Battlefield Priest's Diary

Chapter 74 New Home
There are a thousand Hamlets in a thousand people's eyes.

The same book, *Dead Souls*, holds completely different meanings for each person.

For Queen Alexandra, who was completely absorbed in the mysticism, she could only think of it as some kind of mysterious hint, that the magical Father Pugin was looking for some kind of enlightenment.

Nicholas II, however, questioned whether Father Putin was engaging in a "critical reading" of the book from an Orthodox perspective.

Anna Verubova, the head maid known for her talent, had her own interpretation.

As night fell, the Queen personally accompanied the newly recovered Alexei to sleep, while she, as the Queen's shadow, had some rare time to herself.

In the private lounge, Anna, dressed in her silk pajamas, leaned back in a rocking chair. A thread-bound copy of "Dead Souls" lay open on her lap, while the fireplace crackled with the sound of pine firewood, casting golden light on her snow-white skin.

Shedding her aloof exterior, the 29-year-old chief female officer exudes a mature and intellectual charm.

Dangdang~
There was a knock on the door. The head maid responded softly but did not get up. Instead, she shrugged back into the recliner.

At this point, only a few close confidants could still come to her.

A tall woman, around 20 years old, wearing unisex trousers, walked into the room carrying a report.

The girl was very tall, probably around 1.7 meters, and quite beautiful. She had neat short hair, fair skin, and a tall, slender figure that gave her a striking, almost heroic beauty. The only flaw was her slightly heavy eyebrows, which looked like they were carved with a chisel, making her seem a little unapproachable.

Her posture was somewhat different from the other maids; her legs were straight and together, unlike those of a lady in the Winter Palace, and she had a more military air about her.

"Miss Anna, the convoy returning to St. Petersburg has been arranged. Here is the list of personnel and items to be carried. Is there anything else you would like to inform us of?"

"Miss Anna" is a title that a trusted confidante uses specifically for the head maid.

At that time, people usually used the terms "Miss" and "Madam" to distinguish between married and unmarried women.

The head maid had actually been married briefly a few years ago, and her name, Verubova, was actually her husband's surname.

With the help of Queen Alexandra, she married a naval officer, but the marriage lasted only 48 hours.

She was only a wife in name only; people who knew her well wouldn't address her that way.

Looking at her capable subordinates, the head maid stretched out her arms and unceremoniously stretched her body, resembling a cat in a cradle.

"Lyudmila, do you like reading literature?" Anna picked up the thread-bound book in her hand and waved it playfully.

“Miss, I prefer reading more specialized books.” The subordinate gently shook his head.

"I suggest you read some literature; it might help to lessen the smell of a secret policeman on you," the head maid said with a smile, putting down her book.

"Miss, the secret police don't recruit women, so strictly speaking, I wouldn't qualify..."

"Okay, okay, don't be so serious, it was just a joke." Anna waved her hand casually, easily dropping the subject.

Then the head maid coughed lightly and said, "We're going back to St. Petersburg tomorrow. His Majesty will grant Father Putin a residence, and you will become his butler."

"Okay, I'll go back and make preparations." The subordinate agreed without even thinking.

"Oh?" The head maid raised her pretty eyebrows. "Aren't you going to ask anything? There were people who cried and didn't want to go before."

“Miss, since it is your order, I have no reason to refuse.” The tall subordinate stood ramrod straight and replied, “Besides, being a butler is not a difficult thing.”

"I heard that Father Pugin is quite mysterious; even the dogs are afraid to bark at him," the head maid said half-jokingly.

“I’ll make sure those dogs don’t dare bare their teeth at me,” Lyudmila said nonchalantly.

"Haven't you heard the rumors? They say he's not actually in his twenties, but that he looks so young because he absorbs the life force of young girls. Remember to bring your amulet." The head maid deliberately used the rumors circulating among the servants these past few days to scare her subordinates.

"It doesn't matter. If it really comes to that, I believe a pistol will be more useful than any sacred object." After saying that, the girl made a shooting gesture.

"Very good, then I can rest assured." The head maid smiled mysteriously and handed two wrapped items to her subordinate.

Lyudmila opened the handkerchief covering the contents and found a pen and a small pistol inside.

"His Majesty cannot possibly consider every aspect of governing this country. In the areas where he is prone to overlooking things, he needs people like us."

The head maid stood up, her eyes sharpening. "Stay by his side and record everything, including every detail, especially the kind of medicine he possesses. Do you understand what I mean?"

The tall subordinate nodded and put away what he was holding.

“Yes, Miss Anna, if there’s nothing else, I’ll go and make preparations.” Lyudmila turned and strode away.

As the door closed, the room returned to silence. The head maid lay down again, gently stroking the cover of the thread-bound book, gazing at the fire in the fireplace and murmuring to herself.

