After meeting with Her Majesty Josephine, Tang Feiliu received special authorization from Her Majesty. Count Ryan, the chief administrator of Nat Imperial City—a staunch supporter of Her Majesty—nearly leapt from his seat in shock upon hearing Tang Feiliu’s words, breaking out in a cold sweat.
Count Ryan was the quintessential nobleman—in short, lacking in wisdom or talent, yet possessing one immense strength and weakness: stubbornness.
His loyalty to Her Majesty Josephine was unshakable, which was precisely why he'd been honored with the duty of defending the Imperial City. The problem was, he was also stubborn and easily swayed by the crowd. When he first heard about the ban on public defecation within the city, he'd already thought, "This is such a hassle." By the time Tang Feiliu mentioned bathing and washing hands with soap, the look in Count Ryan's eyes as he stared at Tang Feiliu was as if he were looking at a madman.
"...Alright, alright. Though I think you're all mad, since it's Her Majesty's command..." Of course, under the Black Duke's cold snort, Count Ryan tremblingly affixed his seal to the order.
But once Count Ryan gave his approval, forget about the nobles—both high and low—fleeing overnight to escape this damned cholera in other places. Even among the common folk, this decree sparked immense resistance.
Unlike those living in the Dark Duke's domain, most residents of the Imperial City belonged to the relatively privileged classes of this era. The Holy Temple maintained three grand cathedrals within the city, and the devotion of its followers ran deep.
Tang Feiliu had anticipated every possible scenario, yet he never imagined that after painstakingly preparing everything and worrying about the two doctors he'd sent for not arriving... he would instead face near-universal resistance.
For three consecutive days, he sat in the hastily established hospital, watching people detour around him while whispering as if observing madmen. Bored and helpless, he overheard servants reporting that the Temple carried in and out countless bodies daily. Crowds knelt before its gates, burning candles through the night in prayer—yet they could not stem the tide of the increasingly terrifying plague.
Yet even now, people still clung to their faith in the temple! Tang Feiliu found it utterly unbelievable. For the first time, he grasped just how profoundly blind faith could make people.
Yet nothing could change the fact that no one believed him.
Even more terrifying was that, due to obstruction from all sides, Tang Feiliu's proposal for quarantine and treatment was met with utter disregard. Though the administrative order was issued, everyone paid lip service while secretly defying it.
Even stranger, Her Majesty Josephine hadn't spoken up for Tang Feiliu. Tang Feiliu found himself in a difficult position. Edward rushed back and forth between the palace and home every day, yet still found time to sit idly with Tang Feiliu... Tang Feiliu was bored to death. At least his brother had finally made a move, giving the situation its first step forward.
When Alexander found his friend, the latter was stuffing himself senseless. Young Mr. Johnson stood roughly Alexander's height but was twice as wide around the waist. Alexander arrived just as he was attacking a two-tiered cake with a napkin wrapped around his neck, cream smeared around his mouth, his shirt straining at the buttons.
"Jack!" Alexander greeted him warmly. "How are you?"
Mr. Johnson shifted in his chair, then bounced up with a jolt, like a rubber ball. "I thought it was the fur trader, but it's you! Alexander, what brings you to the capital in this season? That's not like you at all!"
Indeed, Alexander, accustomed to country life, would never choose the foul-smelling summer to visit the capital. Winter was bearable, but after spring passed and the ice melted, the summer sun made the stench so unbearable it made one wish to lose their sense of taste altogether.
"Hey, don't even mention it. Have you heard about the recent cholera outbreak?" Alexander whispered.
"What? Cholera again? Thank goodness I've only drunk wine since I was a boy!" Johnson jiggled his flabby flesh fearfully. "Last time, they say half the city died. Good heavens! I don't know when it started again, but I must leave at once! Niff, pack my things!"
Johnson bellowed at his personal valet, who looked equally terrified and turned to flee, seemingly intent on escaping the plague. Alexander quickly interjected, "Where are you going? What about your earnings?"
"When my life is on the line, what's money worth... What are you talking about? Staying here now, what money could I possibly make?" Johnson said, turning to stare at Alexander in confusion.
Alexander gave a mysterious smile and said, "My brother knows how to prevent cholera... I came to find you because I want us to work together on making something to prevent it."
"What?! What kind of medicine?!" Johnson's eyes widened with sudden interest. Seeing Johnson take the bait, Alexander immediately relaxed. "I can't tell you everything at once," he said. "We'll need to schedule a time. You need to talk to my brother about the specifics. What do you say?"
"Fine!" Money-obsessed Johnson, whose charm hadn't faded over the years, would risk his life for a chance to strike it rich. But when the two finally met, Mr. Johnson flew into a rage.
Grabbing Alexander by the collar, he bellowed, "What kind of cholera cure is this?! Who bathes with soap nowadays? Have you lost your mind, Alexander?!"
Chaos erupted between them. Johnson remained skeptical, but ultimately wavered—for he had seen the imperial decree appointing Tang Feiliu.
The shrewd Johnson reasoned: No big deal. Spend a little money to win favor with the emperor's favorite. Who cares if it works? It's a golden opportunity!
