Landlord in the Arctic

He waited until they sped off on their snowmobiles, kicking up a cloud of snow.

The beams from their headlights grew faint in the darkness, eventually dwindling to a few distant, twinkling points of light.

Feng Mountain retracted his gaze, pursed his lips in annoyance, and couldn’t help but mutter under his breath.

"What’s she so proud of? All that hand-kissing... Does she really think she’s a princess?"

"Boss, that lady might actually be a princess. Didn’t you hear Mr. Frank’s introduction just now?" Yves’s expression was unusually grave. He frowned slightly, his eyes fixed on Feng Mountain.

"I heard him." Feng Mountain nodded casually, a dismissive look on his face. He pursed his lips and said impatiently, "Natasha Nikolaevna Romanova, or something. What a long, troublesome mouthful of a name."

Hearing that name, Yves’s expression turned even more serious.

Yves wasn’t like Feng Mountain, a middle-school dropout and an academic slacker.

In his youth, he had been an outstanding, top-of-his-class student.

With his excellent grades and remarkable talent, he had successfully gotten into a prestigious Ivy League University.

His vast reserves of knowledge gave Yves a deep understanding of history and culture, and he knew that the surname "Romanova" very likely represented an incredibly glorious past.

Therefore, Yves keenly realized that Natasha’s status was probably far more noble than Feng Mountain imagined.

He straightened up slightly, cleared his throat, and spoke with a solemn expression.

"Boss, Romanova is a great and highly influential surname in Russia. In Russian surname conventions, the female version ends with ’-ova,’ while the male version ends with ’-ov.’ If that lady comes from the Romanov Family, then they are illustrious in Russian history."

"How famous could they be? Don’t tell me they produced an emperor." Feng Mountain pursed his lips again, his face full of disdain and his tone tinged with sarcasm.

But Yves nodded heavily, his eyes conveying certainty.

"That’s right. The Romanov Family really did produce an emperor."

He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing.

"The Romanov Family has a long and storied history, dating back to the distant 14th century. They are one of Russia’s oldest and most distinguished noble families. In that turbulent era, the Romanov Family made their mark on the stage of Russian history through their outstanding wisdom and formidable power."

"In 1613, Mikhail Feodorovich Romanov was unanimously elected Tsar by the Russian nobility, thus establishing the Russian Romanov Dynasty. For the next three hundred-plus years, the Romanov Family held a firm grip on Russia’s government. Under their rule, Russia experienced countless moments of glory and hardship, witnessing the rise and fall of an empire."

"This continued until 1917, when the flames of the October Revolution were lit in Russia. The revolutionary tide swept through like a hurricane, and the Tsarist system completely collapsed under its force. The Tsarist Russia Dynasty came to an end along with it."

"In other words, Lady Natasha is very likely a princess descended from the Tsarist Russia Empire. But God help us, the Romanov Family and all the imperial family members were killed back then. How could there be any descendants?"

After speaking, Yves took a deep breath, a complex mix of emotions in his eyes—part awe for history, part astonishment at Natasha’s identity.

Feng Mountain, on the other hand, was completely dumbfounded. He stood rooted to the spot, his eyes wide with utter shock.

’So she really is a princess.’

But then a tide of questions flooded his mind.

’How did this princess get involved with the Crown Territory? And how did she inexplicably become my fiancée?’

"Boss, if you’re the princess’s fiancé, doesn’t that make you a prince?" the old veteran beside him chimed in, his eyes twinkling as he teased with a mischievous grin.

As he spoke, he mimicked a medieval knight’s pledge of allegiance, dropping to one knee and placing a fist over his left breast. With a solemn expression, he shouted loudly,

"I shall forever be loyal to my lord and fight for justice! Your blade’s edge is the direction of my crusade!"

"Then I grant you permission to die."

Feng Mountain didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He irritably lifted his foot, feigning a kick.

Seeing this, the old veteran scrambled up from the ground and hopped backward a few steps. A playful grin still on his face, he ran off yelling for the prince to spare his life.

After scaring the old veteran away, Feng Mountain scratched his head in frustration and grumbled,

"You guys can marry a princess if you want. You’d probably have to wash her feet for her before bed every night."

Hearing their boss’s complaint, the men burst into raucous laughter.

Their hearty laughter echoed across the dark runway, dispelling some of the tension.

But teasing was teasing, and business was business.

Yves quickly stifled his smile and said, "Boss, they left a snowmobile. You go on back and play host. We’ll stay and move the fireworks."

"Alright." Feng Mountain nodded slightly. A hint of concern showed in his eyes as he gave a serious instruction, "Store those fireworks far away. And whatever you do, don’t let those little brats back home get their hands on them and light them. If anything happens, we’ll be in big trouble."

With his instructions given, Feng Mountain straddled the snowmobile and started the engine.

With a roar, the vehicle shot toward the camp like an arrow loosed from a bow, kicking up a spray of snow behind it. His figure gradually vanished into the vast darkness.

...

Feng Mountain had just returned to camp and parked the snowmobile. He hadn’t even had a chance to catch his breath.

When Maria came rushing over, her expression panicked and her face etched with anxiety.