Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

Chapter 124

Eugene stood on a spacious riverbank. Behind him was a sunshade pieced together from various colored fabrics, which only provided enough shade to barely cover a large piece of wooden door placed underneath it.

This light green door was provided by Jason’s cousin, who worked cleaning river debris and called himself a prospector, believing that there was no such thing as true garbage in the world—even corpses drifting down the river could be carrying silver coins in their coat pockets. He generously offered this door, one of the perks of his job, upon hearing Jason needed it.

The door had weathered long exposure to sun and wind. The green paint was now quite old. Eugene dipped his finger in water and traced a few letters on it, which Jason, sitting cross-legged in front, copied onto the ground.

Although everyone tried hard, they weren’t kids who could afford to spend a whole day studying in a study room without worrying about food and survival. Eugene had been teaching for several days, and Jason, who showed up reliably every day, was really the only consistent student. He had a strong ability to learn, having already memorized fifty digits and how to write his own name, and was now learning the names of the largest ships at the port.

His dedication to learning was impeccable, but it was extremely difficult to study in peace on Paradise Island. So far, no class had ever gone smoothly from start to finish. Eugene had gotten used to interruptions, like when a burly man clumsily copying letters would suddenly jump up shouting that something had happened—then everyone would thunderously run off, leaving him standing alone and puzzled.

Today was more of the same, and after the commotion settled, most of those “students” busied themselves elsewhere. Only Jason remembered Eugene and came back to continue copying the letters.

The frequent disruptions usually involved some trouble at the docks, someone being upset over docked wages and rashly trying to fight the boss, or the island’s factions clashing violently, often resulting in injuries.

It was precisely because of this that Eugene gradually realized that Paradise Island wasn’t united. It was clearly delineated from the inner city and internally fragmented into several groups: the guilds first made their fortunes through various crafts and successfully monopolized the market, and although the guild bosses were still seen as dirty and unfit for the inner city tables, they were indeed successful people on Paradise Island, involved in every sector such as laundries, bakeries, and oil refineries. The low-end goods produced might not make it into the boutique stores on the main streets of the inner city, but they supported half of Paradise Island. Then there were the brotherhoods led by Jason, not wealthy but mostly composed of physical laborers, strong and good with their fists. Lastly was the church faction—comprising the most diverse and numerous group, worshiping a god Eugene had never heard of.

Conflicts typically arose between the guilds and the brotherhoods, both sides hot-tempered, with verbal disputes and physical fights nearly every day. Most times, these could be quickly defused, but Eugene had witnessed a riot get out of control once. It was a terrifying scene, like a herd of wild bison stampeding across the plains, leaving ruins in their wake and affecting many innocents. Afterwards, Jason gave Eugene a day off because there were too many dead and injured to manage the aftermath.

Eugene noted that after every conflict, the church faction’s numbers seemed to grow a bit—often because someone would take the opportunity to preach, promoting their doctrine of inner peace, and those heartbroken by the violence would reach out and join their faith.

But neither the guilds nor the brotherhoods believed in them.

Especially Jason, who openly told Eugene in his presence that their leader, Aquinas, was nothing but a lazy fraud.

“That guy isn’t from Paradise Island. He came from the inner city ten years ago. He probably lost all his money at the gambling table and couldn’t even afford a ticket home, so he ended up swindling food and drink on Paradise Island,” he said with frustration. “And yet so many people fall for his act, becoming his followers and donating the money they earn to him. He must have tasted the benefits and decided to stick around. I’ve thought about driving him out, but he has too many followers. It would be mutually destructive to start a fight.”

“What god do they believe in?” Eugene asked, feigning curiosity.

“The God of Judgment,” Jason said. “I won’t say the name.”

Even though he didn’t believe in Aquinas, ordinary people still instinctively feared gods, and even if he was 70% sure that the god Aquinas spoke of was a fabrication, he still dared not speak its name directly.

Aquinas had crafted a narrative, claiming that the God of Judgment oversees justice and will punish the wicked and compensate the wronged in the afterlife. This part didn’t sound incorrect, but he used his supposed ability to communicate with the afterlife as an excuse to collect many offerings from his followers, claiming he was merely the custodian of these assets, which would be returned to their owners in the next life by his hand.

“There are no gods on Paradise Island,” Jason said. “Gods exist in the grand churches outside, in the religious texts of the wealthy, not in the impoverished and downtrodden Paradise Island. If there are any miracles here, they would only be those of a malevolent false god…”

He paused suddenly, looking at Eugene.

“You come from outside, well-traveled,” he said quietly.

Eugene felt this praise was much better than being called well-read. In the presence of the rabbit-headed shopkeeper and the Duke, who were like walking libraries, even a university professor wouldn’t dare claim extensive knowledge. Jason’s commendations of his “learning” often made him blush.

He coughed, suppressing his pride, and said as nonchalantly as possible, “It’s okay. I’ve just traveled more places than most.”

Jason asked, “Aside from true gods, how much do you know about evil gods?”

Eugene thought for a moment. “Are you referring to the God of Judgment that Aquinas talked about? I haven’t heard of such an entity, but there are similar ones, like the Goddess of Justice, Florentina, whose statues are usually placed in royal squares or in front of council halls—she’s a true god.”

“No, I’m not talking about the stories made up by Aquinas.” Jason hesitated, then looked around.

The area was quite deserted, and the usual kids who scurried everywhere were kept at home by their mothers due to frequent fights, so none were in sight.

“What does a seductive evil god usually look like?” he asked.

Eugene was puzzled.

Jason scratched his head, struggling to find a tactful way to express his thoughts. “I mean… the kind of demons that deceive humans and steal souls. What do they look like in books?”

“Demons? They come in various forms.” Eugene was uncertain. “The most common depiction is that of a beautiful woman, the kind that bewitches men at a glance, making them willing to gouge out their hearts for her, or the deceitful and malicious satyr—”

Jason immediately perked up. “Satyr?”

“Upper body of a man, lower body of a goat, or they might look completely human but have a handsome face with goat horns on their head,” Eugene nodded.

“Only goats? What about other animals? Is it possible? Are all demonic gods half-beast?” Jason asked eagerly. “Dressed in human clothes, speaking in riddles that are hard to understand, claiming they can fulfill all your wishes?”

Eugene was increasingly confused by his questions. “Usually, it’s goats… I think?”

Jason seemed disappointed. “Are you sure?”

Eugene looked at him bewilderingly. “Why do you ask?”

Seeing that Eugene genuinely didn’t know, Jason sat back down and waved his hand dismissively. “Never mind, I was just asking.”

Eugene’s expression grew even stranger. Jason’s detailed descriptions of clothing and speech styles sounded almost as if he had witnessed such beings himself, hardly the attitude of someone “just asking”.

No matter how curious Eugene was, Jason wasn’t willing to say more, and he didn’t want to casually tell people, “I think I’ve encountered an evil spirit.”

It should be known that Jason’s status as leader of the brotherhood wasn’t just because he was good at fighting and loyal. A significant reason was his lack of belief, and he had remained firm in this, never swayed by Aquinas’s threats or temptations, a fact known by everyone on Paradise Island.

If Jason suddenly confessed in panic to someone, “I think I’ve met a demon, and it tried to tempt me!”, his credibility would surely be shaken… With the auction approaching—a major and tumultuous event in White Bridge—it was best not to stir up extra trouble.

Considering this, he advised Eugene, “It’s best not to wander around these days. Although you seem relatively safe, it’s still good to be cautious.”

Eugene was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Jason gave him a strange look. “Aren’t you a tourist from the inner city? Don’t you know the auction is about to start?”

“Of course, I know—aren’t the auctions held in the inner city? What do you mean by I look relatively safe?” Eugene was confused again.

“You’re now on Paradise Island,” Jason explained patiently. “Every auction, the inner city needs manpower, a lot of manpower. They select people from Paradise Island.”

“So?” Eugene sensed he might not like what Jason was about to say next.

“So young and attractive kids are easily taken away, as are those with special talents,” Jason stated bluntly. “Your age and appearance aren’t issues, but educated people are rare here. If you don’t want to be selected and taken away, you’d better keep a low profile.”

Eugene considered this. “The compensation in the inner city should be higher.” For someone wanting to leave here, it could be a great opportunity.

“What do you think being taken away means?” Jason looked at him with pity. “To become their contracted, salaried employee? Even a five-year-old wouldn’t be so naïve. Let me tell you—what happens to those taken away at this time is unimaginable. If someone demands you kneel to catch their spit, no one will help you. They’ll only critique whether your kneeling posture is graceful enough.”

Eugene got goosebumps from his words. “The Wolf—I mean, how do you know they’re so twisted?”

“Because our brothers and sisters, our fathers and mothers have been taken away,” Jason said. “Some are thrown back like leftover fish bones to the trash heap—that is, Paradise Island—at the end of the seventh-day auction, and others just disappear.”

“One of them was my brother, Jim,” Jason continued. “He’s part of those who never came back. I’d give anything to pray to God for his safety, but God has never looked after Paradise Island.”

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

Chapter 123

Dwight was actually not very interested in his sister’s romantic experiences, but since pregnant women were a group one must never offend, he changed the subject and asked, “Since he’s with the Wolf Family, can a meeting with the astrologer be arranged?”

“It might be difficult,” Priscilla replied, her expression turning serious as the conversation shifted to more serious matters. “The struggle between Lestrop and Tifa has spread across the continent. Without a guarantee of results, they won’t be as attentive as before, and everyone is watching.”

Dwight’s brow furrowed, but he quickly relaxed.

Lestrop had entrusted Priscilla to request a meeting with the astrologer, and being in White Bridge, a place known for extravagant spending, at least indicated that a significant portion of his wealth was now in his wife’s hands. More importantly, Priscilla had never been someone who needed to rely on her husband. Her status before marriage as the daughter of the Duke of Pennigra made her move to Mokwen a clear step down.

The value of an imperial title in the Modicon Empire wasn’t something that the fractious states of Doran could match. Even far across another continent, the words “Duke of Brandenburg” were enough to secure Priscilla VIP treatment here.

“Keeping a low profile now is a good thing.” Priscilla, as the person involved, could sense the changing winds even earlier than Dwight and sincerely reassured her brother. “I don’t want too much attention on me… and I have a bad feeling about this auction.”

Her premonition wasn’t from herself, nor even from the kingdom of Mokwen, but from White Bridge—the auction wasn’t held every year, so each time it was a golden spectacle. The atmosphere in the inner city was growing thicker, as if even the air was imbued with a scent of luxury. However, Priscilla sensed instability from some of Louis’s unusually tense behaviors.

“The Foxes and Lions always have representatives here. I think the Mokwen royal family’s experiment with the Holy Grail isn’t unique. There must also be people in the east and north harboring similar ambitions. Once the Holy Grail descends, the Wolves would be the direct beneficiary—perhaps along with Monkeys, which would disrupt the balance among the four Black Gold Families. Is that what you are nervous about?” Dwight never saw his sister as merely a princess tending roses in a high tower. On the contrary, when he was still young, it was Priscilla who would softly analyze the imperial situation, the future of their family, and the trials he might face as a Dwight in her bedroom. So, aside from his conjectures about the relationship between the Charlie brothers and the Holy Grail, he always shared his own predictions and plans with Priscilla.

“Perhaps,” Priscilla said. “I had many ideas, like personally taking revenge on Lestrop, expanding our southern territories, and leveraging the precarious relationship between Tifa and Christine. But as time draws near, those thoughts have changed a lot. Now my greatest prayer is for the child to be healthy and safe.”

“I’ve become weaker,” she murmured softly.

Dwight didn’t think so and was about to speak when he was startled by a sudden movement under his hand.

“Ah, it moved.” Priscilla also felt it. “Does it know Uncle is here?”

The little life inside her, of course, couldn’t hear her speak and didn’t know its movement had scared the typically stoic Duke of Brandenburg quite a bit. The sudden action seemed just like turning over, and soon it quieted down again.

