Chapter 619

chapter619

“It’s been a long time,” Emmanuel replied, offering a steady nod.

The man speaking was Yosef Harper. Along with Queenie, Yosef had been one of Emmanuel’s closest childhood companions. Years ago, the Old Godfather had recognized potential in both boys, personally guiding their early education in both classical literature and the foundations of martial arts.

However, life had taken them on different paths. Emmanuel had left Hero’s Village with his father, eventually finding his way to the Northern Region and later Yeringham. It had been over a decade since they last stood in the same square, and the reunion carried a complex weight.

“Yes, it has,” Yosef agreed, his smile polite but calculated.

Under the patriarch’s long-term mentorship, Yosef had developed the poised, intellectual air of a scholar. In Hero’s Village, he was regarded as a man of significant charm and refined features—a stark contrast to the more rugged, direct nature of many of the local men.

“It seems neither of us fulfilled that childhood vow regarding Queenie,” Yosef continued, his voice light with nostalgia. “Do you remember how we used to argue about who would eventually earn her hand?”

A murmur of amusement rippled through the gathered villagers. Queenie lowered her head, a soft blush coloring her cheeks as she played along with the reminiscing. Mackenzie’s expression, already reserved, sharpened into a mask of pure, icy detachment.

Emmanuel immediately felt the shift in the air. He tightened his hold on Mackenzie’s hand, offering a dismissive smile to Yosef. “We were six years old, Yosef. Children say many things in jest. There’s no need to treat a playground game as a serious topic today.”

He remained calm, knowing the "vow" was nothing more than a game of playing house. He had never harbored actual feelings for Queenie, and the memory had long since faded into the background of his life.

However, Mackenzie wasn't so easily appeased. She offered a sharp, silent reprimand by pulling her hand away from his. Emmanuel caught her gaze from the corner of his eye and felt a sinking sensation. She’s definitely not seeing the humor in this, he realized.

Yosef, observing the interaction with a knowing glint in his eyes, didn't press the point. “You’re right; today is about tradition, not old jokes. You should join the others for the blessing ceremony.”

“Of course,” Emmanuel agreed, maintaining his composure.

Nearby, Frederick was fuming. To him, the timing of Yosef and Queenie’s remarks was too perfect to be accidental. They were using "nostalgia" as a weapon to sow seeds of doubt between Emmanuel and his wife. It was a subtle, sophisticated form of character assassination that left Emmanuel with no easy way to retaliate without appearing defensive.

As the ceremony commenced, the focus shifted to the traditional ritual of loyalty and filial piety. The younger generation formed a line to pay their respects to the Old Godfather. Mackenzie stood beside Emmanuel, her analytical mind cataloging the unique customs of the village.

While the individual blessings were straightforward, she paid close attention to the rituals reserved for couples. The etiquette was steeped in ancient tradition: participants wore distinctive plaques representing family virtues, and there were specific postures required for men and women.

In the village’s traditional view, the men offered a respectful bow, while the women were expected to show a deep, submissive deference, bowing low until their foreheads nearly touched the ground. This was meant to symbolize the "reception of wisdom" and the promise of future prosperity for the household.

Mackenzie watched as woman after woman followed the custom, rising with dust on their faces but smiles of pride. Her brow furrowed. To the villagers, this was a sacred blessing; to the CEO of the Quillen Group, it was an outdated display that clashed with her every instinct of self-worth. She was the "Ice Goddess" of Yeringham, a woman who led thousands and answered to no one. The idea of conforming to such a subservient posture, even for a blessing, was fundamentally at odds with who she was.