For a nouveau riche like Johnson, doing business was incredibly difficult—after all, it was still like this in modern times. Why did graduates from prestigious universities always seem to succeed more easily? It wasn't just their education, but also their social circles, like fraternities.
These groups shared resources and supported one another, essentially serving as an evolved version of the aristocratic social networks of the time.
Johnson lacked these connections. His family had originally been of the same class as Alexander, but now he was immensely wealthy, settled in the royal city with over a dozen factories. This fortune came from his father's involvement in maritime trade, which had made them rich beyond measure. Yet Johnson could only interact with the gentry by purchasing goods; he had no way to break into the upper-class business circles.
Johnson did not intend to let this opportunity slip. Like his father, he was a speculator at heart. After all, back when no one believed in maritime trade, Old Johnson had made a fortune, amassing enough wealth to fill a vault.
Now, this Mr. Johnson craved not merely wealth, but a greater future. Once resolved, he was willing to invest heavily—he had agreed to build the soap factory with Alexander and even forcibly ordered his workers to prioritize fulfilling every demand Mr. Lance made!
This order reduced the workers to tears, some even contemplating rebellion. But Johnson remained cold-faced: anyone refusing to comply could leave immediately—their wages settled on the spot.
There was no choice. After all, the risks of catching colds from bathing or even being corrupted by demons... those were unknowns. But losing their jobs meant starving to death—a very real, immediate threat!
When the first group of troublemakers were summarily fired and their pleas fell on deaf ears, the workers had no choice but to accept these unreasonable terms.
Meanwhile, the Temple continued to suffer mass casualties.
As the situation escalated, Charlemagne and Thorn arrived with a large supply of medicine. Upon their arrival, a young boy clung to his unconscious sister, weeping. Tang Feiliu could only observe helplessly—the girl was already in the middle to late stages of the disease. He was frantically trying to comfort the boy when Charlemagne and Thorn stepped directly off their carriage and made their way inside.
The outbreak itself had unfolded strangely. Tang Feiliu hadn't sensed it himself, but Evans, who had followed them all the way, had already detected something amiss. He shot a cold glance at the shadowy figures lurking in the corner outside the door, gave a dismissive snort, and then stepped into the relief center.
"Charlemagne, Thorn!" Tang Feiliu knew these two would choose to come. Though his letter had stated they could decide for themselves, given this opportunity, they likely wouldn't pass it up. Within the Black Swan, they constantly sought Tang Feiliu out to discuss problems. Yet Tang Feiliu often couldn't follow their discourse. They persisted in engaging him precisely because, to them, he was a treasure trove. Many complex issues they grappled with would suddenly click into place with just a casual remark from Tang Feiliu.
This time, it wasn't so much that the two had come specifically to save the day, but rather that after Tang Feiliu had provided them with substantial funding, they had come to test just how much progress he had made!
"Ivans!" Tang Feiliu's eyes widened in surprise when he saw Ivans had also arrived! He didn't know why Ivans hadn't come to the Imperial City, but he could guess—there were people here Ivans didn't want to see, and this place seemed to be a source of pain for her.
Yet here she stood now, her eyes gentle. Tang Feiliu felt warmth welling up. Though she was his personal valet, in his heart, Ivans was like a brother and family member who accompanied him daily. He rushed over, embracing them warmly.
Ivans held the little angel tightly, while Charlemagne and Thorn gave him perfunctory hugs before donning their specially made masks and caps. As Charlemagne adjusted his, he said sternly, "You two get out quickly, Thorn! Bring our equipment inside!"
Tang Feiliu, Alexander, and Ivans were all ushered out, leaving only the girl's anxious younger brother behind. Thorn, meanwhile, directed the shelter's current staff, swiftly moving equipment up and down stairs, inspecting instruments, and... large quantities of medicine.
"Charlemagne knows about cholera," Ivans explained to Tang Feiliu. "He said, inspired by you, he tried purifying the herbs chewed by those who survived the cholera outbreak back then..."
Tang Feiliu exclaimed in disbelief, "Really? I was just talking off the cuff! They actually researched it out?!"
"He himself said it's still in a very crude form, not reaching the compressed powder state you described... But I don't think he's one to exaggerate. At the very least, it should be useful," Evans said with a smile. "You invested tens of thousands of pounds into their lab. Surely you have some expectations for them?"
"Well..." Influenced by modern education, Tang Feiliu believed that no matter how tight funds were, crucial research must never be skimped on. Usually, when Charlemagne and his team requested purchases, he’d ask a few questions, then sign off on the expenses without much scrutiny. Now, hearing Ivans mention it, he suddenly felt a bit careless. He gave an awkward laugh, then brightened up again. "But if they’ve truly made progress, that would be fantastic!"
Ivans gazed at him tenderly and murmured softly, "Yes, let's hope there is progress. That would be wonderful..."
All eyes turned toward the door, where the young girl was being administered medication.
Would she awaken?
Or would she, like the temple itself, become just another corpse carried out?
Author's Note:
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