Miss Wang Weina, even your cousin won't do!

I regret it so much! I haven't slept well at any of these past few nights. I should have come to visit. Waaah!

"Alright, alright, just kidding." Swire waved her hand. All that talk about seven days of parties, big meals, and costume balls was just a joke.

Grandpa actually prepared enough for half a month.

But since Wayne only arrived today, there's nothing we can do about it.

"What brings Wayne here uninvited today?" Swire said with a hint of resentment. They had clearly agreed to come over, and after waiting so many days, she thought Wayne had forgotten all about it.

Wayne answered truthfully, "I'm leaving. My vacation is coming to an end."

Swire was taken aback: "How long?"

"Probably tomorrow, or at the latest the day after." Jingzhe needs to negotiate with Xiazhi and Xiaoxue. Only after persuading Xiazhi can Jiu leave Longmen through the Surveillance Department's channels. Jingzhe said she is very confident, but it will take two to three days. Including today, if all goes well, they can set off tomorrow or the day after.

He naturally had to return to Victoria with Vina to settle Edward's matter, then tear up the agreement and officially eliminate the threat of usurpation.

Swire opened his mouth in disbelief, looking at Wayne, a thousand words swirling in his mind, but in the end, they all boiled down to one sentence:

Have a safe trip!

"Will you go back to Victoria?" Wayne asked. The headquarters of the Swire Group is in Victoria, so in theory, Swire's long-term activities should also be in Victoria. However, according to the plot of the previous life, Swire seems to have never returned to Victoria after returning to Lungmen.

It's a shame we can't see the cute little tiger. Having such a classmate is like having a ray of sunshine in your life.

Swire was silent for a moment, then suddenly asked, "Do you want me to go back?"

Wayne shrugged. "It was your own choice." Swire's expression darkened slightly, and Wayne added, "But I certainly hope to see you in Victoria."

Swire's eyes lit up, and she nodded: "Then I'll go back. I'll invite you out for dinner then, you can't be so aloof and not come."

Wayne laughed and said, "Impossible! How could I possibly let go of a chance to get something for free?"

“Okay, have a safe trip,” Swire said again, this time in a noticeably lighter tone.

Wayne nodded, picked up his coffee cup, and toasted Swire, who was drinking her milk tea, before drinking it all in one gulp.

The maid knocked on the door and brought in some snacks.

"Want to have afternoon tea with me?" Swire invited.

Wayne bowed slightly: "It is my pleasure, Miss."

While eating small cakes, Wayne chatted idly, then suddenly remembered something and laughed, "I just saw Chen in the slums."

"Chen? What happened to her?" Swire didn't know why Wayne suddenly brought up Chen. She blinked her big eyes, threw the cookie crumbs she had been using into the plate, and asked curiously.

"She asked me if I had experience with children, and I said no. She laughed at me, so I retorted, 'If I haven't, do you have?' Guess what she said?"

Wayne gave a subtle smile, and Swire, intrigued, asked impatiently:

"What was her answer? Has she ever taken care of children before?"

Wayne chuckled and playfully pinched Swire's nose as she leaned in, mimicking Chen's tone as he asked, "Does Swire count?"

Swire paused for a moment, then a few seconds later suddenly realized that Wayne was repeating what Chen had said. Her face flushed red with embarrassment and anger, and she snapped:

"That damn Pinky Dragon, how dare she slander me like that! She's the one who's a child! I'm an adult!"

"Really?" Wayne looked at her with a smile. Swire stiffened her neck and said:

"Of course it's true!"

She seemed to realize something and scratched Wayne's chest:

"I'm talking about age and independence, what the hell are you thinking!"

The room was filled with a cheerful atmosphere.

Chapter 126 The Empire's Tailor

Ursus, Saint-Germain.

The usually peaceful Winter Palace is suddenly noisy today, as the State Duma (parliament) is debating a special proposal.

Although it was called a debate, the members of parliament did not have clear camps, and there was no specific topic for the debate. The reason they fought so fiercely was mainly due to the constant obstruction from the four sides: the conservatives, the parliamentarians, the royalists, and the new aristocracy.

Speaker Witte, who was in charge of presiding over the meeting, pushed open the door to the Chief of Parliament's office and was immediately overwhelmed by the noise. He took off his black leather gloves and wearily rubbed his temples.

"For Your Majesty's sake."

He murmured this in a low voice, feeling a sense of peace return to his heart. He raised his head, grasped the rubber-headed wooden mallet beside him, and slammed it heavily onto the mallet pad on the table.

"Bang bang bang!"

"Order—!"

Parliamentary system originated in Victoria. As it spread throughout Terra, it naturally carried with it some characteristics, such as the word "order," which represents silence and quiet. Even if the speaker does not speak Victorian or has never been to Victoria, they will still know this word.

Of course, Speaker Witte had also traveled extensively throughout Terra in his early years, seeking opportunities for reform. He did visit Victoria and conducted on-site investigations of the Victorian parliament's operational structure and power structure. Based on this, he established the current Ursus State Duma (Parliament).