Dwight wasn’t good at comforting a moodily pregnant woman, nor did he know how to articulate his feelings about experiencing fetal movement for the first time (he was more frightened than pleased, afraid that saying too much might be wrong), so he just held her hand. Priscilla, rarely seeing her brother in such a predicament, finally laughed again.

“Come on, don’t be so serious. Not even Ceylon gets this treatment,” she said. “Don’t always target him. In terms of how to be a good man, he’s a bit smarter than you.”

“If you mean hiring doctors to make one feel romantic—”

“You know what I mean.”

The siblings looked at each other for a moment, neither backing down.

“Don’t read so many grammar books. Those poems won’t really teach you how to love,” Priscilla said delicately.

She was actually more worried that there simply wasn’t anyone in the world who could make Dwight fall in love. Good heavens, she could hardly imagine what Dwight would be like if he were gentle and caring toward someone. She was probably the closest person to him in the world, and even their interactions often made her want to twist his ear.

“I won’t worry about that,” Dwight said coolly. “I prefer to express myself in person.”

Priscilla thought she had heard wrong.

Express what?

To whom?

Was this statement just habitual contradiction, or was he serious?

Priscilla couldn’t help but sit up straighter, staring at him for a while, but she didn’t voice her questions.

Although Dwight certainly wouldn’t answer them either.

He nonchalantly steered the conversation back. “I really do need a meeting. If Kurt can’t be arranged, at least Louis can, right?”

For various reasons, he felt he should meet the other party.

After thinking for a moment, Priscilla finally agreed.

……

“With the auction just less than three days away, Mr. Louis already has plenty scheduled,” Alexander said quietly. “Plus, he was injured recently, and the doctor has ordered him to abstain from alcohol and even stimulant drinks, making it really difficult to arrange anything.”

His demeanor was respectful, but his tone left no room for argument. The man sitting across from him, sporting a neatly trimmed goatee, shifted his eyes around the reception room several times.

Alexander suppressed the urge to complain and maintained an unchanging smile on his face.

Seeing that the meeting was going nowhere, the visitor finally stood up to leave. Alexander breathed a sigh of relief internally and had Annie, who was in charge of hospitality, see him out.

Another thin young man, who had been waiting for a while, finally approached Alexander. “Mr. Abram has sent an invitation for the second time in three days.”

“Decline it. Say that the boss was still feverish yesterday,” Alexander instructed. “No, actually, prepare a gift. I’ll deliver it personally tonight… and for Miss Prima, pick something from the stuff the boss brought back from Fortuna City last week. Don’t buy from the ‘Venus’ store.”

He thought for a moment, then turned back to pull out a notepad, quickly listing several PR gifts and their recipients to make sure he hadn’t missed anything before handing the list to the young man, asking him to have it done by tonight at the latest.

Every auction was almost as hectic as going to war.

Alexander, deprived of sleep, took a moment to relax instead of heading straight back to his office. He sat on the sofa in the reception room and smoked a cigarette to perk up.

The Five Elders were all extremely busy at this time. Countless people wanted to meet them, each with different motives and intentions, such as trying to poach a major client like the Countess, hoping Louis would turn a blind eye during the auction patrol for some shady deal, or continuously confirming whether Louis really was injured, perhaps unable to perform his duties, looking to take his place—since Louis wasn’t making public appearances, Alexander had to deal with these matters. His face was stiff from all the forced smiling.

Moreover, with both the Foxes and the Lions coming, protocol dictated they be received by senior members. Normally, Louis couldn’t avoid this. The Lions were manageable, but the Foxes were particularly sly. Dealing with them was draining, and special arrangements had to be made to prevent the Fox Family, professional spies, from planting their people in White Bridge…

Alexander took a deep drag of his cigarette, puffing out clouds of smoke, just as Annie returned.

She brought a letter with her.

Even though it was the practice in White Bridge not to emboss family crests on the seal of the envelope to avoid giving anyone a handle against them, plain envelopes looked unattractive. So, various beautiful but meaningless designs had emerged. Alexander knew it was from their distinguished guest, the Countess from Mokwen, as soon as he saw the azalea patterns.

He promptly extinguished his cigarette, changed his jacket, and took the letter upstairs to Louis.

Louis was also writing a letter and looked up only when he heard Alexander enter.

“What is it?”

Of course, he wasn’t injured, and his symptoms from the cold had completely cleared up, but overtime had left him looking almost as bad as the sick, with under-eye circles as dark as Alexander’s.

“A letter from the Countess,” Alexander stated formally.

He had seen the Countess once or twice—a gentle and elegant young woman. Although their interaction was based on financial transactions, she was prioritized by Louis—Alexander secretly thought there might be a bit of an affair, but he had no evidence.

Perhaps the letter in his hands was proof. Unfortunately, he couldn’t read it.

Unaware of his assistant’s speculations, Louis unfolded the letter, his brow furrowing slowly as he read.

Priscilla’s brother is also in White Bridge?

If his memory served him right, the man was supposed to be a Duke from the Modicon Empire, but he hadn’t heard of any noble of that rank being dispatched to Doran in the last six months.

Unless this young duke had smuggled himself illegally—considering he had entered White Bridge so quietly, it was very likely.

Asking to meet with him, partly for Priscilla, suggested the Dwight family must already know quite a bit about what Lestrop had done. Crossing the continent in secret like this suggested that the Duke of Brandenburg greatly valued his sister.

The traditional nobility’s disdain for the Black Gold Families was well known, and Louis didn’t think it would be any different on another continent. If the Duke was asking to meet him, it was either because he found him particularly objectionable and wanted to vent face-to-face, or he wanted to weigh up the man who had spirited his sister away—either way, the visitor bore ill intentions.

Louis looked at another informal invitation on his desk. It was also as difficult to refuse like the one from the Duke, as it came from the current head of the Wolf Family, Khalif.

It’s true. Troubles never came in just one.

The auction hadn’t even started, and Louis was already physically and mentally worn out. He folded the letter and stuffed it into an open ink pot on his desk. As soon as the paper touched the rusty brown ink, the edges quickly curled and blackened, and in less than three breaths, the entire letter burned away, the ashes completely falling into the “ink”, which for a moment turned a dazzling orange-red.

He watched the seemingly harmless ink bottle for a while before saying, “The day after tomorrow.”

“Miss Prima will personally thank you for the gift,” Alexander immediately said. “You have a meeting with Lord Khalif in the evening.”

“Then make it noon.” Louis said. “A gift? Prima’s birthday is in June.”

“Tomorrow is the first anniversary of her ‘Pink Iris’ shop opening, and there will be a small celebration attended mostly by her friends,” Alexander explained smoothly.

Louis nodded, knowing Alexander had likely already declined for him.

“Let Annie prepare the gift, but don’t buy it here. Take it from the ship,” Louis instructed.

“Understood. I’ve specifically ordered not to touch the goods from the Monkeys,” Alexander said.

White Bridge was co-managed by the Wolves and Monkeys. Since the latter excelled in various illegal trades, over half of the shopping stores in the inner city were controlled by the Monkey Family, identified by a small gold star embossed on their signs.

Louis never liked them, but this request wasn’t entirely personal. The Monkey’s sources were overly secretive and suspicious; their smuggling operations weren’t just about running black ships—among the four families, the Monkeys were the most obsessed with black magic. Even their neighbors, the Wolves, couldn’t fully fathom how deep they had delved, especially on the eve of the auction, when a large amount of mysterious goods flooded in. It was better to be safe than sorry. Alexander was well aware of this.

He replaced the tea by Louis’s side with a fresh one and lifted the processed wicker file basket before exiting.

Only after the door was completely closed did Louis stand up and walk to the window, pushing aside the tied curtains. Sure enough, on the windowsill, he saw a small gray figure, which started hopping excitedly upon finally being noticed.

The author has something to say:

Louis still doesn’t know that Charlie is allied with the Duke.

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

Chapter 122

Shiloh tiptoed through the corridor, though he didn’t really need to be so cautious, as the carpet was of such good quality that it absorbed most of the sound of his footsteps.

Still, he was startled when he saw someone coming towards him, and immediately relaxed when he saw it was the Knight Commander.

Shivers raised an eyebrow at him. “Where have you been?”

Shiloh’s gaze wandered. “Just walked around outside… It’s my first time in White Bridge.”

“Oh,” Shivers said softly. “But I didn’t hear the sound of a carriage.”

The functional zones of the inner city were clearly divided: the auction house, reading hall, opera house, and clubs were all concentrated in the central part, radiating out into five areas—guest area, food and shopping area, transportation and logistics area, and two management areas occupied by the Wolf and Monkey families.

Their location in the guest area was chosen to be peaceful amid the bustle, and was the farthest from other areas, necessitating the use of carriages or other means of transportation—even if the distance wasn’t far, those staying in the guest area of White Bridge wouldn’t usually demean themselves by walking.

Shiloh didn’t hold much hope of lying to the Knight Commander and quickly gave up resisting. “I just wanted to chat with them for a bit.”

He was referring to the mercenaries who had been idly earning their keep since entering Fortuna City.

Thanks to the lead navigation of the “Azalea”, they had traveled safely, and even if they had encountered pirates, a few knights were confident they could protect the Duke’s safety. The mercenaries were just there to bolster their numbers.

But from the Duke to the mercenaries, none thought this trade was a loss. Like successful businessmen who often flaunt their wealth with extravagant houses and jewelry, security forces were a symbol of one’s class status. Erica even provided them with uniform combat suits to boost their appearance.

Shiloh wasn’t naive enough to be attracted by the mercenaries’ aura of danger and rough manners. He was only interested in their adventurous experiences and some insider information—unlike them, he was a complete outsider in White Bridge, but mercenaries, especially those with long-term service, had experience in similar missions and sometimes shared intelligence among themselves. They knew a lot more than expected.

But they weren’t willing to share.

Shiloh’s usually successful, charming demeanor hit a wall with these mercenaries, who were more indifferent than most. They were willing to interact with Eugene and even had a respectful admiration for Hasting, but they only ignored Shiloh. Whenever they gathered together, whispering and occasionally bursting into ambiguous collective laughter, Shiloh’s presence would abruptly stop the warm atmosphere, their mouths clamping shut tighter than clamshells.

The sense of not being able to fit in was secondary. The obvious resistance was rather hurtful.

Shiloh himself was still a young man, from a well-to-do family, and of high quality. He had never been so disliked before. When questioned by the Knight Commander, a defiant look appeared on his face.

Shivers laughed and pinched his mouth even tighter. “They avoid you for another reason.”

Shiloh’s round eyes widened, filled with more confusion.

“There are many activities here not suitable for minors,” Shivers said. “They just think you’re still a child.”

Though tall, Shiloh clearly possessed the vibrant spirit unique to youth.

“Some activities in White Bridge aren’t quite suitable for bedtime stories.” Shivers released Shiloh’s mouth. “We’d better not create unnecessary complications.”

Shiloh understood. “You mean those programs?”

Besides the auction catalogs, there were many flyers distributed daily here, more punctual than the official newspapers of the capital. These included content for first-time visitors as well as various invitations, which were written in slang about various enhancers and price lists.

Most of these programs were written ambiguously, incomprehensible to most—a surprising fact was that the mercenaries seemed to vaguely understand some of them. Hasting had once taken one to consult with them.

The mercenaries were polite to Hasting, and since he was after all their employer and these things had nothing to do with their contract, they had somewhat freely “translated” it for him.

To sum it up in a word, it was utterly vulgar and bizarre.

Anyway, after knowing what those slangs meant, the Duke’s gaze at the invitations was like looking at a virus, and Shivers also found it too… indescribable.

Nobility, especially those from ancient noble circles, weren’t strangers to sordid affairs. Shiloh was no fool. Realizing this, he silently made an “O” shape with his mouth.

“Our Lord has already gone to sleep. You don’t need to be so careful,” Shivers said.

