Chapter 100

The jeep left the city, and the bustling traffic, market noise, and dust slowly disappeared, replaced by expansive grasslands. In December, the Serengeti was filled with the moist scent of earth, signaling the lushness of the grass and the rising of the lakes, almost as if it were a prelude to the upcoming animal migration. Near the Mara River, herds of wildebeest had gathered, zebras following closely behind, hippopotamuses submerged in the water, crocodiles lying along the riverbank, and lion prides quietly circling, the scent of hunting quietly accumulating on the still land. Animal skeletons were scattered along the dirt road, some still fresh, while others had long since weathered into dry remains. Winnie couldn't immediately identify the remains, but Van patiently explained, "These are wildebeest bones, that one is from a buffalo, and the mound of red earth next to it is actually a termite mound." The vehicle continued deeper into the grasslands, the wide-open view interrupted only by the sound of the wind rustling through the grass. Aside from the guide vehicle ahead, there were no other convoys in sight. The surrounding area was completely quiet. Winnie couldn't help but tighten the shawl on her shoulders. It wasn't just the cold; there was also a sense of unease. The jarring bumps of the vehicle made her dizzy again, the fatigue from the long flight returning. The lead guide vehicle ahead slowed down, and Winnie heard faint English through the walkie-talkie. Although she couldn't make out all of it, she guessed it was a signal to be cautious of the right side. She furrowed her brows, a wave of nausea rising in her stomach. Suppressing the discomfort, she quietly said, "I... I want to get out of the car." Van slightly furrowed his brows, smiling as he teased, "Going to feed the lions?" Winnie grabbed his sleeve, trying to hold back the urge to vomit. Her face turned pale, and she let out a painful groan. The conditions on the grasslands were much harsher than she had imagined. Predators were lurking everywhere, and sticking her head out of the window was an extremely dangerous move. Van sighed deeply, unhesitatingly removing his suit jacket. "You can throw up right here." This was a suit meticulously tailored by the best Savile Row tailor, and imagining the old London tailor finding out that his masterpiece had become a vomit bag was almost enough to make him faint. Winnie didn't hesitate to take the jacket, and the sound of her vomiting escaped uncontrollably. She felt a pang of regret inside. She had thrown up on her benefactor's suit and was making a fool of herself in front of him... But soon, a wave of relief washed over her, as if all her discomfort had disappeared with the vomit. Van handed her two tissues, his expression showing mild distaste. Winnie looked at him pitifully. "I'll clean the suit and return it to you..." Van briefly refused, "No need." "That's too bad—ugh—" Before she could finish her sentence, she turned away and continued vomiting. Van closed his eyes, his brows slightly furrowing, appearing somewhat impatient. "Miss Loxley," it had been a long time since he called her that formally, "Talk after you're done." Winnie weakly responded, "I'm done, really..." Van, with some impatience, opened a water bottle and softly said, "Rinse your mouth." Winnie obediently followed, even though the disgusting taste still lingered in her mouth, but she complied. Van glanced at her, extending his finger to point at one side of the car, and coldly said, "Sit further away." Winnie was stunned for a moment, silently muttering to herself, "So he has a cleanliness obsession... I never noticed before." But thinking about his living environment, it made sense. She let out a small, muffled sound, like a little dog, full of grievance. --- It was 4 PM in Tanzania, and back home, it was 9 PM—right around the time her birthday party was supposed to be happening. On social media, the platform automatically popped up a birthday reminder. Winnie's comment section was flooded with well-wishes, and her fans had created a cute and glamorous wall of text. Her fan club also posted pictures of the light boards they had prepared for her. On the light board poster was a crown-shaped look she wore on the red carpet one year. She was smiling downwards, as if she were being crowned. That was the year she achieved a Grand Slam in both film and television, with her sights set on Cannes, enjoying an endless glow of success. That was already two years ago. Winnie rarely disappeared on her birthday. She would obediently attend the birthday party organized by her company, take a bunch of photos, post them thoughtfully on IG, and then seriously make a wish. Her wish was the same every year: In the new year, may all wishes come true.