Upon learning she was the eldest daughter of the George Family, everyone behaved themselves, many stood up to pay their respects and expressed gratitude to Count George. Under his management, the immigrant district has been doing well for many years, with no tax increases for six or seven years. Although there have been minor issues, they pale in comparison to the benefits. George District is the only place in Hedan that offers such conditions to immigrants; basically, anyone with hands and feet can find a job and not starve or be forced to sell themselves into slavery.

Celestia, hearing the praise, also stood up to return the gesture, which earned her a round of applause.

Estella stood by with just a smile, not ruling out the possibility of arrangements. After all, her friend was no ordinary person, but Estella could tell whether these people were sincere. Moreover, as they had come along, George District was indeed quite impressive. It’s worth noting that this place used to be the most chaotic and rundown in Hedan, but it’s been very well managed now.

Estella observed the people around her, wondering if Mr. Gemini was among them. Hidden amidst the ordinary people would fit someone as extraordinary as Mr. Gemini, but she didn’t know. Chris had just commented, “Nothing remarkable.”

Almost everyone around was unremarkable, and Estella didn’t make any particular effort to search. “Do you know that chef?”

“Yes, Simmons went to great lengths to recruit this expert for the Glory Battle, and they should be meeting this afternoon. They’re going to the Holy Land. Are you interested? If not, we can choose something else.”

“I’m very interested in Hidden Power,” Estella said.

“Heh heh, I guessed you would like it,” Celestia replied. Before long, a panting Dalivin returned, his forehead covered in sweat.

“Miss George, here is the newsletter you requested. I’m not sure if it’s what you wanted, but I also bought the Hedan Daily,” Dalivin said.

“Thank you, Mr. Dalivin. How much?” Celestia asked.

“It’s my honor to serve you. I wonder if I might have the honor of painting your portrait?” Dalivin suggested.

Celestia glanced at Estella, “Alright then, why not paint one for each of us?”

“At your service!” Dalivin bowed, then wiped his sweat and picked up a drawing board and a stool from the side.

The people at Lirong Inn pride themselves on being multi-talented, adept at various part-time jobs.

Li Xin was not at the inn; he was up early to type on the typewriter, writing some manuscripts. After all, the publication was today, and he felt a bit excited. Although he wasn’t as impressive as Luthor, getting published was a good start—not aiming for major success, but just looking to earn a living.

After typing for a few hours, his stomach was growling. He didn’t want to eat anything from the inn and decided to wander over to Old Morton’s place. Old Morton started setting up his stall at five in the morning because many people start working early, making his stall one of the earliest to open.

Only Old Morton was there in the morning; Little Morton was still asleep. Kids need their sleep, and typically, Old Morton wouldn’t wake him until after seven.

“Old Morton, when do you plan to send him to the Grace Class? It’s good to lay the foundation early,” Li Xin asked as he ate.

“Couldn’t get a spot last year. We’ll try again this year. As soon as there’s an opening, he’ll go in immediately,” Old Morton replied, looking back fondly at the tent where Little Morton still slept. It warmed his heart; all the hard work was worth it.

Li Xin scooped his bowl, only to find it empty, “Did your hand shake again? A few scoops and it’s gone?”

“You ungrateful brat, do you know how expensive beef is? Do you want to be full or eat me out of business? Here, have some naan to fill up.” Old Morton placed a newly baked, fragrant naan in front of him, “Dip it in the soup; it’s delicious.”

Li Xin didn’t hold back, taking it and starting to munch as he considered talking to Simmons about getting Little Morton a spot. But he decided to handle the matter first; it would be worse if it didn’t work out, leaving someone in a tough spot.

After eating his fill, Li Xin wasn’t eager to return to the inn since he was meeting Simmons in the afternoon. After using the dice a few times, its color had significantly faded. Simmons’ Holy Land had a very good effect, and he planned to help Simmons practice that afternoon.

Strolling to the dock, he found a quiet spot to lie down, listening to the sound of the waves, feeling the sea breeze, and basking in the sun. Occasionally, a few seagulls circled in the sky, pia~~

Li Xin moved his head aside, “Ha, trying to ambush me? No way!”

But he realized he needed to change spots; these birds had no sense of decorum. A golden shadow circled high above for a moment and then disappeared.

After a satisfying meal, he took a nap. What a godly day.

Meanwhile, at Lirong Inn, Estella and Celestia had their heads down, flipping through the newspaper. Gone?

How could it be gone?

How could it really be gone?

The ongoing serialized story was about the first officer of the Pharaon merchant ship, Dantes, who, under the captain’s dying wishes, was to deliver a letter to Grand Governor Napoleon. However, he was framed by two envious colleagues and thrown into a dungeon. In the depths of despair, a tile suddenly lifted, and a small, frail old man claiming to be a priest appeared.

The story ended there, just as the two girls’ sense of justice was piqued, making them want to drag the author out for a beating.