The little foodie, Emerald, unexpectedly had a lot of spirit. Since the crow buffet, it hadn’t eaten anything, but it also refused to give in. After moving in, the Duke spent all day and every day enduring it in the bedroom, and with the newly awakened Emerald being extremely energetic, both parties were very tired and irritable.

“When will Mr. Charlie come back?” Shiloh was a bit disheartened. The Duke’s personality had changed a lot during this period on the Doran Continent. He had almost forgotten how arrogant, mysophobic, and moody his master used to be.

In recent days, the Duke’s practical actions had reminded everyone of his skill at making those around him unhappy when he himself was displeased.

Actually, Shiloh didn’t think too much. He simply felt that the Duke’s temper was better when the rabbit-headed shopkeeper was around, making everyone more relaxed.

There were people in the world who, like a gentle breeze or a soft stream, possessed qualities that were independent of their appearance or status, and could only be truly felt after spending time with them.

Shiloh didn’t dare say it out loud, but sometimes he secretly felt that in terms of dealing with people, the shopkeeper and the Duke were at two extremes.

Of course, Shivers knew that Shiloh was probably grumbling about the Duke internally. He curved his finger, intending to flick this troublesome guy on the forehead, but Shiloh immediately covered his messy, curly-haired forehead.

“I’m just worried about him,” Shiloh defended. “I didn’t say anything—”

“If you’re really bored, just watch over the Lord for a while for me.” Shivers sighed, dropping his hand.

Shiloh wouldn’t refuse work, but he was curious. “Are you going out again?”

“I need to contact Erica,” Shivers replied. “It’s much easier to arrange a meeting here than in Mokwen.”

……

Dwight wanted to see Priscilla for two reasons: firstly, to see for himself how she was doing physically, and secondly, to make some early preparations for the auction.

They had eyes and ears in Syriacochi, but the information was somewhat delayed. Instead, it was from Yitzfa where reports arrived more promptly—yet, since entering White Bridge, they hadn’t encountered anyone from the Fox family or any of their agents.

This was probably due to the family’s sense of territoriality. Although the Fox’s intelligence network was reputed to be omnipresent, they still ostensibly left a vacuum in White Bridge to maintain balance.

The last piece of news they had from Mokwen was that Lestrop had been seriously injured, affecting the army’s morale and leading to several retreats. Defeat seemed only a matter of time.

The more dire the situation, the more crucial Priscilla’s safety became. Dwight was still troubled by Kurt’s prophecy and saw this as an opportunity to meet with him and ask if his sister’s fate had diverged from the path he wished for her.

Yes, it had diverged.

That’s what Kurt had told him during their first meeting.

“Prophecy is not omnipotent, nor is it guaranteed to be fulfilled one hundred percent. The future, before it truly arrives, always has countless possible faces. Astrologers simply calculate and extract the most likely outcome,” the slender young man said. “This is the most likely fate as of now, much like a carriage traveling on a set route. I can tell you its routine destination, but if something happens along the way—maybe someone stops it midway, or perhaps a small stone gets lodged in the axle—in any case, the path will deviate because of this.”

Thus, Dwight rejected all the prudent advice around him and set off immediately. It turned out he was right. If he had followed normal procedures to request communication with Mokwen, his letter would have taken at least half a year to reach Priscilla, and by the time he waited for a reply and responded, it would have been too late.

Charlie’s target was also Kurt. If he could meet the astrologer first under the pretense of the Countess wanting to trade early, through Louis’s connection, he might at least learn what had happened to the normally reclusive Kurt. With the person himself cooperating, whatever means Charlie intended to use to extricate his friend would likely have a higher chance of success.

White Bridge was a place that ignored status and only recognized money. The Wolf and Monkey took client privacy very seriously, so those truly entering White Bridge often found their worldviews shattered by their play methods, and the involved parties naturally didn’t boast about their licentiousness here. That these secrets had never been leaked by the Black Gold Families proved their confidentiality skills.

Thus, the arrangement for the siblings’ meeting this time became much easier.

Brandenburg had been without a Lady for a long time. Both Dwight and Priscilla were still children when their mother passed away. The Duke of Brandenburg actually had little experience with adult women, so he was quite startled when he saw his sister’s significantly large belly.

The inadvertent awe on the brother’s face made Priscilla laugh. She didn’t rise but remained reclining on the chaise lounge, propped by several cushions, and gestured for him to come over.

Erica and Shivers both left the room, giving them privacy to talk.

Dwight was unusually at a loss for words. He had many questions, such as: Do all pregnant women have bellies this large? Or does it appear especially large because Priscilla is slim? Could there be twins inside such a large belly, or perhaps more? How many babies can a human have at once? It looks very dangerous…

But he was unsure if these questions were just common knowledge in the realm of childbirth. Even though the other party was his sister, he couldn’t just ask them outright. Embarrassment was secondary. The last thing he wanted was to cause Priscilla any panic.

Priscilla was in a good mood, though. Anyone whose body was heavy and burdened with various derived minor ailments and who could only lie down all day would be happy to have a relative come to keep them company.

Plus, she already knew of Lestrop’s inevitable defeat, which had been a heavy burden on her mind for a long time, now significantly relieved, making even her belly feel less heavy.

She didn’t rush to speak but took her brother’s hand and gently placed it on her stomach. Dwight’s fingertips were somewhat cold, and he remained motionless.

“He moves sometimes,” Priscilla said with a smile in her eyes. “Just wait and see.”

Actually, he had more serious matters to discuss with Priscilla, but he didn’t dare move his hand, and again wanted to ask silly questions like why babies move before they are born.

He didn’t want to be foolish, even if the other party was Priscilla.

“…Is it heavy?” Dwight finally asked.

“It’s heavy.” Priscilla blinked. Her limbs were swollen, but her face hadn’t distorted too severely, and her eyes were still bright. “Erica walks with me every day, but it’s getting harder.”

“Then just lie down,” Dwight said without hesitation.

Priscilla giggled and explained the importance of daily activity.

“There are three doctors arranged here.” Seeing her brother’s nervousness, Priscilla instead comforted him. “I brought one from Mokwen, and Ceylon added two more.”

“You mean Louis.” Dwight pursed his lips, a sign of his worsening mood.

Priscilla pretended not to notice. “Like you, he hasn’t experienced these things, so he’s a bit too nervous.”

“If he were nervous enough, you wouldn’t be pregnant,” Dwight said bluntly.

“My body is very uncomfortable. Please be a good uncle and don’t make me use my energy to coddle you right now,” Priscilla said.

Dwight: “……”

“Why don’t you tell him to be a good father?” he said. “Two doctors…”

“We’ve already separated.” Priscilla patted his hand. “And he’s already doing enough. You can be even more upset. I think what he’s doing is very romantic.”

The author has something to say:

Charlie and Louis have different paths, but both are very attractive to the opposite sex.

And the Duke is a rare example of a beautiful but ineffective male lead in Jinjiang.

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

Chapter 121

“So it turns out that besides two families, there are also other people from Paradise Island in the inner city, and the proportion isn’t low.”

Eugene hummed in agreement with his hands in his pockets. Most of the streetlights on this street were broken, and hardly a few worked. Idlers were everywhere, and some people were lying by the roadside, oblivious to whether they were drunk or asleep. If one didn’t approach and see their breathing, they would look no different from corpses.

In winter, it was common for people to freeze to death on the streets.

Shivers wore a dark gray wool coat, his brilliant blonde hair completely covered by a hood, only exposing his beautifully shaped chin. But in this area frequented only by the poor, even the wandering nightingales* wouldn’t come, and no one would care how two idle ruffians looked.

*Term used to refer to a prostitute.

“Most of them are young people. The old and children aren’t needed,” Eugene said. “There are two types of people who go out to work: one type does dirty and tiring jobs that don’t involve contact with outsiders, such as cleaning ditches or garbage or assisting in the kitchen outside in the dark, and guests like us hardly realize their existence. They return to Paradise Island after their work. The other type either doesn’t return, or their families receive a death notice—it’s considered very merciful if the body is sent back, and if they also get some money, that’s unimaginably good luck.”

Because of this, most natives considered their relatives who entered the inner city as already dead, since they would have to grieve for them sooner or later, and worrying constantly only added a burden to their already difficult lives.

So when Eugene first walked through the houses and saw people being returned in wooden boxes, apart from the mothers who lost their children, the rest of the people showed little sadness.

Such things happened too often but given the large population of the entire Paradise Island, these “wooden boxes” were like small stones thrown into a pond, quickly settling after a splash.

Shivers whispered, “You need to be careful. Prioritize safety above all.”

The auction was scheduled three days later and would last seven days. The first and last days were mainly various banquets and entertainment programs, where the atmosphere gradually whipped the guests into a frenzy, and extreme emotions such as brutality, excitement, hatred, ecstasy, resentment, and humiliation were infinitely amplified, primarily affecting a particular group of people.

Eugene nodded. He wasn’t completely ignorant of the ways of the world. On the contrary, his senses for danger and unease were quite sharp. As the auction drew near, the air in Paradise Island became more tense, and small-scale violent conflicts occasionally erupted.

Jason also mentioned that for most people working in the inner city, their fate often changed drastically after the auction, with very few hit by a “pie from the sky” and receiving rich rewards or even being taken away from White Bridge, but more often, they got burned in the madness and couldn’t escape.

“Paradise Island is different from other lower cities. It’s not conducive to hiding and escaping,” Eugene stated factually. “If you want to cause trouble, you might have to start elsewhere.”

Eugene had his own wisdom for survival. He lacked the knightly combat power, the complex experiences and skills of the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, and the vision and decision-making power brought by a Duke’s status and wealth. Therefore, he always prioritized planning exits and safeguarding himself and his companions, a job he had always done very well.

Unlike any other lower cities he had seen, this place almost rejected no one, but it also didn’t really accept outsiders. Eugene could feel this contradiction—probably because from birth to death, the ties among the natives were much tighter than those in other towns.

……

Alexander sat behind a massive desk, buried almost entirely by various documents.

The auction was the Wolf’s hallmark event, the one that the family put the most effort into, and the corresponding workload could drive someone mad—especially since his boss had been pretending to be sick since fighting a witch at Fortuna Dock. Lately, outsiders could only see him at routine meetings, always looking pale and sickly, as if speaking a few more words might make it hard for him to breathe.

This was very rare. Louis’s style was almost entirely inherited from the White Wolf Fahim, always mild yet forceful, rarely bowing even before the head of the family, and only a fool would take their polite demeanor at face value.

The investigation into the witch incident wasn’t over yet, and Louis rarely showed his inability to cope to outsiders, whether or not they believed him, using this appearance to decline many social obligations and shifting the work to his poor assistant. As a result, Alexander hadn’t been home to sleep in three days, relying solely on increasingly strong doses of herbal tea for alertness.

“What is this?” he asked tiredly, staring at the object in his hand.

His assistant, wearing a twill coat, carefully said, “This is the Azman family’s hospitality plan. They’ve come up with a new idea, organizing several cruise ships to leave the shore for a wild party after the auction ends, extending the farewell banquet to three days.”

Leaving the shore for a wild party was clearly a loophole—both the Wolves and Monkeys relied on shipping routes for their livelihood, but their bases were on land. Over time, rules in the water and on shore differed, allowing some activities that weren’t permitted within White Bridge limits once on board, but these were often not good things.

The Azman family was adept at organizing these events. Their head was one of the five elders, particularly skilled in entertainment. Most of the Wolf’s entertainment was from their hands, and Louis, responsible for security, often clashed with him because unleashing human nature almost equaled losing control. Often, extra work stemmed from the Azmans’ “novelties”.

Yet as peers, it was impossible to completely cut ties, and this time the Azman had also sent an invitation to Louis as a means to maintain superficial relations and as routine business.

But their usual ways were too wild. Louis didn’t like it… Alexander sped through the documents with a grim face, his expression changing unpredictably before finally tossing the plan into a basket labeled “Processed”.

