Chapter 180: Chapter 158: Lady Grant

The council at the Governor’s Mansion had just dispersed, and the cold wind had not yet dispelled the lingering warmth inside the room.

A timid figure quietly appeared at the door of the study.

It was Lady Grant.

She lowered her head, like a withered leaf that might be blown away at any moment, hesitating for a moment in front of the hefty oak door before lightly knocking twice.

“Lord… Louis, may I… speak with you?” Her voice was as soft as a feather landing, with a slight quiver.

The door opened, and Louis was sitting behind the desk, flipping through documents.

Louis looked up at the doorway, unperturbed, as the attendant had already announced her. He showed a gentle smile.

“Of course, please come in.”

The gown Lady Grant wore was clearly not from the current season, the tight waistband leaving some reddened marks, and the sheer skirt was somewhat worn.

As she walked in, she clutched a crumpled handkerchief like it was her only source of calm.

She hesitated for a moment by the chair before gently sitting down, legs together, looking as nervous as a young maid just entering court.

Grant spoke in a low voice, as if afraid to disturb something: “I really… don’t know what to do.”

Then she talked about her family’s plight, about that barren land incapable of growing wheat, and how she tried to manage according to the ledger left by her father but couldn’t even sort out the basic finances.

Her voice was intermittent, her gaze unfocused, never once looking up at Louis.

“I tried seeking advice from the former lord and my husband’s family, but no one was willing to pay me any mind.

Those men… they think I’m just a… temporary placeholder, and that the territory holds no value.”

In the end, Grant’s voice was almost tearful, biting her lip to keep the tears from falling.

Louis listened quietly, his fingers lightly tapping on the table, like a conductor holding the rhythm of an entire performance.

When Grant finished speaking, he finally replied, his voice steady: “I can see, madam, that you have been working hard for your territory, but you lack direction and resources.”

This sentence fell like a drop of water on early spring’s permafrost, gently seeping in, yet making her eyes immediately red.

“Would you be willing to help me?” Grant’s voice was as faint as a mosquito’s hum, as if asking this question exhausted all her courage.

Louis smiled, like responding to a long-awaited call for help: “Of course, I am willing.”

Louis leaned slightly forward from behind the desk, looking at her intently, his voice carrying an undeniable strength, though lacking any pressure.

“Do you think there’s any resource or industry on your land worth developing?”

Grant froze for a moment, as if something had awakened within her. She opened her mouth, initially intending to deny it, before suddenly seeming to come to a decision, slowly nodding.

“Actually… I’ve done some research.” Her voice was no longer trembling, with a hint of uneasy brightness in her eyes.

“I had people try out several crops… we have a piece of land near the old riverbed. Although it’s always been deemed wasteland, a few crops managed to survive test growing.”

As she spoke, she tightly grasped the handkerchief but continued: “There’s also the foxes and ermine in the mountains.

No one managed them before, nor was there systematic hunting… hunters would only occasionally catch a few. The pelts weren’t worth much.”

She paused, as if recalling something, “Over by the creek, it freezes over later in the winter, the village elders say there used to be fish in the water. Not many… but I believe, perhaps we could…”

As she spoke, she lowered her head, as if afraid she had said too much or sounded foolish.

“Good.”

The word came lightly from Louis, as if sparking a flame in a serene night.

He pulled out notes from a pile of documents, quickly jotting down the three directions she mentioned, then looked up with a newfound resolve in his eyes.

“Specialty crop cultivation, winter creek cold-water fish farming, coupled with small-scale fur trapping…

These three, though none are sizable on their own, if combined and coordinated, could form a stable, small-scale integrated economic system suitable for your territory.”

He paused, letting out a light chuckle, “And most importantly, it doesn’t depend on any external networks of the nobility.”

Seeing Louis seriously plan for her, Grant was taken aback.

Over the years, she had become accustomed to being overlooked, excluded, and met with cold stares. Yet this man in front of her not only listened but genuinely analyzed and planned for her future.

“Do you mean I can really succeed?”

“It’s not about ’can or cannot’, but ’how to succeed’.” Louis deftly shifted his pen, drawing a few sketches, “The foundation will allocate suitable seeds for you, with Red Tide Territory’s agricultural officials stationed there initially to assist.”

“I’ll send over experienced old farmers. For the furs, we will provide primary processing tools and salting facilities, with Red Tide Territory handling unified acquisition, preventing you from being undercut by trade caravans.”

Pointing at the three spots on the diagram, he gently summarized: “Land cultivation as the foundation, fish farming as the supplement, fur as the liquidity. A steady and sure-footed approach should be enough to support your territory.”

Initially, Grant could only stare blankly at the sketch, as if unable to believe what she had heard.

“I… really can?” Her voice trembled, as if even she couldn’t believe it.

Louis just nodded, his tone gentle, “You can, but I will also send people to do an on-site assessment.”

He paused, his voice calm and clear: “Don’t worry, once it’s confirmed that the conditions are in place, the foundation will arrange everything.

From seeds, techniques, channels, to exchange points, all those things you can’t handle alone, we will take care of them.”

Grant’s eyes widened, swiftly bowing repeatedly, her voice choked up, “…Thank you… truly… thank you… I don’t know how to…”

Her eyes were already red, tears glistening on her lashes.

At that moment, she was no longer the marginalized figure in the nobility circle, without a voice, or the helpless lady troubled by debts and unable to sleep at night.

For the first time, she felt regarded as a true noble.

Possessing land, shouldering responsibility, and having the right to be trusted.

He calmly watched Grant, whose face was intertwined with gratitude and shame, yet he remained composed inside.

True, she wasn’t strong enough, her character soft, with nearly zero governance experience.

But precisely because of these reasons, she was the ideal model.

A lower-standing noblewoman, scorned, marginalized, and stripped of power, yet rejuvenated under the support of Red Tide Territory.

As long as she could stand up, even just barely, it would be enough to move those still observing from the sidelines, those weakened in family foundations but unwilling to yield.

They would start to ponder:

“Perhaps… I can be like her too.”

“Perhaps… I can also hand over part of my power for a way to survive.”

This was the first nail of exchanging resources for control.

Grant was also the first “willing to be changed person” Louis intended to establish on this land.

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