“Arthur, do you think this old man is good or bad?”

“Those in prison usually have issues, right? But Dantes was falsely accused, so the priest might be as well. But is there really such a castle prison suspended in nothingness?” Estella pondered.

Suddenly, the two exchanged glances, realizing there might really be such a thing.

Instantly, their interest was piqued, “Do you know the author?”

“We’ll meet this afternoon,” Celestia said, surprised that Li Xin would actually write, and the story seemed quite interesting, albeit short.

Even Estella was a bit intrigued; the story was about the protagonist being wrongfully imprisoned in a mysterious jail, but there was an inexplicable excitement in their heart. What kind of priest would be in such a place?

Just an ordinary priest? Napoleon the Grand Governor? It felt like a veiled reference to Governor Luthor, making the story much richer.

The death of Governor Luthor was also a sensational event in Dao Yuan; how could Luthor, who had the Demigod Body, die suddenly?

The Dragon Mother waited patiently on the side, the first serving had long gone cold, both young ladies were mesmerized, Master Xin was indeed wealthy.

Seeing them finished reading, the Dragon Mother quickly brought the freshly fried dishes, Estella and Celestia were actually hungry. Estella was just about to eat when Celestia smiled, “Let me taste it first.”

After tasting each dish, she commented, “Indeed special, Arthur, you should try too.”

Estella smiled and took a small bite, the taste was indeed different, not exactly exquisite, but full of the flavor of everyday life.

Seeing the two young ladies satisfied, the Dragon Mother relaxed; then she noticed the distressed Dalivin nearby and walked over, “Done painting yet?”

“Finished one, but the other, somehow, can’t capture the essence. Maybe I drank too much last night?”

The Dragon Mother glared at Dalivin fiercely, “Open your eyes and paint, can’t handle such a small matter, you’ll serve me tonight!”

Dalivin shivered, “Cough, cough, I’m awake now, no problem!”

Celestia and Estella soon finished eating, they hadn’t eaten much, not exactly thrilled but there was uniqueness. Dalivin presented the paintings, Celestia’s was vivid and lifelike, especially in its essence; the eyes, much like Celestia’s, were strong, confident, and filled with optimism. Celestia took an instant liking, “Mr. Dalivin, I really like it!”

Dalivin bowed elegantly, “Presenting beauty is an enjoyment, thank you for your presence.”

Estella also saw her own painting, but hers was a profile, with a nun seemingly entranced by something, most of her face hidden by her robes, yet her graceful posture and feeling generated strong mystery, “The mood is great.”

Dalivin finally relaxed, the expression of the other young lady seemed stiff, lacking vivacity, so the blur technique was employed; anyway, he would never sell himself short.

Celestia paid, tossing a shiny gold coin to the Dragon Mother, whose smile squeezed her eyes almost shut.

Pressing down the painter’s head to bow to the departing young ladies, as the two got on the carriage, both were beaming, “Dragon Mother, we’ve hit it big!”

“Hit big? Working hard is what matters, diligence can make up for lack.”

“Right, right, how do we split it? A Gold Lira! I’ve never touched one before,” Dalivin’s eyes sparkled like stars, even with a forty-sixty split, he’s hitting it big.

“What Gold Lira? This is a reward from Miss Celestia of the noble George Family for my service, your two lousy paintings are worth little, I’ll give you a week’s free rent,” Dragon Mother said, “Of course, if you wise up, negotiations aren’t out of the question.”

“Dragon Mother~~~,” Dalivin’s eyes welled up with despair.

“Here, your reward, cheer up, be smart, stick with me, you’ll eat well and live large,” the Dragon Mother slipped one into Dalivin’s hand and walked off joyfully, swaying her hips.

Dalivin unfolded his hand; if it were a Silver Lira, it’d be good… the texture felt wrong, should the lines be square?

An Artista lay quietly in his palm, instead of the handsome profile of the Prince, it was a church.

The artist’s eyes reddened, why is this world so unfair!

Suddenly someone patted his shoulder, Old Fang sighed deeply, “Don’t bother with trying hard, just surrender; sometimes stepping back opens up vast opportunities.”

“Old Fang, can you calculate for me, when will I prosper?” Dalivin still wanted to stick to his artistic principles.

Old Fang held up two fingers.

“Two months?… Two years? So long?” Dalivin’s disappointment was tinged with some expectation.

“Two Liras,” Old Fang sometimes thought these artists had some screws loose.

“I only have one.”

“That works, we’ll count it as half then,” Old Fang swiftly swiped it from Dalivin’s hand, quick as an eighteen-year-old habitual offender.

Dalivin looked expectantly at Old Fang, Old Fang mysteriously raised one finger.

“What do you mean?” Dalivin asked blankly.

Old Fang flipped open his palm, then rubbed his thumb and index finger together…

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep