1986: My Happy Life in Provence

Chapter 525: Chaos, Chaos, Chaos
Freddie said that at least 100 villagers from Lourmaran came to Bonnillo today, with almost every household sending a representative.

The terrace of the café that Zoe had booked couldn't possibly hold all the villagers. On his way to the preparation zone, he saw many familiar faces on both sides of the street; everyone was there to cheer on Ronan.

Ronan felt a warmth in his heart upon hearing this.

So many people actually think highly of him and Huhu?
His mood instantly shifted from disappointment at the lower odds, and he changed his goal from getting rich himself to getting rich for the whole village!
Because of Ronan's participation, the enthusiasm for betting on Lourmaraners has been incredibly high this year. Even Zoe, who doesn't care about sports and isn't interested in this type of competition, has started placing bets.

What's the point of someone making money?
Only bringing wealth to the entire village deserves this rural carnival!
Today, Bonigno must belong to the people of Lourmaran. Ronan encouraged himself with this thought.

“Let me tell you all, Huhu and I are in great shape,” Ronan told Freddie. “If you trust me, you can buy more. Look, Huhu has pooped a lot.”

Freddie is a loyal spectator of the goat race and has been buying goats for over a decade. Although he has never won, he is very experienced.

He followed Ronan's hand to look down at Hu Hu's lower body, then glanced at the other contestants, and a few seconds later turned and excitedly left.
"I'll go buy another 500 francs and then tell the Lourmaran people who came here the news."

Ronan watched Freddie leave through the gap between the two tents.

In this small gap, he saw villagers and tourists dressed in colorful floral dresses, plaid shirts, and wide-brimmed straw hats crowding the square and both sides of the race track.

I saw faint glimpses of red poppies, purple lavender, and bright yellow sunflowers.

I also saw local cheese, wine, pottery and snack stalls under temporary colorful awnings.

At this moment, Ronan felt a surge of eagerness—he desperately wanted to leave the training area and go out to show his skills.

Ronan took out the matching outfits he had brought and walked towards Huhu:
"It's time for us to change our battle uniforms."

Ronan's strong urge to leave the training zone stemmed from the support and encouragement of the villagers of Lourmaran behind him.

He wanted to quickly secure first place and give everyone an explanation.

Logically, this impulse should fade over time or be replaced by other emotions, such as tension.

But after changing his and Huhu's battle gear, Ronan's urge to go out became increasingly urgent, to the point of being unbearable, because every extra second spent in the preparation area was a huge challenge to his body and mind.

The sweltering smell of sweat, the muttony odor of goats, the fresh grass mixed with the scent of soil, and the smell of goat droppings—all these intense odors filled the makeshift training area, making Ronan's eyes water from the heat.

To be honest, Ronan was not familiar with goats. Huhu was the first goat he had ever come into close contact with in his life. He was no match for other jockeys who had dealt with goats for many years. His participation in the competition was purely accidental.

He suddenly agreed with the odds the organizing committee had given him at the opening – the odds for last place were incredibly professional.

The music outside the preparation area grew increasingly intense, and cheers from the tourists erupted every few seconds, indicating that the performance was about to reach its climax.

But only after the performance is over can these jockeys and sheep leave the preparation area and breathe fresh air.

"Just bear with it a little longer, it'll pass." Ronan rubbed his burning eyes.

Compared to Ronan's condition, the other jockeys had it much easier.

Some of them were tapping their feet to the music, some were dancing slightly while pulling on the ram's horns, and others were tidying up their ram contestants.

In this year's competition, the contestants paid more attention to their appearance, and no one ran around naked.

Even if they are not dressed, they will tie tricolor ribbons, their owner's scarf, or a beautiful bell to their horns.

However, apart from the situations mentioned above, most jockeys will use this last bit of time to observe their opponents.

Knowing yourself and your enemy is the key to victory in every battle. While observing, it is best to also select a few powerful "hypothetical enemies".

Huhu was the one who unloaded the most cargo, and many jockeys paid special attention to Ronan's movements. However, when they saw Ronan constantly wiping away tears, covering his nose with his clothes, and struggling to breathe fresh air in the narrow gap between the two tents, they all looked away.

Ah, nothing to fear.

Even worse, they might offer a few sarcastic or cynical comments:
"This guy seems to be having some trouble adjusting to the new environment."

"Haha, maybe we've come to the wrong venue. This is a goat race, not a horse race."

"A new face, is he an amateur?"

Ronan grumbled inwardly, feeling resentful—"So what if they're amateurs? Their odds are lower than yours, the professionals!"
If I remember correctly, odds of 1 to 6.5 would put it in the top ten of the 'favorable picks' list.

Huhu was unusually quiet and unusually clingy today.

Although it didn't interact much with Ronan, it stayed close to him and wouldn't leave his side for even a moment.

Ronan touched the bandage on Huhu's head to make sure it was secure:

"You've become famous on the organizing committee. Nobody had high hopes for you. I'm just an amateur too, but who says we can't pull off a comeback?"

Although the grass supply stopped, the athletes' excretions did not stop.

Another ten minutes or so passed, and Ronan's physical and mental defenses reached a critical point, at which point he could vomit up what he had eaten the night before.

He vowed that he had to find a way to get out and breathe some fresh air.

But this was clearly a difficult goal to achieve, as jockeys kept trying to go out to watch the show, only to be ruthlessly turned back by the security guards at the entrance.

Every year, the organizers of the goat race invite distinguished local guests.

Ronan still remembers how last year, when a scantily clad guest appeared, the entire city of Bonnillo turned into an open-air dance floor—as far as the eye could see, there were men and women striking provocative poses.

The scene... wow.

The organizers said that this year's event has been upgraded in all aspects, including the level of guests.

Although there was still some distance to the main stage, screams rose and fell around the preparation area, as if people would never speak again after today.

Through the tent, the jockeys couldn't hear the names of the guests being announced outside, nor did they know what was being performed. They could only stand around the entrance, hoping that the security guards would let them out for a glimpse.

But half an hour passed, and the result was one fruitless attempt after another.

Ronan watched from the sidelines for a while, getting increasingly anxious.

He couldn't rely on anyone else, so he had to do it himself.

However, Ronan wasn't foolish enough to confront the security guards head-on.

He doesn't remember much about last year's goat race; the only thing that remains vivid in his memory is the chaos at the scene.

That was the most chaotic day he'd had in over a year since arriving in Provence, bar none. Every step was fraught with unexpected mishaps—a car suddenly driving in the wrong direction, a band leaving their posts without permission, breakfast and wine flying through the air, and an absurd referee mistaking a tablecloth for a starting flag.
Since this is a unique event with a history of over a century, it must continue to maintain its distinctive style.

Having lost his mind due to the smoke, Ronan decided to add some chaos to this year's competition.

Soon, several more jockeys and security guards began negotiating.

"They're shouting so loudly outside, it must be a very important guest. I'll just take a look and come right back."

"No, no, I've told you so many times, you can't go out now. Some jockeys went out to watch the excitement and forgot about the race. When the race started, we shouted ourselves hoarse but couldn't find them. There were supposed to be 20 jockeys, but only 19 actually took to the track. We can't explain that to the people who bet on those jockeys. You'd better stay here quietly!"

"I've been competing for five years and I've never seen such a commotion outside. I have to go see who's here."

"You'll be able to leave soon, just wait a little longer, it'll be quick."

Several unwilling jockeys and security guards started a new round of negotiations when they suddenly caught a glimpse of a crack opening in the tightly closed tent.

Although it was only a little bit, it was enough to hear the announcements and songs from outside.

The on-site commentator, standing not far from the preparation area, gave an enthusiastic introduction:

"Have you all had enough? Want more? Haha, quickly bring out your enthusiasm and welcome Miss Charlotte Virginia! Next, she will sing everyone's favorite song, 'The Stranger'—"

Inside the preparation zone.

Ronan shouted at the top of his lungs, making sure every jockey could hear him: "It's Charlotte Virginia! This year's guest is Charlotte Virginia!!"

Charlotte Virginie was not only the goddess of Batti, but also the goddess of countless men in Provence.

Even the security guard was taken aback when he heard the name.

It's too late to say.

Ronan seized the opportunity to peek out of the tent and greedily inhaled the deep breaths.

The aroma of freshly baked bread, the sweetness of hay in the sun, the smoky scent of barbecue, and the sweet fragrance of wine wafting in the air. Ronan had never felt that breathing was such a blissful thing.

"I'm alive again, ouch—" Ronan had just let out a comfortable groan when he was forcefully shoved out of the room.

Countless burly men rushed out at the same time. The security guards were completely overwhelmed.

As per the usual procedure, when the jockeys and riders appear, the commentators will draw everyone's attention to them, because they are the main characters of the day.

But before the performance was over, the commentator saw a crack open in the tent in the preparation area, and then a jockey wearing a number plate came out.

"Why was the process brought forward? But if it's not chaotic, it won't be a goat race."

He is a seasoned on-site commentator who has hosted this event for many years, and he immediately came up with a new contingency plan in the face of this minor incident.

