The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 160

As evening descended on the Foster Estate, the setting sun painted the grounds in a warm, golden hue.

Garrison strode through the winding corridors until he reached the most secluded corner of the property. Here sat an independent courtyard, built of traditional grey brick. An ancient locust tree, older than the manor itself, stood sentry by the entrance. The walls were choked with thick ivy, its glossy leaves shimmering in the dying light.

He knocked gently on the wooden door.

A moment later, it swung open. An elderly servant with stark white hair bowed respectfully. "Young Master."

"Cora, is Grandmother awake?"

"She is, she just finished her dinner." Cora stepped aside to let him pass. "She was just asking about you."

Garrison nodded and stepped inside.

The courtyard wasn't massive, but it was immaculately curated. A cluster of bamboo, elegant Taihu stones, and a few rare orchids tucked into the corners. The doors to the main parlor were thrown open, revealing antique mahogany furniture and the curling smoke of burning sandalwood.

He stepped over the threshold.

Seated in an intricately carved armchair was the matriarch of the family.

Eleanor Foster was seventy-eight years old. Her hair was completely white, swept back into a flawlessly neat chignon. She wore a dark grey traditional tunic with classic frog closures, and around her wrist rested an exquisite jade bangle, as vibrantly green as spring water.

Her face was a roadmap of wrinkles, but her eyes were still piercingly sharp, practically capable of dissecting a man's soul.

Garrison walked up, stopped in front of her, and bowed his head respectfully. "Grandmother."

Eleanor slowly raised her eyelids to look at him.

"Here, are you?" Her voice was slightly raspy but carried immense authority. "Sit."

Garrison took the chair beside her.

Eleanor picked up her porcelain teacup, took a slow, deliberate sip, and set it down. She scrutinized her grandson, her gaze heavy with calculation.

"What brings you to my corner of the house today?" she asked dryly. "I heard that sister of yours fell ill. Why aren't you hovering by her bedside?"

Garrison: ...

The sunset spilled through the lattice windows, casting a golden divide between them. The sandalwood smoke drifted into the air, slowly dissipating.

Eleanor stared at him for a very long time.

Then, she picked up her teacup, took a sip, and let out a soft laugh.

"Well, boy, you finally figured it out."

Garrison blinked in surprise.

Eleanor set the cup down and leaned back into her armchair, her gaze drifting into the distance.

"When your grandfather was courting me," she began out of nowhere, "he had that exact same look in his eyes."

Garrison stayed dead silent.

"Back then, he was just a poor boy from the southern islands, with absolutely nothing to his name. I lived in the city, my family ran a massive trading company, and out of all the wealthy heirs chasing me, I didn't care for a single one." A ghost of a smile touched Eleanor's lips. "He just showed up in my city, stood right at my front door, and said, 'I'm going to marry you.'"