“Next time, bring this kind of thing directly to me—don’t just put it in front of him,” Alexander added before the assistant left. “If anyone asks, say that Master’s health hasn’t recovered, and his schedule is uncertain.”

Louis wasn’t exploiting Alexander out of laziness. In fact, his workload hadn’t decreased much. He was still young and didn’t have many capable people under him.

Pretending to be sick hadn’t made Khalif pay him any less attention. Fortunately, Priscilla was trading with the Wolf family under the name of the Countess of Mokwen. Otherwise, Louis would have had to spend a lot of effort to find a few reliable doctors without attracting attention.

“Water Carnival Night,” he murmured, the gimmick written on the silver-embossed invitation, flicking the stiff card away with a snap of his fingers. Alexander watched it fall to the carpet without picking it up.

“They hope not to arrange too many people, ‘to let the guests loosen up’,” Alexander said in a businesslike tone, and sure enough, he saw Louis’s face fall, glad that he hadn’t brought in the detailed plan. If Louis had seen the absurd games written on it, he would definitely not be able to stop rolling his eyes at Azman the next time they met.

“As usual, if you’re not satisfied, go find the family head,” Louis said without hiding his disgusted expression. “For the guests to ‘loosen up’? I think they’re too loose, ready to rip open their ties and run naked in the forest, becoming true wild beasts… Has the budget been approved?”

“Berger’s side should have some cuts, but Azman is closely connected with ‘that side’, and I heard they’ve brought back some contraband from the sea.”

Alexander watched Louis’s expression go from “seeing a cockroach crawling on the desk” to “seeing a cockroach and a beetle holding a wedding ceremony.”

“…Warn Azman in my name. Don’t go too far,” Louis said after a long while. “There are more death reports from Paradise Island than in previous years. He should show some restraint. The family head’s indulgence isn’t a get-out-of-jail-free card, and Paradise Island isn’t his rabbit breeding farm.”

Alexander remained silent.

Louis was the main enforcer of order in White Bridge, and no one knew better than him that the compiled statistics of deaths on Paradise Island had reached an ignorable level, a large part of which weren’t natural deaths.

But besides him, it seemed no one else really faced this issue. For a long time, Louis’s insistence on providing relief for verifiable deaths had become a joke among other executives, who thought such excess mercy was nothing but a waste of funds.

Perhaps it was because of his childhood experiences in Fortuna City that Louis thought differently. He had a brother who liked to mingle in the streets. Every time he sneaked out and got caught, he would end up getting punished along with him, having to copy texts. To appease him (or perhaps because Charlie naturally liked to share), he would tell him all his experiences in great detail.

Dockworkers had virtually no rights to formal education, but that didn’t mean they were as stupid as monkeys. On the contrary, Charlie thought that the poor, who racked their brains every day to survive, were smarter than the well-fed upper class living off their ancestors.

They were actually very united. Knowing the weakness of individual strength, they would automatically band together to form brotherhoods. The most respected among them would be elected as the leader, representing the dockworkers in fighting for various rights—if a single laborer’s demand was a joke, then the joint demands of hundreds or thousands were a negotiation. They would calculate costs precisely, set conditions just right, and most of the time, they would succeed.

After witnessing a major negotiation, Charlie had secretly told him he thought the brotherhood was still too conservative.

“They only asked to eliminate unfair deductions and for basic working hours, and even that took many days of negotiation.” Young Charlie’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “They didn’t even ask for a raise—I think they could have gotten it.”

“Merchant ships and the port have signed agreements, and if things escalate, the security team will join in the suppression,” young Louis said. “They don’t have weapons. There will be bloodshed.”

“A few people will bleed,” young Charlie corrected him. “You didn’t see the scene. There were so many people. The streets of the dock were full. The security team was less than one-twentieth their number. Swords are limited, but weapons are everywhere—boxes, picks, and pitchforks can all be used in combat. The docks would be taken over by the brotherhood. If someone told them—”

“And then what? The merchant ships stop coming in, and they lose their jobs.” Young Louis was tired and just wanted him to shut up.

Charlie did shut up, but Louis knew his brother was still pondering—yet who would listen to a child’s opinion? The brotherhood’s negotiation had ended, and tomorrow everything would return to normal.

And now, years later, Louis thought Charlie was right.

If someone had told them.

The author has something to say:

The shopkeeper has always been clever since he was a child.

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

Chapter 120

“You really won’t rent my room?” Popo was reluctant to give up, but Eugene could already see the inn from last night—in the deep of the night, with no moon in the sky, all he could remember of that building was a door lit by a light and the word “Inn” painted in green above it.

Now, in the daylight, he could see that it was indeed a makeshift structure. The person who built this house seemed to care little for safety or aesthetics; they just kept adding wherever possible, resulting in an increasingly tall and oddly shaped building. Upon close inspection, one would wonder how the rickety base layer managed to not collapse yet.

It was probably thanks to the neighboring houses that these cramped structures almost served the function of beams and columns, holding the inn tightly in place and leaving no room for it to fall.

“It’s closer to the main road,” Eugene muttered, with a somewhat reluctant air.

Popo understood. “You still want to go back to the inner city.”

He seemed to have pegged Eugene as someone who had come to White Bridge to enjoy life, a guy who had unfortunately squandered all his assets and ended up on Paradise Island out of necessity. Truthfully, there were many such people on Paradise Island.

The pattern was almost the same. At first, they all looked down on the dirt and disarray here, still wanting to use their last bit of money to retain some dignity and respect, believing their downfall was just a temporary slip. They thought that once they saved enough to turn things around, they could return to that dazzling world, with Paradise Island being nothing but a brief nightmare.

But there usually were only two outcomes: one was that they indeed left and never came back, which usually meant they died; the second was that their expenses outpaced their income, gradually moving from staying in an inn eating oatmeal to eating black bread, spending less money to rent a small space just to stay dry on the floor of a native’s home, and finally giving up everything, lying next to a stinking ditch waiting for either a miracle or death to find them.

Some could indeed settle down here and become part of Paradise Island, but they would end up like Popo, having a dirty and smelly place to stay and barely making ends meet from meal to meal.

He was convinced that Eugene would eventually experience the second phase of sharing accommodation with the natives, only hoping that by then his money hadn’t run out, so he could still make a bit more. After all, his house was indeed far from the main road, and few newcomers could navigate their way there. This place was full of people wanting to squeeze the newcomers dry, and he couldn’t spend all day waiting at the inn door for Eugene to have no other choice.

Besides, Eugene was quite generous, giving two copper coins just for being shown the way.

So he took the initiative to offer to help Eugene find a job, and if it worked out, he would take Eugene’s first three days’ wages. If not, he would only charge five copper coins.

This was exactly what Eugene was waiting for.

He knew Popo seemed young and cheerful, but he was actually very cautious. His words were half true, half false, and the warmth he showed was just treating him like a cash cow.

But that was alright.

As the shopkeeper once said: A transaction with a clear price is more trustworthy than insincere favors. If a stranger shows no clear interest in you but is overly enthusiastic, then you need to worry about the real cost he might expect, which you probably can’t afford.

“There are many job opportunities on Paradise Island—why the face? It’s true. I dare say people here work much longer hours than those in the inner city. The largest bakeries and laundries are all here, on the other side. There are also jobs cleaning the sewers in the inner city that are always hiring,” Popo said. “You’re very lucky to have met me. The jobs at Jason’s might pay a bit less, but they’re safe.”

Jason was considered a guild leader, one of the few who could directly deal with people from the “inner city”. Known for his generous and loyal personality, he was elected leader ten years ago and had since fought for many rights for the natives.

Many cities had similar labor organizations where leaders usually had high prestige and were indeed relatively trustworthy.

Popo took money to arrange things, agreeing to connect Eugene with Jason.

While waiting for Popo’s response, Eugene didn’t idle around. He tried to map out the general shape of Paradise Island by walking, only to find that the area was almost a huge maze. Every day, shacks collapsed, and every day new “houses” were built. A path he had passed just the day before could be blocked today by a row of barrels planted with tomatoes.

Even those born and raised here could hardly draw an accurate map. They could only distinguish general directions by memory and keep walking—the more detours there were, the more important it was to keep the direction correct to reach the destination.

Eugene thought it would take at least a week before he might meet Jason, but three days later, Popo came looking for him.

This outgoing young man seemed quite envious of the owner of the “inn” where Eugene stayed. To him, this ancestral property was like a hen that laid golden eggs, simply sitting and waiting each day for guests to pay—so easy and wealthy!

There were classes even within Paradise Island, and the owner, resembling an old elephant, clearly belonged to the upper class.

In terms of status, Jason also belonged to the upper class but was much poorer. When Eugene met him, this burly man was squatting on the ground, trying to repair a badly cracked wooden barrel. His short coat was so tattered that his distinctly defined muscles under the frayed fabric looked comically out of place.

“What’s your name?” Jason asked without looking up, gauging with a bent nail on the wood.

“Eugene.” Following his instinct, Eugene decided to tell the truth—despite his disheveled appearance, this man’s demeanor wasn’t on the same level as Popo’s, and a clumsy deception might backfire.

“Popo said you can read.” Jason hammered down. The board didn’t break, but the nail was smashed into a lump.

Eugene: “……”

Could he really read? He had only learned some common words in his spare time with the shopkeeper and Shiloh, knew fewer words than Amber, and couldn’t read newspapers independently.

He felt rather guilty.

Seeing him silent, Jason looked up. He was only about thirty years old, with a high nose and deep-set eyes, rough skin, and a bright gaze.

“I know some common words,” Eugene said. “But I’m not good with numbers. If it’s about bookkeeping—”

“It’s not for bookkeeping,” Jason said. “We need a teacher.”

“Oh, for children?” Eugene understood, gaining confidence. “Simple numbers and words are no problem!”

Jason gave him a strange look. “Paradise Island wouldn’t let someone whose background is unknown teach children. Your students will be me and other brothers.”

He offered a surprisingly high price. Popo was very envious, but when Jason said Popo could also join the classes, he quickly slipped away.

Jason, rough in appearance, was actually very meticulous and requested that Eugene give him a free trial lesson before deciding on the deal.

Eugene thought for a moment, then sat down cross-legged on the ground beside him, casually picking up a stick and writing the numbers one to ten on the ground.

The muscular man watched the characters intently for a while before nodding.

“It seems you’re not a swindler,” he said.

Jason was somewhat of a foreman, usually responsible for gathering labor when the inner city needed a large workforce.

“Ship hulls and cargo crates are marked with numbers. I’ve taught myself a bit,” Jason explained. “But I don’t know if it’s correct.”

“Why not ask someone?” Eugene wondered. “To verify it with someone.”

“Because poor people aren’t entitled to learn,” Jason said. “Especially people from Paradise Island.”

The coarse among them weren’t deemed worthy of literature, music, or history. This was the consensus of the two major families of White Bridge.

Perhaps because he had been with the Duke for so long, Eugene found this reasoning laughable.

He himself hadn’t even managed to claw his way into the circle of nobility yet, and here he was, putting on airs and looking down on the poor.

He didn’t know that to Jason, he seemed like a godsend. The Wolves and Monkeys not only completely monopolized White Bridge’s economic lifeline but also controlled the educational avenues out of Paradise Island. Those qualified to teach were neither allowed nor would they willingly step into Paradise Island. Although there wasn’t an explicit ban on the residents of Paradise Island learning to read, if there was no one to teach, who could naturally possess the ability to read and write?

Only someone like Eugene, an outsider who had fallen into Paradise Island and happened to know some letters, could give these residents a glimpse of a minuscule spark of civilization.

This was why, even though most residents were illiterate, one still saw signs like “Inn” or “Cold Food” everywhere. Many may not speak the common language, but they could clumsily spell out their names.

The transmission had never been complete, but it had also never been truly broken.

Admittedly, on any continent, those who received an education were usually from a relatively better-off group, but even during his illiterate thief days, Eugene never thought literacy was useful. He remembered common numbers and words partly because of rabbit-headed shopkeeper enticements and partly because Amber’s studiousness spurred him on through a catfish effect.

Even when he began to be able to stutter through reading, he didn’t do anything productive with it. Instead, he spent quite a bit of money buying erotica from alley vendors. The shopkeeper and the Duke seemed to only expect him to keep making progress, not to achieve any scholarly feats.

So when Jason openly showed respect and desire for his literacy, the usually nonchalant Eugene felt unusually embarrassed.

“If you want to learn, I’ll teach you.” Eugene wrote down “Paradise Island” on the ground. “No need to call me teacher.”

Even with thick skin, he felt too embarrassed to accept that title—he had never even called the rabbit-headed shopkeeper or Shiloh that.

“You don’t understand,” Jason also sat down cross-legged on the ground with a calm expression. “What does this mean for us? We have hands, legs, and brains, but in front of the higher-ups, we might as well be monkeys because even if the schemes are laid out in front of us, we can’t see them. The dilapidated Paradise Island was built by us, the exquisite inner city as well, from our hands. Many people get cheated, and can only come to me, but I am far more powerless than they think.”

“Popo says you’re the most reliable person,” Eugene said instinctively.

“That’s because everyone needs someone like me to not seem too—” Jason suddenly stopped talking.

Eugene understood. “You mean like ‘them’. Popo told me.”

Jason frowned deeply, seemingly annoyed at Popo’s lack of discretion, but then he relaxed, remembering Eugene was a “teacher”.

“In their eyes, we are just insignificant ants, easy to crush and dispose of,” Jason said. “We don’t talk about this.”

No matter how Eugene tried to get more information, Jason no longer disclosed anything, but the opposition between Paradise Island and the inner city was undeniable.

Jason hadn’t fully trusted Eugene, partly out of caution and partly because those in a disadvantaged position didn’t often recount their tragic histories.

But he didn’t believe Eugene was a spy sent by the Wolves or Monkeys either, simply because, in the eyes of the inner city, such an act was unnecessary.

They controlled wealth and armed forces. If it weren’t for the need to rely on a large amount of cheap labor to keep the city running, the two families would probably be happy to push the entire Paradise Island into the river and build another city that never slept in its place.

Jason knew that Popo and many other young people somewhat idolized him, thinking he was the most courageous and competent person, so he wasn’t used to revealing his vulnerabilities to anyone.

Jason didn’t let Eugene work for free for too long. Although eager to learn, after recording three phrases, Jason ended the trial lesson, agreed on a price that satisfied both parties, and set the next evening for the official start of lessons—before then, he wanted to gather all his brothers who wanted to learn to read and write like him.

Only when the moon was high in the sky did Jason finish notifying a few core members of the brotherhood. By this time, except for some workshops that operated day and night, most of Paradise Island had fallen into deep sleep.

Not wanting to navigate the overly narrow paths in the dark, Jason, a large man prone to bumping into carelessly placed obstacles, purposely took a long detour along the riverbank.

There was no rain tonight, and the moon was bright. Jason watched his reflection in the water and started slowing down his steps.

He remembered Al being sent back.

Al was a guy younger than Popo, tall, and because of his good looks, was selected to be trained as a servant lighting cigarettes for guests in the inner city.

Then today, that tall young man was brought back in a wooden crate, not even personally by the Monkeys but by two hired men who brought the crate in, along with a bag of coins.

Jason went to console Al’s mother, but no one saw how frantic he was.

Because his brother, like Al, was taken away for his fair and handsome appearance.

He hadn’t come back yet.

Jason hoped for his return but also feared it. As the leader of the brotherhood, he couldn’t show his anxiety in front of others, but under the moon’s gaze, Jason involuntarily stopped walking.

“Don’t worry, brother,” his brother had said before leaving. “I’ll try my best. I’m just going to the inner city. It’s so close… When you see the moon getting rounder, I can see it too.”

Jason looked at the moon’s reflection and took a deep breath.

He didn’t believe in prayers because Paradise Island had never been blessed.

But if there truly was a god out there who could hear wishes, could He please give him a sign to let him know his brother was alright?

Just as he stared at the water, the normally still reflection of the moon suddenly trembled.

Jason’s body reacted faster than his brain, and he immediately stepped back, distancing himself from the water.

The river surface bizarrely formed a whirlpool, as if an invisible large fish was turning beneath the surface—but the water here was too shallow for any large fish.

As he stared at the water, considering whether to shout for help, he heard a “splash” as a shadow broke through the water.

The moon’s reflection shattered into many pieces.

The author has something to say:

Jason: God, please give me a sign.

Sign: Who’s so inconsiderate to order takeout in the middle of the night?

Does anyone remember Kurt’s side job writing erotica?

It doesn’t sell well, but there are buyers, like Eugene, with his unusual tastes.

Kinky Thoughts:

Guess his sign is Rabbit.

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

Chapter 119

“Some guy told me this place has the cheapest rooms in White Bridge,” Eugene said, leaning against a wooden counter polished shiny from use, speaking in the common language.

Behind the counter, which was half a person tall, there was a space just big enough to squeeze in a single chair, on which sat a skinny old man with his knees drawn up. If the visitor wasn’t tall enough, they would have to stand on tiptoes to see that there was someone there.

The chair under the old man was so worn that its original shape was indiscernible, covered with many layers of hand-sewn fabric pads, deeply sunken in the middle from use. The wall beside him was covered in haphazard scribbles, looking like a mix of names and numbers.

The old man’s eyelids were thick and heavy, and he laboriously lifted them to look at Eugene, his movement reminiscent of an elephant nearing its last days.

“10 copper coins.” He also spoke in the common language. “Rent is paid daily. If you don’t come back, whatever you leave in the room is mine.”

Eugene paid him, and after the old man counted the money twice, he got up with a jangle—caused by a large iron ring on his left wrist, from which hung various keys that clinked against each other with his movements.

Eugene guessed this building was probably constructed by his grandfather’s grandfather. The building looked much older than the old man, who was coughing with every step. Its quirky and tightly packed structure was the result of haphazard expansions over generations. Every step of the stairs and every door he saw had different colors and materials. It wasn’t fully light yet, but there were already sounds of coughing and movement behind several doors.

The old man didn’t bring a candle. He led Eugene up two flights of stairs in the dark, trying several keys before finally opening a door at the stairwell landing and gesturing for him to go inside.

The room was small and square, cramped like a drawer. The floor was covered with a grass mat whose original color was indiscernible, and there was a lump of something rolled up in old cloth—Eugene guessed it was a pillow.

A wooden board was nailed to the wall, neatly holding a wooden plaque carved with a hieroglyph.

It was a blessing charm.

The skinny old man gave him a key and left. The room had no furniture worth mentioning, and as soon as the door shut, it was plunged into darkness.

Gathering intelligence from the lower echelons was Eugene’s forte, but sitting cross-legged in the room, he felt that this place was different from the other low places he had “mingled” in before.

When he had followed a few kitchen workers here, he had prepared himself—if this area, clearly meant for the poor, was too hostile to outsiders, he would immediately withdraw, find an opportunity to bribe a couple of local loners to become informants, and then sneak back in.

But the walk in had been unexpectedly smooth.

It wasn’t because it was before dawn, and no one was out. This area was completely open. There was no manned boundary, not even a real “gate”. As long as one could find a gap between the shacks, entry was possible without any obstruction.

Inside, there was everything—one could find in any city, including stalls selling simple food all night, narrow but interconnected streets, and even a proper inn.

This inn was located not far from the main road Eugene had entered on. In the darkness, the full view of the small building was unclear, but amid mostly closed doors and windows, the light leaking from the only door big enough for one person to pass through shone like a beacon through the sea, instinctively drawing him toward it, and Eugene indeed headed there.

Inside, there was only the counter and a dozing old man. If it weren’t for the words “Inn” written on the old wooden door, Eugene wouldn’t have knocked on the counter to wake him.

No identification was required, and rent was paid daily. Eugene would bet that even if a wanted poster with his portrait was hanging on that door, as long as he could pay the rent, the old man would hand him the keys.

Although the objective conditions were vastly different, this money-centric attitude indeed proved that this place was also a part of White Bridge.

……

“%&*%￥?” a woman wrapped in a headscarf said something to him.

Eugene didn’t understand, so he continued walking past her deeper into the area. A man laughed behind him, speaking in the common language but with a heavy accent. Eugene vaguely guessed that one of the short sentences meant “In broad daylight!”

He had exchanged his waterproof cloak for another in the laundry room, but after dawn, he left it in his room—looking out the window, he saw that the locals mostly dressed very casually, exposing a lot of skin, most of which was deeply tanned, revealing uneven teeth when they spoke.

There were no drainage ditches here, and the narrow walkways were often half-occupied by sewage. Eugene spent half the day wandering deeper into this vast labyrinth, turning back for the hundredth time after dead ends and haphazard obstructions blocked his way, eventually losing track of his route back.

A few boys, wearing only trousers, shouted as they ran past him. Eugene casually grabbed one, asking in the common language where he could buy water.

“I’ll pay,” he said.

It wasn’t clear if the boy understood. Like a fish out of water, he thrashed in Eugene’s grasp, then ran off quickly, nose dripping, after being set down.

But no matter. Eugene didn’t really expect the boy to solve his problem. He said it for the ears of those nearby—although it seemed like no one was around, he knew that all along his journey, many eyes had been watching him.

“Hey.” Indeed, immediately, a young-looking man struck up a conversation. “You want to buy water?”

He spoke clearly, with no accent, and was dressed more cleanly and decently than the dishwashers working the previous night.

Eugene nodded.

“I’ll sell it to you,” the man said. “You’re a foreigner, right—lost your way?”

Without waiting for a response but not seeming to mind, he introduced himself as Popo, living nearby, and claimed he had clean water to offer him.

Eugene followed him through several turns, stopping in front of a shelter no taller than a person. If it weren’t made of thin wood planks and other materials, Eugene would rather call it a tent.

But Popo said this was his home, deftly lifting the curtain that served as the door and ducking inside.

As Eugene waited, he noticed a few inconspicuous daisy wreaths painted on the lower right corner of the door curtain.

When Popo reemerged, he held a dry gourd half-filled with water.

Eugene was starving by then, but as he reached out, Popo pulled back with a sly look in his eyes.

“You see, my water costs money too,” he said. “Not much left.”

“How much?” Eugene asked straightforwardly.

Popo hesitated for a moment, then tentatively said, “Two copper coins.”

Eugene looked at the water in the gourd, which wasn’t very clear, and the gourd itself was chipped.

“Fine, two copper coins,” Eugene agreed.

Before Popo could smile, Eugene added, “Not water. Two copper coins for you to show me the way.”

To his surprise, Popo seemed even happier. He carefully went back to put down the water, as if afraid Eugene would run off, then quickly came out again. “No problem—I grew up on Paradise Island. No one knows the paths better than I do. Who are you looking for?”

Paradise Island.

Eugene mentally noted the name.

“I’m looking for work,” Eugene said. “First day here—rented a room. Don’t know the way back.”

Popo nodded, unconcerned, stepping barefoot into the sewage and moved in front of him. “Where’s your room rented?”

“The place has no name,” Eugene said.

“The places here have no names,” Popo replied. “You need to know who the owner is. Like Jenny’s laundry factory, Old Whitebeard’s bakery…”

“It says ‘Inn’ on the door,” Eugene added.

“Ah, I know.” Popo walked backwards, looking at Eugene. “It’s not cheap there. You can stay at my place for just 5 copper coins a day.”

Eugene remained silent, but Popo clearly didn’t want to let him go, actively persuading him as they walked. “You came looking for work, right? Do you still have savings? The cheapest room there costs 10 copper coins—that’s 300 a month. Even if you find work immediately, what you earn in a day will just cover your rent. You won’t be able to afford food…”

“Is the pay really that low?” Eugene frowned.

Popo burst into laughter.

“What else? This is Paradise Island. You’re not from the inner city, are you? If you were, it wouldn’t be surprising—the rats there are richer than us. There’s no comparison.”

His matter-of-fact tone suggested that this place called “Paradise Island” wasn’t completely isolated from the inner city, and there was some movement of people between the two.

Although the inner city was bustling and lively, everything there was built on money. If someone went bankrupt at an auction or a solo dining event, they could become a beggar overnight and only manage to survive by entering Paradise Island.

Conversely, the likelihood of moving from Paradise Island to the inner city seemed much slimmer. Most children growing up here would end up like Popo or working as kitchen hands, washing dishes overnight…

Just as Eugene was about to ask him about the possibility of getting work in the inner city, Popo suddenly stopped walking and even stepped back a couple of steps, nearly bumping into Eugene.

Eugene looked over his shoulder and saw several people gathered in the distance talking. A middle-aged, fat woman was sitting on the ground crying in front of a large wooden crate.

“Let’s take a detour,” Popo said expressionlessly.

Eugene shrugged and followed him quickly, asking quietly, “What happened there?”

“Someone died,” Popo said. “See that crate… Her child is inside.”

Eugene looked at the back of Popo’s head, suddenly having a thought. “Sent over from the inner city?”

Popo kept walking. “Yeah. ‘They’ occasionally pick people from here. Children who leave here either never come back, or they end up in a box. If their family is still around, they get some money for it.”

“‘They’—are you talking about the Wolves or the Mon…” Eugene didn’t finish his sentence when Popo angrily cut him off.

“Don’t—mention their names.” The young man squeezed the words through clenched teeth. “Don’t do something stupid.”

“Why? Can they hear us?” Eugene quickly amended his approach.

“‘They’ are everywhere.” Popo looked around, seemingly checking if anyone was paying attention to them. Probably because he was leading the way, indeed, not many people spared extra energy to notice Eugene.

“Don’t talk about it, don’t draw attention, don’t resist,” Popo said. “If you want to stay here, you’d better do as I say.”

Eugene was stunned.

Except for the last part, the rules Popo just mentioned were applicable across the continent, but conventionally, they were meant to guard against witches and black mages.

Here, however…

It seemed he had found the reason why on Paradise Island, both inn rooms and simple tents, without exception, had blessing charms.

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

Chapter 118

Amber’s eyes widened as he looked at the two neatly dressed attendants bowing to greet them, with a bright green lawn behind them—not large but meticulously trimmed and vividly colored, which made the somewhat gloomy sky appear gray.

In the middle was a neat pathway wide enough for a double carriage, leading to a compact but fully functional summer villa.

Every five steps along the outer circular colonnade stood a slender column, carved with intricate rose vine patterns similar to those on the main door, topped with a gas lamp that was lit even though it was still afternoon (Eugene suspected these lamps were on day and night).

Although there were no marble pools or fountains, there was a delicate tower and a back garden, making it seem like the most complete and comfortable place they had come across after their journey.

This was just one of the guest houses in the inner city of White Bridge, featuring six bedrooms and seven bathrooms, adorned with finely sculpted relief columns and gilded furniture inlaid with gems. However, there were no emblems or tapestries that could indicate status, making it seem like an opulently empty jewelry box.

Each house was staffed with a cook, laundress, gardener, coachman, and four general laborers, while the security mercenaries were housed in a separate wooden cabin next to the storage room, behind which stood a pointed-roof stable filled with hay reaching the roof.

This was the first time both Amber and Eugene had seen such a refined house, and they felt somewhat uneasy about stepping forward. Nearly the entire reception hall was covered with a huge carpet, brown with blue borders, featuring patterns with an exotic flair. Having traveled through many cities with the Duke, Eugene could guess that such a large handmade carpet must be quite valuable, and his sheepskin boots were no longer as pristine as they had been at the start of their journey—they still bore the marks of accidentally stepping into a muddy puddle at the foot of the Royfoy Mountains.

Hasting and Shivers had different concerns. They quickly inspected the house from top to bottom, opening every cupboard and paying particular attention to all the exits of the house.

The Duke stood by a large stained-glass window overlooking the back garden, frowning slightly at the spotless glass.

After descending the stairs, Shivers saw where he was standing and immediately understood that he had also noticed something of concern.

“Indeed, there are no blessing charms,” the Knight Commander said. “We’ve checked the doors, window frames, stairs, eaves, and vents, and found nothing.”

Amber stood at the edge of the carpet. Hearing their conversation, he raised his head and asked Eugene, “What’s a blessing charm? Like an amulet?”

Eugene replied, surprised, “How do you not know that—it’s a charm used to prevent witches or evil spirits from entering a house. Even the simplest houses are equipped with them. As the saying goes: even a broken house should have a stove and a daisy wreath.”

Amber remained silent.

He had been sold before he was five years old and retained little memory of “home”. Since then, he had been passed from hand to hand, never sleeping in a decent bed, let alone a proper house.

Hearing their conversation, Shivers waved Amber over.

“Blessing charms are a customary practice across the continent. It’s not specific in form, but any that can repel evil and protect against malevolent spirits. Long ago, when black magic was rampant and the fresh bones from graveyards and swamps weren’t enough to satisfy their needs, people would compel extremely evil things to squeeze into houses through door cracks or window gaps; thus, various protective measures were developed. The daisy wreath Eugene mentioned is a common one. It’s inexpensive and just requires a daisy wreath carved into a brick on each of the four walls during construction to confuse evil beings.”

He added softly, “There are also wooden exorcism charms hung behind doors and silver-coated glass pieces embedded in the windows. The methods vary, but it’s customary to have some, and houses completely without these protections are rare.”

Eugene dipped his finger in water and drew several circles within circles on the wall to show him, “See, this is a daisy wreath. When I was in Dogus, I often slept in animal sheds, and if the homeowner didn’t place a blessing charm, we would draw this with the ashes on the walls—do you need me to draw one outside? It’s simple, just give me five minutes…”

Shivers shook his head. “I’ve sent Hall and Shiloh to check if the nearby houses are the same, but actually, the comforting effect of blessing charms is greater than their actual function. Now, witches and black magic are strictly prohibited, especially in populous cities, and evil spirits hardly dare to show themselves.”

And they had Hasting, a walking humanoid blessing charm stronger than any other.

“Interesting,” Dwight muttered quietly, taking his cane and heading upstairs, followed by Shivers.

Their luggage had already been placed in the bedrooms, with the Duke naturally occupying the largest one. As guests concealing their real identities, they maintained a low profile after entering White Bridge and didn’t rent the best house, thus receiving little special treatment, but the conditions here were still surprisingly good.

“These families… at least the Wolves and Monkeys, indeed have substantial wealth,” Shivers remarked, looking at the fur on the bed.

Due to its fragmented kingdom, Doran lacked strict consumer laws, allowing wealthy commoners considerable freedom. The soft, white rabbit fur on the bed was a testament to high-quality goods, usually stored with spices in the innermost cargo holds of ships and sold at high prices.

In Pennigra, only those of knight rank and above could wear silk, and only barons and above could wear fur coats or trimmed robes.

“They do just that,” Dwight said. “For the biennial auction, countless ships carrying honey, beverages, spices, and silk converge here. The Golden Waterway is well-deserved.”

“In such a place, without strong measures, it’s easy for theft, robbery, and conflicts to arise,” Shivers analyzed. “But so far, the environment seems peaceful, and even the houses don’t set up blessing charms. What gives the Wolves such confidence?”

“Personnel stratification,” Dwight responded without hesitation. “Here, there are no nobles, only coins. They classify by wealth.”

Upon entering White Bridge, they had rented a villa in a section that likely housed guests of similar stature. If someone as wealthy as Priscilla were to visit, she would probably stay somewhere even more upscale, but likely just like this place, devoid of any emblems or ornaments to display one’s status.

“But there is no pure utopia of pleasure. There must be another part of the city, a breeding ground for theft and robbery… concentrated there.” Dwight speculated, lowering his eyes. “As long as the boundaries are clear, major conflicts won’t occur, and individual conflicts on ‘this side’ are manageable.”

“We haven’t seen such a place,” Shivers said.

They had been met by carriages upon disembarking, but due to not having female companions, chose a brighter, airier, windowless model. The scenery they saw along the way looked like a compact royal city, vibrant and ripe like a juicy, enticing peach, emitting a rotting, sweet smell.

“There’s more than one entrance,” Dwight said thoughtfully.

For the Wolves and Monkeys to demarcate and govern here appeared quite incredible and contradictory to Dwight. It was strange to see two equally powerful forces coexist peacefully within the same area.

Either they had leverage over each other, or this balance existed only superficially, being quite delicate in reality.

Unfortunately, just as nobles collectively refuse to intermarry with the Black Gold Families, the Black Gold Families are also tightly knit, making it difficult for outsiders to penetrate easily.

Even in Pennigra, Lemena was a relatively independent peninsula and had no contact with White Bridge beyond commercial activities before this, leaving him with a very limited understanding of the area.

But there were potential breakthroughs, such as Louis.

However, Dwight still didn’t know his actual stance, and considering his and Charlie’s sensitive identities, coupled with Priscilla’s impending childbirth, the Duke pondered for a moment and decided to switch perspectives.

In such a prosperous and orderly inner city, the Wolves and Monkeys likely dominated as local powers, controlling key resources.

The commoners or those of lower status probably concentrated in inferior districts or suburbs. Both families might manage those areas, but they wouldn’t be a major part of that population.

……

Eugene walked down the street, shoulders hunched, as drizzle fell from the sky. Despite wearing a waterproof cloak, the fine raindrops were blown slantwise onto his face by the wind, soon forming tiny beads of water on his eyebrows and hair.

White Bridge was a city that never slept.

He had deliberately left home at eleven at night and spent an hour walking to the bustling commercial district’s edge. Although the air no longer carried the scents of ladies’ perfume and sweet cream, it was still enticing—replaced by the strong aromas of roasted meats. Half-open or open-air stalls were everywhere, with bright lights illuminating the area as if it were daytime. People built huge roasters right there, continuously removing stacks of pancakes filled with pork, beef, and eggs. Beside these were various grills, skewering beef legs and small lambs, constantly dripping fat and juices into bowls below, then used to make another famous dish—gravy onions.

Eugene stood at a street corner, like a customer lured by the aromas and indecisive about which shop to sit down in. The bustling or dining people took no special notice of him, as the scene was quite ordinary to them.

But he was actually observing something else.

For these bustling districts, the night was just beginning. Gourmets tired of the inner city’s center, close to various auction houses and exclusive restaurants, would come here to eat, often in groups, with two servants following behind. Occasionally, some courtesans would pass by, casting flirtatious glances at the seated diners.

Eugene bypassed these brightly lit shops, stepping through puddles deeper into the area. The layout of the streets here was similar, with shiny shops typically backed by messy drainage ditches. Old oil lamps hung on bamboo poles, and a few raggedly dressed women washed dishes under the lamps while two men squatted on the ground, their fronts lined with buckets filled with heaps of chili peppers and onions, quickly chopping tuberous plants into small pieces.

People came and went from the front, picking up peeled potatoes. Those squatting or sitting didn’t raise their heads or speak, treating each other as if they were air.

The lighting was too dim, but Eugene could just make out their dark faces and tattered robes. Sometimes, multi-legged insects scurried out from the shadows, even crawling over the corners of their robes that touched the ground, causing only a numb shift in their bodies, their hands never stopping their task.

The Duke was right. Behind such opulence in White Bridge was a backbone of cheap labor. Especially in that “outsider” villa area, massive daily demands were generated: laundry, exquisite food, tedious and cumbersome household chores, and routine house maintenance—all of which couldn’t be managed by just a few assigned servants.