Amid Charlotte Virginia's captivating vocals and the cheers and screams of the audience, the commentator shouted with boundless enthusiasm:

"Look, our jockeys are eager to start this year's race, they're running towards us!"

Ronan wasn't deaf. He stumbled several steps before regaining his balance, but the commentator's use of the word "run" forced him to start running again.

Perhaps feeling that Ronan's run wasn't visually appealing enough, the commentator started "remotely controlling" the flow of the race:

"The jockey is waving to the spectators on both sides. Friends, let's give them a warm welcome!"

Ronan waved reluctantly, and after running a few steps, he saw the familiar villagers of Lourmaran.

Ah, Cornell and his sister.

What? Josephine is here too?

Hey, didn't Boge say he wasn't coming today? Why is he standing next to Fabian?
As more and more familiar faces appeared, Ronan's previously sluggish state became more energetic. He ran more and more nimbly and waved his hands faster and faster, of course, all towards the Lourmaran people.

Soon, he passed the central stage area and his eyes met Charlotte's from a distance.

Ronan smiled and waved to Charlotte, who was also from Lourmaran.

Charlotte smiled and waved to Ronan.

But she didn't just wave; she also extended her index finger, pointed a few points in the air, and then clenched her fist and waved it at him twice.

Ronan didn't know what Charlotte's strange actions meant, but he had always thought of the celebrity as eccentric, so he just took it as encouragement.

With the encouragement of his celebrity neighbor, Ronan ran even harder and more agilely.

In my ear, the commentator said in a joking tone:

"Popular contestants are really something else! They're already showing off their agility and physique before the competition even starts!"

The unpleasant smell had almost made Ronan forget his mission.

His goal today is to lead the entire village to prosperity!

The commentator's words made Ronan turn his attention to the vicinity of the starting point, wanting to see what his odds were now.

He remembered that on the terrace that Zoe had booked, there was a blackboard with the real-time odds written on it.

From afar, Ronan spotted Zoe waving her arms rapidly on the terrace, and immediately ran even faster.

The commentator's voice came through again:

"Haha, is our popular contestant already eager to start the race? Friends, let's give a round of applause to the number 6 runner who's in first place, and wish him the best in his final ranking, just like his popularity!"

Ronan stumbled again and almost fell to the ground.

What number is the commentator referring to?

Number 6?

Could it be that he's hallucinating from smelling too much sheep droppings?

In a great shock, he saw Freddie and Alan excitedly holding up a black board on the terrace where Zoe was.

One of them pointed to Ronan, and the other pointed to the number above.

On it, the number following Ronan's name was clearly written as 1:1.5.

Ronan was completely bewildered.

"God, who's cutting off my path to wealth?!"

The jockeys left the preparation area without permission, which meant the organizing committee had to transport the sheep to the starting area.

During the few minutes Ronan waited for the sheep to arrive, he met Freddie, who had come to cheer him on.

"Why are my odds now 1 to 1.5?" This was Ronan's biggest concern.

Freddie, still shaken, said:
“A big buyer placed a bet of 10 francs this morning, which is the largest single bet in the competition this year.”

"I bet 10 and I win?" Ronan's eyes widened. "Who is this? Are they crazy?"

Suddenly, Ronan felt a bolt of lightning strike him directly on the head.

One index finger.

Then came another punch.
Ronan gritted his teeth and looked towards the main stage area, where Charlotte had just performed:

"Thank you so much!!"

However, Ronan's grief did not last long.

Half a minute later, the commentator's voice clearly reached the ears of everyone present.

"Ladies and gentlemen, are you all eager to watch the game? But before that, I'd like to explain our new rules for this year—"

A commotion erupted in the jockey waiting area.

In the past, the rules were only explained after the sheep and the jockey met.

But the sheep haven't arrived yet.
The commentator, ignoring what the jockeys were thinking, continued:

"Are you all tired of the old rules? This year, we're adding some new 'fun'. Before the runners reach the finish line, they'll have to go through a test: they need to catch their own sheep out of 20. Only when they're one sheep can they enter the racecourse. Are you ready, guys? The runners are waiting for you over there. Go catch them!"

A designated area was set up 50 meters from the starting line, and the jockeys' sheep were being herded into it one by one.

The speechless jockey was contrasted by the frenzied audience.

They were about to witness a crazy sheep-catching contest. Even a one-year-old knows that sheep won't just obediently be caught, especially in a flock of 20 sheep.

To everyone's astonishment, a white figure charged towards a jockey like a cannonball amidst the chaotic flock of sheep.

(End of this chapter)