Chapter 4: Who Buys Winter Clothes in the Middle of Summer?
Zangweila’s POV
It was thirty-six degrees Celsius outside in July.
Yet the weather report on my desk sent a chill down my spine.
“Say that again.”
My assistant stood in front of the desk and swallowed.
“The weather-airship team conducted a high-altitude test early this morning. The temperature above the clouds was eleven degrees lower than the model predicted.”
“Eleven degrees?”
“Yes.”
“Equipment failure?”
“That was our first thought too, so we replaced all three sets of equipment.” He pushed another report toward me. “The results were identical.”
I said nothing.
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sunlight was painfully bright, and pedestrians on the street were still wearing short sleeves.
In fact, I had sensed that something was wrong two days ago.
It was the height of summer, yet the incoming weather-monitoring data showed temperatures dropping day by day.
Nothing like this had ever happened in this region during the same period in the past several decades.
Even the development of the weather airship had been repeatedly delayed because the meteorological data was so unstable.
“What about the people?” I asked.
My assistant’s expression darkened further.
“All six people who went up developed symptoms of abnormally low body temperature after they came back. Two of them are still under observation in the hospital.”
I looked up.
“Why am I only hearing about this now?”
“The project manager was afraid it might have been an operational error. He wanted to conduct another test to confirm it.”
“Confirm it with human lives?”
My assistant immediately fell silent.
I pressed my fingers against my brow.
“Suspend the project.”
“But, sir, we’ve already invested—”
“I said suspend it.”
“…Yes, sir.”
“Everyone involved in the high-altitude tests gets two weeks of paid leave. The company will cover all medical expenses, and each person will receive fifty thousand as a goodwill payment.”
My assistant froze. “Fifty thousand?”
“Too much?”
“No, no, of course not.” He hurriedly shook his head. “I’m just happy for them.”
I ignored the flattery.
If this temperature curve continued to fall, the loss of a project worth billions would not be the most serious problem.
The real question was—
Was this city, or even this world, prepared?
“There’s one more thing,” I said.
My assistant had just reached the door when he stopped.
“Purchase a batch of cold-weather supplies.”
He glanced back at the blazing sun outside.
I continued, “Down jackets, waterproof outdoor jackets, snow boots, gloves, hand warmers, lighters… Also prepare a supply of food and water that can be stored for a long time.”
The look on his face clearly said: Has the president lost his mind?
But all he asked was, “How much?”
“Start with enough for fifty people for three months.”
This time, he genuinely sucked in a breath.
“Understood.”
I nodded.
That was also why I had kept him by my side for so long.
He could be skeptical, but he never wasted time questioning an order.
Two hours later, he called me back.
“Sir.”
“Water and food won’t be a problem. We can also redirect heating equipment from other locations. But…”
“But what?”
“Down jackets, outdoor jackets, and other insulated clothing are already scarce this time of year. And now, almost all of them have been bought up!”
At first, I paid little attention to the problem. Still occupied with work, I answered casually, “If one store doesn’t have them, buy them from another.”
A faint commotion came through the phone.
Several seconds passed before my assistant spoke again.
“But, sir… The clothing stores and supermarkets nearby have all been cleared out by the same person. There are barely any pieces left.”
I raised my eyes toward the window.
Thirty-six degrees.
The height of summer.
Under normal circumstances, when people saw a down jacket at this time of year, their first thought would be that it took up too much space.
A staff member’s raised voice suddenly came through the phone.
“Ma’am, we’re willing to pay extra!”
I closed the file in front of me.
“Send me the address.”
“Sir, are you coming in person?”
“Yes.”
It wasn’t that I cared about a few articles of clothing.
I simply wanted to know—
Who else, in a summer when everyone was complaining about the heat, was preparing in advance for an extreme winter?
…
A little over twenty minutes later, I entered the supermarket.
Cold air swept over me.
My assistant hurried over and pointed ahead. “She’s right over there.”
Between two rows of shelves, several employees from my company were surrounding a woman.
Three shopping carts in front of her were already packed full.
“No.” The woman clutched the last few thick down jackets, her tone decisive. “I got these first.”