This was particularly evident in the streets and shops, especially in the food industry, which generated a lot of tedious and dirty work…

Eugene was familiar with these scenes. Indeed, he had been a scoundrel since childhood, rarely as engrossed in work as these people. But Eugene, the thief, and his ragamuffin friends had parents and siblings who performed these low-wage jobs day in and day out, barely making enough to scrape by.

That’s why, unlike the loud drunks in the taverns, they were very cautious, unlikely to say more than a few words to a stranger like Eugene.

After some thought, Eugene didn’t approach rashly but walked away—he ended up ordering a roasted chicken, golden-brown, and drank wine until late into the night.

Only when it grew dark and the guests gradually left, as most shops began cleaning tables and chairs, did he tighten his sleeves, stagger to his feet, and tossed a handful of coins on the table before leaving.

A faint snicker followed him from behind. He knew he was seen as a penniless gambler, but he didn’t care.

Like all incoherently drunk people, he first staggered under a streetlamp, then shuffled forward. The streets were nearly empty, and he was almost relying on luck not to lose track of the two men he had seen peeling potatoes in the back alley earlier.

Luckily, they were either completely off guard or so sure of their poverty that they attracted no covetous attention, oblivious to someone following them through several blocks back to “home”.

Eugene stood in a shadow where the streetlight couldn’t reach, watching one of the men crawl directly into a tent propped up by a stick on the roadside, seemingly flipping over to lie down inside, his feet sticking out freely.

His companion walked around the tent and entered—what Eugene could only describe as…

A jumbled mass of shanties, tents, and wooden houses crowded together, a myriad of materials and colors with seemingly no gaps between the oddly shaped windows and corners that stood out more starkly against the night sky. From his distance, it looked like a colossal, multicolored mountain of garbage.

And the ragged vegetable cutter, like a nimble rat, slipped in without needing streetlights or moonlight, familiarly navigating the maze.

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

Chapter 117

After the Bonadi River turned a bend in the eastern part of the Doran continent, it merged into the sea. White Bridge was conveniently located at the bend. There was also a canal that ran through east to west, which most passenger and merchant ships entered through.

The impression of White Bridge entirely depends on which “gate” one entered through.

Alexander glanced out the window before drawing the curtains. Although the ship wasn’t moving fast, the vast expanse of gray, white was no longer visible in the distance—outsiders might mistake that white for calcified reefs or something else on the shore, but only those who live there knew that it was a large, dense area of low, sun-blocking rooftops.

Describing them as rooftops might not be entirely appropriate, as most of the structures were crooked shacks, built askew, and in disrepair. If by chance some stray dogs were to fight and bump into the rotten, damp wood used for support, it could easily cause the entire shack to collapse, crushing the starving elderly inside who lack the strength to even moan.

Then, after waiting a few days, someone would drag away the rubble along with the bodies, and another “family” would build a shack on the same spot, only to relive this history again in twenty years—or maybe ten.

“Didn’t you just go back? ‘Paradise Island’.” Louis, standing by his desk, carefully put on a glove, which was exquisitely made, but what was more surprising was the material—it was light, soft, thin, and extremely elastic. It took effort to fully stretch it to put on, and once on, it fitted like a second layer of skin, reducing any discomfort that could hinder movement to a minimum.

After checking the curtains, Alexander came over to help him and pursed his lips upon hearing this.

The continent’s impression of White Bridge was universally one of a debauched gold mine, a lawless den of sin, a magical country that fulfilled all fantasies. Oddly, those who had been to White Bridge unanimously ignored its other side: crowded, dirty, poor, suffering, and madness.

These terms also came from White Bridge, where countless poor people, like never-tiring ants, had accumulated a growing anthill in this place of extravagant spending, exactly where Alexander just looked.

This slum had an interesting name: Paradise Island.

It wasn’t actually an island, but a large, rundown, crowded shantytown that was an integral part of White Bridge, where all the garbage abandoned by the adjacent glitzy world and all beings unworthy of entering that world found their place. Its boundary was clear, without a wall to separate these two worlds, but this stark coexistence had existed almost since the formation of White Bridge.

The name Paradise Island was given by the first generation of residents, and to this day, one could still faintly sense their hopeful spirit placed here for the future, although over time it had become a focal point of disease, poverty, and hardship in White Bridge. Yet, the residents of Paradise Island still chose to call it by this name.

Alexander was from there.

“I just glanced from a distance.” Alexander straightened a finger of the glove, ensuring Louis’s fingertip completely reached the end. “Things change too quickly there. I no longer recognize the way in.”

And Paradise Island would not welcome someone like Alexander.

The islanders had an instinctual sense of smell, able to sharply discern the identity of every visitor. They may outwardly show respect and fear, but deep down, they emit a “this is an outsider” warning, even if Alexander was once one of them.

“Fahim told you,” Louis said nonchalantly, picking up the second glove.

As Louis’s assistant, Alexander rarely enjoyed any holidays. His few free moments came when Louis returned to Fortuna City, and Alexander usually left half a day to a day later due to wrapping up work, occasionally having a few hours to glance at Paradise Island.

The day Fahim took him away from White Bridge, he had stood at the crossroad and said, “Take one last look at your hometown. You can never come back.”

At that time, Alexander’s mind was no bigger than a peach pit. He didn’t understand what Fahim was saying, but he obediently looked back. His sweaty-smelling neighbors also watched him from afar, their eyes filled with reluctance. Alexander felt Fahim didn’t understand. His family and friends were all here. When he made something of himself, they would surely excitedly navigate the alleys, loudly share the news, and then celebrate together with the bread and ham he brought back—however, it turned out Fahim was right.

When he wore a decent shirt, cut his hair, and learned to use utensils and read, the blood flowing through him was continuously cleansed, and by the time he stood behind Louis, capable of calmly facing all threats, the last trace of Paradise Island within him had disappeared.

His gambling-addict father disappeared in the second year after he left, presumably thrown into the Bonadi River by creditors, and his mentally unstable mother couldn’t even remember how many children she had, let alone recognize Alexander—even now, even if he brought back the finest wines and meats, his hometown would no longer recognize and accept him.

“Yes.” Alexander straightened Louis’s collar. A cleverly hidden white gauze peeked through—one that he had worked tirelessly to wrap around his neck.

Showing weakness was rare in White Bridge, and Alexander wasn’t sure what Louis hoped to gain by pretending to be injured, but as a dutiful assistant, he didn’t question his boss’ decision.

They timed it well, almost completely ready when a servant came to report that the ship had arrived, and…

“Miss Prima is waiting for you at the port,” the servant said.

This wasn’t something an unmarried lady should do conspicuously. It seemed she was truly worried. Alexander thought this as he picked up Louis’s cane and hat, glancing at the meticulously combed back of his boss’ head, feeling his boss really wasn’t a good man.

This was roughly the difference between true nobility and a pack of wolves. Although the idea of defending one’s dignity with one’s life was rigid and decadent, this push was quite too high that Priscella would never do such a thing.

Prima knew that her actions could stir rumors and mockery, like being overly forward, but she was Khalif’s daughter—who would dare say that to her face?—as long as it didn’t reach her ears, she wouldn’t care about these trivial acts.

Louis wasn’t particularly perturbed by being pursued, nor did the news elicit any special reaction from him.

Once within the domain of White Bridge, there were plenty of eyes scrutinizing his every move. Prima was just one of the rare few whose intentions were benign.

He took the cane from Alexander and boarded the carriage, waiting at the dock without a sideways glance. Nearby, the Azalea, prepared for the Countess, had its convoy in place, but due to cumbersome luggage, only the attendants were coordinating all the details.

Prima’s carriage was white and painted with golden trim. Its exquisite rooftop and detailed decorations looked quite dreamy. However, from the dock onward, the sight was filled with luxurious, costly carriages, making the Wolf Family’s seem modest in comparison.

Prima didn’t alight from her carriage but instead waited for Louis to board so they could ride side by side. It seemed the lady hadn’t entirely forsaken her modesty until they reached Louis’s inner-city mansion, where she lightly stepped down from the carriage, her bright brown eyes unwaveringly fixed on him.

“Louis, Alexander told me you were injured.” She approached naturally, her tone filled with concern. “You look pale… Was it the witch?”

“Thank you for coming to meet me, Prima.” Louis nodded to her. “Let’s not stand here talking. Alexander, have the kitchen prepare cinnamon tea and mint candies. We’ll go to the living room.”

This was Prima’s preference, but she wasn’t here just for tea. Seeing Louis move freely brightened her spirits a bit, and her tone became more cheerful.

“Those annoying people wouldn’t tell me the truth, so I came to you, Louis. Is there really a witch? Did she hurt you?”

“Oh? What did they say?” Louis removed his hat and casually handed it to a maid nearby.

“Oh, there was a rumor that you had disappeared around seven,” Prima said lightly. “They said a witch attacked the docks, and you were there, taken away by the witch.”

She didn’t realize the implications of her words: Louis had vanished in the river just as the sun set, and within an hour, White Bridge, three days and two nights from Fortuna City, had received news that couldn’t be said to be entirely inaccurate. Obviously, this didn’t come from Louis’s side, indicating someone had been closely monitoring him.

Prima was aware of this, but such surveillance was normal for the Wolf and even the Monkey families. Those in power always attracted covetous eyes waiting to take their place, and even a lady like her was constantly watched. She had just heard the news and wasn’t one of the watchers. Even if Louis resented this customary situation, his anger and resentment wouldn’t extend to her.

Louis didn’t react much to her words, instead calmly describing the incident with Elena, of course, in the version that made Alexander roll his eyes.

Prima, well-protected by her father, was easily fascinated by such thrilling stories. When Louis mentioned that the witch was dead, she sighed with relief and gracefully stated she was just checking on him and shouldn’t stay long to not disturb his rest after the journey.

Louis didn’t detain her and turned to Alexander to escort her to her carriage.

Though anticipated, Prima was still dismayed by Louis’s overly polite reception. If not for Alexander at her side, she might have turned immediately to ask Mary, the maid next to her, if she noticed her new hairstyle and the perfectly matching dress.

Alexander escorted her to the front courtyard, softly complimenting, “You look very beautiful today, Miss Prima.”

“Really?” Prima’s eyes lit up.

Alexander smiled as he had the servant open the carriage door. “It’s a style I haven’t seen before. It looks very exquisite.”

“Hand-embroidered, the pattern is my design—my brother found a workshop with skilled artisans,” Prima explained.

Alexander and Louis were inseparable, seen as Louis’s shadow. Prima felt that Alexander’s compliment was almost as if Louis had noticed her too, brightening her mood and even speculating whether Louis, being reserved, was using Alexander to compliment her.

She didn’t know that Alexander noticed this because his mother, when young, worked in a garment factory on dirty Paradise Island, not even in embroidery but in dyeing and laundering. Before losing her sanity, Alexander had listened to her and her slightly older daughter dreamily discuss how the factory in filthy Paradise Island could produce such noble, beautiful, flawless dresses for the ladies of the inner city, the cost of which could build a decent house for their family, saving them from rainy seasons. Alexander even remembered a night when the family barely had enough to eat, and the mother and daughter heatedly and needlessly debated, “If God gave you a choice, would you want the dress or the house?”

Prima wouldn’t know this. The garment factory was just a term to her. She might not even be aware of how much her dresses could sell for.

Alexander stood with his hands by his sides, watching the small two-person carriage disappear into the distance, then looked down at his own impeccably tailored, stiff long coat.

The residents of Paradise Island felt they were in paradise, trying their utmost to salvage everything they could from the scalding hellish magma, while the “real” residents of White Bridge never looked directly at Paradise Island, for it was infested with rats and filth, no different from a hell on earth.

At that moment, Alexander suddenly understood something.

The reason Louis had kept Prima at arm’s length for so many years, yet was willing to establish relatively close relationships with other women outside of White Bridge.

It wasn’t because Louis despised her family or her father Khalif and that Prima was Khalif’s daughter, but because, unlike others, Louis didn’t see a boundary between Paradise Island and the inner city.