"When people read, they inadvertently reveal their own information and stance. Sometimes, you can understand a person through a book." "Serf, master, rebel, liar, miser—whom are you sympathizing with? Or are you despising them?"

"Or are you one of them?"
-
Three days later, at 64 Gorokhovaya Street, St. Petersburg.

This is the newest residence that the Queen bestowed upon Father Pugin.

This detached building, with a total area of ​​approximately 400 square meters, is nominally owned by a wealthy businessman, but the Queen personally paid 500 rubles per month to rent it.

The building features a two-story design with a basement, a separate bathroom and maid's quarters, as well as a garden. The largest room was converted into a place for Father Putin to meditate and practice.

The smaller apartment next door was also rented, and Fabergé moved in with his apprentices, tasked with developing a special "sacred artifact" for the crown prince's medication in cooperation with Father Pugin.

When the black-robed priest's carriage stopped at the door, the steward, personally assigned by the head maid, was already waiting there.

“Father Putin, I am Lyudmila Sergeevna Ishanova. I will be in charge of taking care of your daily life during your stay in St. Petersburg. Please let me know if you have any requests.”

The newly appointed housekeeper stood up straight and greeted the new owner of the mansion with neither servility nor arrogance, while constantly sizing him up with her eyes.

To be fair, Lyudmila was very disappointed. The other party was far from the mysterious figure in the legends and did not seem like a powerful person at all.

An ordinary Asian face, only slightly taller than myself in flat shoes, wearing a dirty robe, with bird droppings still visible on the shoulders.

Good heavens, don't ascetics have to wash clothes? The housekeeper barely suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

What bothered her most was the other person's nonchalant attitude.

Logically speaking, with such preferential treatment from the royal family, including personal maids and butlers, ordinary people should have been extremely grateful. However, when this priest of unclear identity arrived, there was no joy on his face.

“Father Pugin, this is a house that the Queen rented for you with her private funds. Don’t you like it?” Lyudmila, now dressed as a butler, stood at the door and asked in a somewhat stiff tone, her words implying that the other party was greedy.

“No, the house is fine. I’m just worried about other things.” The priest in the black robe looked around and said somewhat absentmindedly.

Qin Hao is indeed in a bit of trouble right now.

When he arrived, he received news that the Holy Bishops' Council and the Religious Affairs Bureau of the Ministry of the Interior had heard about the great "Father Putin" and planned to send someone to talk to him about his experience in carrying out evangelism on the front lines.

Good heavens, is this something I can say?
Regardless of whether his ID is forged, the Holy Bishops' Guild would likely expose him if they checked it. Even if they didn't check his ID and simply wanted to discuss doctrine with him, Qin Hao's hastily learned knowledge wouldn't be enough to handle it.

If he is discovered to be an imposter, the Tsar and Tsarina may not arrest him immediately for the sake of their son's life, but the mysterious image they have cultivated over the years will be greatly diminished.

Because scammers will always be despised.

I can't see them, at least not for a while!

Simply making excuses won't work; we need to find a plausible reason.

Speaking of which, what did he use to avoid teacher interviews back in school?!
Oh, right, it seems to be community service.

After thinking about this for a moment, Qin Hao said to his housekeeper, "Please fetch Mr. Fabergé."

"Wh-what?" The other party jumped to the topic so quickly that the tall female housekeeper almost didn't react until a while later when she went to find the French old man.

A moment later, Fabergé appeared before them, accompanied by several people who appeared to be assistants.

"Mr. Fabergé, how many men do you have under your command?" The priest in black robes came up and asked the question directly, somewhat presumptuously.

"I have a total of 5 design craftsmen, 8 senior apprentices, and 30 ordinary apprentices here. Is there a problem, Father Putin?" The Frenchman thought for a moment and gave a set of data.

"May I ask, how are your apprentices treated?"

“Father Putin, my senior apprentices earn about 120 rubles a month, while ordinary apprentices earn 50 rubles a month, and they are never late.” Although he didn’t understand what the other person meant, the Frenchman still told the truth.

"50 rubles? Does that mean the apprentices won't have much money left after eating black bread every month?" Qin Hao asked, seemingly somewhat offensively.

“Father, I’m not a stingy person. I can’t just go against the market. My apprentices even earn 10 rubles more than ordinary workers,” Fabergé explained, spreading his hands.

“I don’t mean to complain about you, I just thought there were some things I needed to do.” The priest in the black robe seemed inexplicably eager to try after hearing the news.

"What is it?" The Frenchman was puzzled, wondering what this favorite of the Tsar was up to.

"This is how it's called in my hometown; you may not have heard of it."

"What statement?"

"Um, have you heard of the term 'sending warmth'?"

(End of this chapter)