The employee tried to remain patient. “Ma’am, we can buy them from you at twice the price.”
“No.”
“Three times.”
“No.”
“Five times.”
The woman finally looked up. “Do you people not understand plain English?”
Her features were delicate and striking, and she had a stunning figure. Yet her presence was more like that of a nimble young deer in the woods—quiet and gentle.
My assistant leaned toward me and explained in a low voice, “She was originally willing to spare a few pieces for us. Then one of our employees told her, ‘Our president isn’t short of money.’ After that, she refused to give us even one.”
I walked over.
The employees immediately stepped aside.
“Sir.”
The woman paused at the title.
Then she turned around.
The moment she saw me, her whole body visibly stiffened.
It wasn’t the ordinary surprise people showed when they encountered someone they had seen in business news.
It was more like—
She had seen me somewhere else.
“Do you know me?” I asked.
She stared at me for two seconds.
Then, in the next instant, several men’s outdoor jackets were suddenly shoved into my arms.
I lowered my eyes to the clothes.
A faint, clean fragrance lingered on them, as though a field of roses had somehow grown atop a snow-covered mountain.
It was the scent of the woman standing before me.
She seemed to realize that her action had been abrupt and gave a small cough.
“Of course I know you. Zangweila Rupert. You’re in the financial news every day.”
“And these clothes?”
“For you.”
I raised an eyebrow.
She had refused five times the price a moment ago, and now she was giving them to me for free?
She coughed again. “I didn’t know you were the one buying them. Otherwise… I definitely would have set a few more aside for you.”
I said nothing.
Suddenly, she asked, “Mr. Rupert… why are you buying so many clothes?”
Had she figured out what I was planning? That seemed unlikely.
The temperature changes were occurring above the cloud layer. They had never even appeared in the weather forecasts. How could an ordinary person know about them?
My expression did not change. Instead, I asked, “Why are you buying so many?”
This time, she was the one who fell silent.
We stared at each other across three shopping carts stuffed with winter clothing.
Neither of us told the truth.
Neither of us managed to deceive the other.
Interesting.
I suddenly remembered what my assistant had said about her nearly clearing out the winter clothing from several stores nearby.
“Phinex Baker,” my assistant reminded me quietly. “That was the name on the purchase records.”
She immediately turned toward him. “You investigated me?”
“Just the purchase records,” I said.
She was clearly displeased. “Mr. Rupert, the way you people buy clothes really is typical of the wealthy.”
She paused. Then her expression changed, and she said seriously, “Mr. Rupert, thank you.”
I frowned. “For what?”
The emotion in her eyes shifted again.
It was as though she had remembered something distant—and terribly cold.
“…Thank you for the help your company has given to so many people caught in financial crises.”
It was a rather forced explanation.
I did not expose it.
I glanced down at the clothes in my arms, then at the winter garments remaining in her carts.
“Name your price.”
She froze.
“What?”
“I’ll take all the winter clothing left in this supermarket.”
I drew out a card and held it toward her.
“Ask for whatever amount you want.”
The woman, who had been relatively friendly toward me just moments earlier, suddenly turned cold.
She glanced at the card.
She did not take it.
“Mr. Rupert.”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think everything can be bought with money?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Most things can.”
“Then today, you’ve encountered one of the exceptions.”
She pulled the shopping carts toward herself.
“The pieces I just gave you are free.”
“As for the rest, I’m not selling a single one.”
My gaze darkened slightly.
She had already pushed the carts around me.
After walking a few steps, she stopped and looked back.
“Mr. Rupert.”
“If you truly think something is wrong with the weather…”
She hesitated.
“Don’t just buy clothes.”
With that, she pushed all three carts away.
My assistant stood beside me, looking utterly bewildered.
“What did she mean?”
I watched the direction in which she had disappeared and did not answer.
Several seconds later, I said, “Increase the original purchase order tenfold.”
My assistant stared at me. “Tenfold?”
“Also, investigate shelters capable of operating independently for an extended period.”
I lowered my eyes to the outdoor jackets in my arms.
Phinex Baker.
A woman who had cleared out the winter clothing in the middle of summer, valued down jackets more than money, and seemed to have known me long before today.
What exactly did she know?
