturally understood that.
Time passed swiftly. Winter arrived, the weather grew colder, Laurent's clothing steadily increased, and soon, snow began to fall.
Jeanne's birthday was just three days away.
Today, it snowed lightly. Thanks to the weather, Laurent's heavy labor finally relaxed a little.
He finally had time to think seriously about Jeanne's birthday gift.
Speaking of which, since she'd always been so devoted to her Catholic faith, what about making her a cross?
Laurent felt this was a pretty good idea himself.
That girl prayed every single day. Although he didn't exactly approve of this habit, a birthday was a birthday—the important thing was that she'd be happy.
Three days left. First, he needed suitable metal—maybe iron or stainless steel?
Wait a minute… did stainless steel even exist yet?
He'd need the village blacksmith's help to forge it, though it probably wouldn't come free.
Acting immediately—there was little time left—Laurent had to finish it before her birthday.
Since he shared a room with Jeanne at night, he naturally needed to be discreet about this.
After circling around the village, he located the blacksmith's shop and walked straight in.
Compared to everywhere else, the blacksmith's shop in winter was obviously much warmer. The sound of fire crackling could still be heard inside.
"Anyone here?"
"Hm?"
At his call, a voice quickly answered from within. Soon, a burly man, shirtless with muscles bulging, appeared.
Probably only this guy could handle being shirtless in midwinter.
"Whose kid are you?"
Laurent's mouth twitched slightly. By age, he was only fourteen—indeed still rather small.
"Monsieur… I want to make a small cross, the kind worn around the neck…"
"Nope, not doing it."
Just hearing Laurent's opening sentence, the blacksmith impatiently waved him away.
"Kid, whose family do you belong to? Tell your folks to take you back. My shop isn't here for making that kind of stuff."
"Please, I'll do anything you want!"
Laurent quickly understood the situation and gave a ninety-degree bow.
He knew exactly what he had to do right now.
Nothing in this world was free. Naturally, there was a price to pay.
In past years, he'd personally made all Jeanne's gifts. This year would be no exception.
"Begging won't help. What could a brat like you even do for me?"
"I'm pretty strong!"
He did indeed need the blacksmith's carving skills rather than smithing itself.
"Heh."
The blacksmith sneered lightly at his words.
"Fine. Come over here and try hammering iron fifty times. If you manage it, I'll consider using you."
Seeing there was hope, Laurent wouldn't give up now. Quickly rolling up his sleeves, he walked in, picked up the hammer, and swung it down.
It was heavy, and due to his height, somewhat awkward to handle.
But for the gift's sake, he'd push through.
By the thirtieth swing, Laurent was gasping heavily, sweat running down his face, some from heat, some from exhaustion.
The burly man stood aside, leisurely sipping water and watching with interest.
"It's the first time I've seen a brat your age with such strength. Not bad, not bad. Remind me, what exactly do you want again?"
Clang!
Laurent swung once more.
"A small cross necklace."
"Any requirements?"
Laurent gasped for breath. Could you even call this a hammer? He had to use both hands just to lift it.
"Something durable, that won't rust or deform easily."
"Alright, got it. That's enough, you can stop hammering."
The burly man stepped forward and stopped him.
"When do you need it?"
"Within two days."
"Hah, greedy brat. Fine, two days it is."
The blacksmith seemed to be in a pretty good mood.
"For these two days, come here and help me. By the afternoon of the day after tomorrow, I'll have your cross ready, got it?"
Laurent's face immediately lit up with joy.
"Thank you."
Hard work did pay off after all—even if that work was indeed bitter and exhausting.
...
When Laurent returned home, his face was dusty and messy. Fortunately, there was a river nearby, and he washed his face with the freezing water.
But now he felt as if the skin on his face was about to crack from the cold.
"Laurent!"
As he entered the house, Jeanne stood there looking quite proud.
"What's up?"
He looked curiously at her. To hide his frozen hands and nose from her, he'd vigorously rubbed them just out of sight near home, hoping at least his red nose wouldn't be too obvious.
Jeanne stepped forward confidently.
"Hold out your hand."
Laurent doubtfully extended his hand.
"Palm open."
"What exactly are you doing?"
Though he asked, he still obediently did as she said.
Jeanne then held his palm in one hand and used the index finger of her other hand to trace something across his skin—warm, gentle strokes.
"Your name. How is it, correct, isn't it!"
Watching her writing, Laurent couldn't help but smile slightly. Though it was correct, she still wrote with noticeable difficulty.
"Why are you smiling? Did I make a mistake somewhere?"
"No, no."
He shook his head.
"Then what about your own?"
Jeanne's expression froze slightly. Hesitantly, she traced more letters on his palm again.
She managed it roughly, but there was an obvious mistake.
Laurent flipped his hand around and caught her fingers. Jeanne didn't resist.
He gently opened her palm.
"You've been learning your own name for years, yet you still can't get it right. It's written like this."
Carefully tracing each letter, he failed to notice Jeanne's increasingly flushed cheeks—though whether it was due to the weather or the atmosphere was unclear.
"Do you remember now?"
Jeanne only then snapped back to reality at his words.
"Yes…"
When Laurent had traced those letters on her hand, it had felt ticklish.
His hand…feels a bit cold, she thought quietly to herself.
Imperceptibly, she moved her warm hand a little closer to his.
"Oh right, Laurent—you'll never guess what I got from Papa earlier!"
Suddenly recalling the main point, Jeanne's face brightened with happiness once again.
"What?"
"Hehe,"
She reached inside her clothes and quickly pulled out a small loaf of bread, still steaming slightly.
"See? If today you call me 'Lady Jeanne,' I'll share half with you!"
Looking at the steaming bread, Laurent's stomach involuntarily growled. After a full day's exhausting work, he was indeed starving.
But he also knew clearly: this food had undoubtedly cost Jeanne a lot of effort. She'd even kept it warm with her own body heat, patiently waiting for his return.
"In that case, I'd rather just sleep on your haystack tonight to stay warm."
"Laurent you're mean! Get up! You're messing up my haystack again!"
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T/N: awww so cuteee