Four Split Personalities

"General!"

"..."

"General!!"

"..."

"General Richard!"

"Heather!"

The old man suddenly stood up, then heavily fell back onto the sofa, his bloodshot eyes full of confusion.

"Are you... are you alright?"

Miranda jumped in shock and anxiously said, "Aunt Heather went to buy bread. Do you want me to call her back?"

Richard Ryan blinked, his cloudy eyes gradually regaining clarity. The hallucinations in his ears disappeared, and in his refocused vision, the rather likable young reporter was watching him with concern.

"Sorry, young lady."

Richard trembled as he reached out his hand, but Miranda rushed to fill the cup with tea, leaving him to smile bitterly and glance at the half bottle of cocktail next to him. He drank the soothing vanilla tea in one gulp and asked softly, "When did I fall asleep..."

Seeing that the old man was indeed fine and wouldn’t die immediately at least, Miranda breathed a sigh of relief and spread out her small hand, saying, "You said you wanted to clarify something about your wife, Aunt Heather, and then as I took out my memo and prepared to understand the specifics... you fell asleep..."

Richard nodded slightly and continued to ask, "How long did I sleep?"

"At most five seconds."

Miranda stuck out her tongue shyly, a bit embarrassed, saying, "I thought it might not be convenient for Aunt Heather to hear, fearing you’d sleep until she returned, so I quickly woke you up."

Richard chuckled, nodded, and said, "Alright, shall I continue?"

"Please go on."

Miranda held her tiny notepad, nodding like a little chicken pecking rice.

"Richard Ryan lost his fiancée in that war forty years ago and never remarried, yet as he grew old, a woman more than twenty years his junior quietly married him."

Richard gently rubbed his temple, somewhat helplessly saying, "As far as I know, ever since Heather and I got together half a year ago, this kind of report hasn’t ceased. It’s understandable since I’m somewhat a living historical relic, a frequent guest in many books, and most reports are fairly honest, as they’re basically stating facts, however..."

Miranda had now reacted, bitterly smiling and continuing, "However, some unscrupulous media use any means to grab attention, relentless for sales, not only out of context but even dare to fabricate stories out of thin air."

"I don’t mind if they portray me as an old lecher in their reports, since the reputation of certain Military Gods is worse than mine in that regard, and there are even many critical articles about his ’entanglements with various women.’ Honestly, I find them quite fair."

Richard laughed and then his face darkened, his eyes flashing a fierce cold light: "But I cannot tolerate those people directing their arrows at Heather, who they know nothing about yet criticize her fiercely, depicting her as a woman greedy for wealth. That’s an insult! She won’t even let me put her name in my will..."

"I understand, General Richard."

Miranda paused her recording and nodded seriously to Richard, then quietly asked, "That must be the only reason you agreed to be interviewed by me, right?"

Richard nodded slightly, calmly saying, "Yes, that’s the sole reason I accepted the interview."

"I’m certainly willing to clarify for Aunt Heather. In fact, that’ll be the first thing I do when I return."

Miranda closed her notepad, carefully placing it back in her bag, and after a silent pause, finally couldn’t help but ask, "But, General Richard, I don’t think you need to go through such trouble. You must know your influence, I’m sure that if you stand up and say something, our old lady Fyari... I mean, boss Fyari, would definitely have those foul-mouthed, filthy-handed scoundrels tied to rocks and thrown into the sea overnight."

"Yes, I know."

Richard laughed, nodding, "In Fyari’s eyes, although our relationship isn’t particularly valuable, if it’s just the kind of small matter you mentioned, she doesn’t mind lending a hand."

Miranda frowned, puzzled, asking, "Then why do you want me to do it? Although I am indeed a pillar among the young generation in our newspaper, my energy is limited, I certainly can’t have those people tied to rocks and thrown into the sea, ah! Could it be you..."

"Could it be I think those scoundrels who love to splash filth with feather pens aren’t deserving of death? They may indeed not deserve to die, but that has nothing to do with me not wanting them alive!"

Richard sneered, and at that moment, he seemed to become the iron lion who could decisively fill the mouth of the giant beast of war with lives to complete the mission: "Trust me, young lady, with Fyari’s capabilities, she’d definitely realize this as soon as you start drafting, before you even begin to write formally. Bet on it? Before your article hits the press, those scoundrels who make headlines with Heather every few days will be completely wiped out."

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