If so, why choose to stay even after reaching maturity? Fahim had left Louis a considerable fortune and options for his future, effectively giving him a choice.

Now sitting as the head of the family, if he wished to step out of the circle of power and retire to just any distant city, none of his dim-witted (forgive his words) relatives could oppose him, and there were plenty in the Wolf Family waiting for someone to vacate a position.

Alexander had always felt that Louis’s ambition lay at the very top of White Bridge, and his elusive style was just one way to keep his opponents guessing, but now he began to doubt what his boss was really thinking.

The author has something to say:

Prima is a kind girl, but Louis prefers a more mature type. The brothers are the opposite in this regard.

Kinky Thoughts:

The gender of preference is also opposite as well … given that this is a danmei—though so far it has been so slow burn that (supposedly straight) Shivers and Yitzfa have more chemistry than the Duke and his Rabbit.

However, the story is quite good, so I can’t complain too much.

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

Chapter 116

The appearance of the witch Elena was like an unexpected hurricane, toppling a large swath and leaving a mess before quickly dissipating. No one knew where she had gone.

This unknown only deepened everyone’s unease.

On board the Azalea was a noble from a certain kingdom, traveling to White Bridge under the protection of two Black Gold Families. This was hardly a secret in Fortuna City, so many ships set their sights there, preparing to leave port with it, which somewhat increased their sense of security.

The only ones who felt a loss and reluctance were the various hunters who had rushed over, unwilling to believe that the witch had simply died or disappeared. Only a few focused on why a witch, who should have been reclusive, appeared in Fortuna City on the eve of the auction.

The sheriff’s department’s investigation report was either openly straightforward or covertly mysterious, and copies were placed on the desks of different individuals.

“The initial record was from a makeup artist who had signed a short-term contract with the city theater and had been walking home from work at the same time for three consecutive days—the theater was about to start a new show, and he and a partner were fitting rehearsals for twenty-seven actresses. Work hours were from eleven at night to five in the morning. That day, his partner left with an actress from the theater, so he didn’t leave together.”

Soon after, he was found collapsed on the street.

Alexander had seen the report beforehand and omitted the complex details, distilling the key points. “During the rescue, the sheriff discovered he was possessed by black magic. Two passersby drove off the demon for him, but due to insufficient strength, they ended up being chased all over the streets—later, another passerby completely expelled it with a bow and arrow on the docks.”

This report was very detailed, with elegant handwriting showing a thorough investigation. Many of the details came from eyewitness descriptions. If it weren’t for the early hour, Alexander felt the report could have been twice as thick.

In contrast, the report on the actual chaos at the docks where Elena appeared was much simpler, for an obvious reason. Apart from the foreman, Pambrick, and Louis, there were hardly any witnesses that saw the whole thing. Even the one who finally drove Elena back was…

Wait.

Louis snatched the first report from Alexander’s hand, quickly skimmed through it, and stopped at the last few lines.

[Completely expelled with a bow and arrow].

He remembered the person who drove Elena back—a bowman or perhaps also a mage—as the swarm of rats that were like a plague had no effect in front of him, and the witch was powerless against him. If he had been a minute later, Elena might have escaped. However, because it was dim, he hadn’t paid much attention to the man—Louis had thought he was just one of the bounty hunters chasing her.

Louis felt this was no coincidence. The likelihood that both bowmen were the same person was high.

Both reports lacked more records about this person, indicating two possibilities: one was that the person kept a very low profile or shouldn’t openly reveal his identity, disappearing quickly after accomplishing his goals, making it impossible for the security team to track him; the second was that although they had roughly located the target, the person wasn’t from Fortuna City and was just a passerby—without concrete evidence, the sheriff’s jurisdiction over non-local residents wasn’t extensive.

As for the report’s brief mention of Charlie’s “rabbit head”, Louis decided not to be too paranoid for the moment.

“Let them know about my street attack appropriately,” Louis said. “Turn the case around. Elena is dead. They don’t need to continue the investigation.”

Now, more than Elena, he was concerned about that mysterious archer.

Alexander understood that he was taking over this contradiction, attributing the reason for the witch’s appearance to himself. Although doing so could indeed temporarily suppress this series of disturbances, it would be difficult to follow these clues deeper—if Elena’s appearance wasn’t of her own will, but summoned to Fortuna City…

But Louis had made up his mind.

Alexander nodded. “Additionally, the Azalea is ready to sail at any time.”

……

The shipping route from the docks of Fortuna to White Bridge was well-established and not far, with a quite comprehensive commercial navigation system. Luxury passenger ships were often very opulently decorated, equipped with restaurants, card rooms, gardens, music halls, and theaters. The Azalea, being a new ship, would have made for a quite comfortable voyage if not for Priscilla feeling unwell.

The Duke’s Zephyr followed shortly, maintaining a careful distance from the Azalea. Because of the slow sailing speed, even Shiloh, who was prone to seasickness, could stay on deck to enjoy the sun and teach Amber to read.

Amber was learning diligently, having mastered over two hundred common characters to date, able to independently read short obituaries and transaction information in the newspaper, and even some simple jokes.

Emerald, having been locked up, was throwing a tantrum and had fasted for seventeen hours. While this time might seem short, equivalent to missing two meals, it was quite severe for Emerald, probably due to how many years it had been asleep. This little Pluto Owl had a good appetite. After waking up, its stomach would keep growling, disturbing the Duke so much that he couldn’t even write his letters, so he had to come up on deck as well.

Amber felt sorry for Emerald, knowing the pain of hunger all too well, but he couldn’t feed it. He wasn’t an unreasonable child and knew that taming was a mutual struggle. Now was a critical time.

But he still felt sorry for Emerald.

The cold-hearted Duke ignored the occasional glances Amber threw his way, whispering something to his Shivers.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper privately said the Duke was nearly arrogant in his confidence (and indeed, his everyday demeanor confirmed this), but ever since Witch Elena appeared in Fortuna City, he had a vague sense of foreboding, making him somewhat restless, yet unable to pinpoint the source.

This anxiety was even unrelated to Elena herself. The witch’s appearance seemed more like a lever, prying into a stinking, irresistible can of rot, terrifying him.

Only then did he truly understand Rabbit Head’s reluctance to go to White Bridge. Even he was so anxious, he wondered how the other managed to overcome this feeling, casually boarding the ship and proceeding with everyone.

…Maybe it was better not to have come at all.

If he genuinely didn’t know where Rabbit Head had taken Elena, the Duke might have wanted to say just that.

As a member of the Wolf Family, which inherited the Holy Grail bloodline, they were surely more familiar with this seemingly fantastical legend. He didn’t know if there was a way to identify someone other than the Lamp Bearers, but their thirst for power was certainly more urgent than that of the nobles. The Duke never underestimated how hideous humans could be in the face of desire, and even if he wasn’t afraid, it still disgusted him.

Moreover, Charlie must be scared. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so concerned about Elena’s safety.

Unfortunately, as long as Kurt was in White Bridge, it was likely that he would still come, and as for how to rescue the astrologer then, even the Duke couldn’t guess the shopkeeper’s plan.

It was impossible to simply buy the astrologer out. Not to mention the sky-high price that the astrologer’s annual spectacle would fetch; even if it were affordable, it would require the equivalent of two or three ships’ worth of payment, which would be virtually impossible to manage with their status as stowaways. Even the wealthy Southern Lord, Lestrop, only sought an opportunity to consult the astrologer for a prophecy.

“With Tifa gaining the support of several domestic princes, he already had the upper hand. The Queen’s family, to clear Christine of suspicion in the bedroom murder case, also made a gesture this time. Lestrop, though tough, is unpopular. Even two fists can’t beat four hands,” Shivers said softly. “Plus, he’s already suffered a setback in vigor.”

He subtly didn’t state the conclusion that “Lestrop is about to fail”, but unless a miracle happened, this Earl, once more influential than the King, would soon be branded a national traitor due to his defeat.

“Christine will persuade him to adopt a merciful King’s posture, to confine his brothers, retain his title and lands, ‘to transform him with kindness and love’.”

As part of the other princes supporting the King, the land might likely be reduced. At this time, Priscilla’s plea for mercy would timely ignite public opinion. Under the circumstances of Lestrop’s defeat, if Tifa ruthlessly expelled a weak, postpartum woman with a newborn, his previous merciful facade would be self-shattered.

And Priscilla’s years of effort would come into play at this time—whether as the Lady of the Manor or the Countess, her impeccable demeanor had always been exemplary. No one in the kingdom could find another noblewoman who treated everyone with such gentleness and consideration. She even continued some traditions from Lemena, convincing her husband to waive taxes for some of the very poor, and participating in public celebrations on major holidays; thus, her reputation in the south was quite high.

It was hard to say whether she had been laying the groundwork for today from the beginning, but her never-relaxed efforts were always bound to be rewarded.

“Let Erica write a letter to the steward in the name of the Empire, allowing me entry to Doran,” the Duke said.

Mokwen hadn’t yet entered the competition for the imperial throne for all of Doran. Tifa hesitated in decision-making, lacking courage. Once domestic public opinion formed, and the Duke of Brandenburg personally visited his postpartum sister on behalf of the Pennigra Empire, this matter would succeed.

The premise was that Priscilla and the child stayed safe.

A salty breeze blew past, and both men fell silent. They watched Eugene sit at the bow, softly blowing a handmade piccolo, his tune woeful and discordant, more like an animal crying.

But strangely, including Hasting, who was leaning against the side with his arms crossed, no one on deck stopped him.

“Has Eugene sensed something?” Shivers whispered.

The Duke didn’t speak.

In fact, more than just Eugene was worried about the rabbit-headed shopkeeper.

Although he was stubborn and irreverent, after such a long time together, even the best actor would find it difficult to completely mask their true self over this distance, especially since the shopkeeper wasn’t deceitful. He always openly carried the “I have secrets, lots of secrets” demeanor, facing curiosity and questioning without a direct response, but never lying about it.

That was precisely why Eugene and the others were more worried—Charlie always had a way to solve everything, and even a fool knew that the secrets keeping such a shopkeeper silent weren’t related to trivial honors, self-esteem, or wealth.

As time passed, it seemed everyone was getting closer to the shopkeeper’s past, but at some point, even Shiloh gradually replaced his enthusiasm with silence.

Including this time, only Amber asked where Mr. Rabbit Head had gone and why he wasn’t continuing the journey with them.

The Duke fiddled with a pine nut between his fingers.

He didn’t plan to tell anyone about his speculations regarding the Holy Grail, not because Shivers and Priscilla were untrustworthy, but because such secrets were always best kept to as few people as possible.

However, just like with Witch Elena, the Duke didn’t believe this was an unsolvable problem. If the root of the problem lay in the Black Gold Families, specifically the blasphemous ambitions of the Wolf, then solve the Wolf and let the legend remain just that.

There were always those in the other three families who didn’t wish to see the Wolves grow strong alone. At least from Yitzfa’s behavior at Thorn Manor, they didn’t want the century-long balance of the four families to be easily broken.

“Who is the current leader in White Bridge?” the Duke suddenly asked.

Shivers paused, startled. Lemena had no official dealings with Wolf, and their focus had always been on the auction itself. The Knight Commander hesitated before answering. “The last time the Wolf King was determined, a man named Khalif won, but that was when I was still a child.”

“Then let’s find out,” the Duke said, tossing the full pine nut. It flew past Amber and Shivers, hitting Eugene on the forehead, stopping his flute playing.

“Tell them Rabbit Head is fine.” The Duke stood up, deciding to go back and see if Emerald had starved into stupidity. “So don’t be so pathetic—unless you’ve resolved to save him with a handkerchief soaked with tears.”

The author has something to say:

Charlie is nice to everyone, so he actually has more friends than he knows.

Dwight is quite young, and who doesn’t have a bit of princely syndrome in their adolescence? But he’s gradually realizing how much Charlie values his friends, and how miraculous his optimism is.

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