Chapter 168.2

Chapter 168.2

“The examination results show that your grandson is fine. However, if he witnessed the death of his parents, with whom he had a strong attachment, there will be some form of trauma. Does the young master have any other issues?”

His grandmother lowered her voice, as if she didn’t want to speak the words.

“Maxim… he has tea and snacks with his grandfather every morning. They have ordinary conversations and look each other in the eye… He saw clearly who killed my mom and dad, yet…”

She hunched her shoulders and began to sob softly.

“I’m so worried about Yuri… He seems to be wearing a strange mask.”

Looking out from the window, the grounds of Winter Castle stretched vast and wide. The endless expanse of snow was beautiful, and beyond the snowy fields, a birch forest rose. Yet, it felt suffocating.

Whenever he faced Maxim Solzhenitsyn, his body would instinctively stiffen. Still, he shared meals and drank tea with the grandfather who had chosen to kill his parents.

Every time he held the teacup, his throat tightened, and his hands trembled, but he was determined not to let it show, forcing a thick skin over his face.

Until the teacup reached his lips, his grandfather’s indifferent gaze lingered on him, as if to confirm whether the child who had witnessed his father die from vomiting blood could drink the same black tea.

If he cried or faltered now, Maxim would cast him aside.

So Yuri had to become a “Solzhenitsyn.”

He had to resemble Maxim, not Ivan.

The name of the mask the boy first wore was “Maxim.”

Thus, Yuri walked a tightrope with every moment.

“Yuri, you will be a smart boy, just like your grandfather.”

The psychiatrist, left alone with him, spoke while matching his eye level. She was a friend of his mother and someone Yuri had seen a few times. The doctor looked at him with a sympathetic expression, her eyes reddened.

“Yuri, why are you lying? Did you think you could deceive me by decorating your drawings? Two people are dancing on the ice, but you are nowhere to be found.”

“I’m under the ice.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t come out yet.”

Yuri turned his head away from the window. The doctor, who was openly displaying her feelings of compassion, seemed somewhat amusing to him. In this Winter Castle, she was incredibly naïve.

“Doctor, behavior is just technique.”

Their gazes met, and while his expression was indifferent, he seemed completely natural. Yuri showed no intention of speaking further, returning to fiddling with the cube.

“Yuri, if you don’t speak your emotions, they’ll rot inside you.”

“No, that’s unnecessary.”

The young boy cut her off firmly.

“If I remain silent, people will feel uncomfortable. My grandmother watches my every move, and my grandfather keeps an eye on me. For now, that’s my only power.”

Having completed the cube, Yuri stood up first.

To survive well in Winter Castle, delicate skills were necessary. He had to live with a calm demeanor, navigating life subtly and moderately. In a negative sense, he had to live with bated breath, while in another sense, he had to cultivate cunningness.

Yuri practiced hiding the traces of his emotions, ensuring that no one could unmask him. As time passed, the boy became an enigma, a person whose true feelings were impossible to discern.

“Grandfather, please tell me stories about Napoleon, Fouché, and Talleyrand today.”

Deception was always the best strategy. He concealed his intentions behind a comfortable and friendly demeanor.

He had to smile at his enemies, feign enthusiasm, and suppress his anger. He became adept at hiding his true feelings, often saying things that contradicted his emotions.

Winter Castle revolved around Maxim, so he had to please such a powerful figure while also being able to turn him into a source of amusement. Honesty was a fool’s game.

‘Our son… he must not resemble the biting cold of Russia…’

But Father, there is no place in the world where the wind does not blow.

Yuri absorbed everything noble and refined without causing a stir; excelling academically, maintaining excellent friendships, and becoming skilled in horseback riding and fencing.

Being a Solzhenitsyn was a point of pride; the absence of his parents did not tarnish him in the slightest.

And so, he turned fourteen.