The atmosphere in the council chamber momentarily froze. All eyes turned to the weary-looking middle-aged man in a leather suit. Speaker Witt, the Empire's tailor, proudly straightened his back, a heavy cough escaping his throat.

"Cough cough!"

"Now, let's begin an emergency meeting." His voice was like that of a rough lumberjack on the Ursus snowfield, or a priest whispering hymns around a fireplace, deep and distinctive. "Now, let's discuss, Victoria."

He spoke in a clear, calm voice, as unwavering as his deep eyes. He glanced at the members of parliament who were clutching their papers tightly, then at those who had already loosened their ties, unbuttoned the top button of their shirts, and were eager to stand up and deliver a long speech. He closed his eyes, let out a long sigh, as if he had mentally prepared himself for something, and a hint of bitterness appeared on his face.

"Regarding the credentials presented to us by Victoria, please raise your hands in turn to speak in order."

The circular hall exploded once again, as if hundreds of Originium bombs had detonated at the same time. Witt felt completely bewildered.

The gentlemen of the new aristocracy paid no heed to the advice to raise their hands and speak in turn. Even the representatives of the local warlords arrogantly clashed with them. The conservative party members watching were like small boats teetering on the edge of a sea, forced to leave their seats and crowd around Witte's platform. Holding up their manuscripts, they tilted their heads back and spewed out one rambling, incomprehensible argument after another, completely oblivious to whose face each other spat on.

Royalists sat at the head of the table, while the powerful princes disdained the State Duma's functions. They reported directly to His Majesty Fyodor through the royal family, though such reports often degenerated into blackmail using familial ties as leverage. Their gazes were indifferent, tinged with mockery, as if watching a group of ridiculous, curly-haired baboons arrogantly wielding their scepters. Occasionally, someone would glance at Witte, hoping to see embarrassment on his face, but would quickly turn away in disappointment.

Because Witt had absolutely no expression. He was like a puppet without any opinions, neither expressing any views nor participating in any discussions. Whether people grabbed his clothes or tore his tie, raised their fists at him or spat at him, he kept his eyes slightly closed and remained silent as if it were none of his business.

Over time, people lost interest in him and started arguing amongst themselves, and the scene returned to the noisy state it had been before Werther's arrival. He was nothing more than a mouthpiece for His Majesty the Emperor.

Yes, I'm just a mouthpiece, representing only His Majesty the Emperor.

Seeing that the time was almost up, Witt's face showed even more fatigue. He raised his hand, struck the mallet again, and announced loudly:

"The meeting is adjourned. The debate is over, gentlemen. Those were truly excellent points. Now, please tidy up the materials you have dropped on the floor and submit them to my desk or take them with you to polish them. Don't leave the room full of scraps of paper; it will make you look bad."

After speaking calmly, Witte turned around, opened the wooden door under the double-headed eagle emblem sculpture, and left the State Duma chamber through the speaker's private passage.

He still has several meetings to attend.

That night.

Before the emperor at the Royal Palace of Saint-Germain.

Speaker Witt, utterly exhausted, stood at the end of the red carpet, straightened his suit and tie, which had been violently ripped into numerous wrinkles, and knocked on the door leading to the throne.

"Your Majesty, have you rested?"

The wide red carpet stretched all the way to the end of the palace, where, on the throne—so bright that even the candles on the three-pronged pillars couldn't illuminate it—Fyodor's voice rang out, tinged with a hint of accusation:

“I’ve been waiting for you, Lord Witt. You’re unusually late today.”

"There was a delay on the way," Witt explained humbly, closing the door behind him and bowing to the figure he could no longer see.

Fyodor frowned and asked with concern, "Have you been harassed by nobles again? Who sent you that threatening letter last time? How dare they do such a thing to my minister? Even if he is a duke, I cannot let him get away with it."

“No, that’s not true,” Witt replied expressionlessly. “As for what happened last time, it’s all in the past. It was just a child’s prank. The Empire’s economy has been sluggish lately, and it’s normal for some children who have been forced to move from the city to the outer city to complain.”

Fyodor opened his mouth, wanting to order a punishment, but couldn't find an excuse.

If an emperor cannot be magnanimous in the face of a reasonable and well-founded accusation from an ignorant child, how can he be expected to govern a country?

Finally, he could only say coldly, with a mixture of anger and helplessness:

“What do children know? When they grow up, they will understand what Ursus is facing now and how hard you have worked.”

“When he grows up,” Witt repeated. It was unclear whether he was agreeing or sighing.

Fyodor continued, "Is there any result from Parliament? Should we accept Victoria's visit or not?"

"The gentlemen of Parliament had a friendly discussion and put forward many suggestions worth considering, but for that reason, I cannot be sure which suggestion is most reasonable for us at the moment."

“And what’s your opinion, Witt?” Fyodor’s hawk-like gaze locked onto Witt. But Witt remained humble, keeping his head down and avoiding Fyodor’s eyes, seemingly unaware of the pressure Fyodor was exerting on him.

After a long silence, Witte replied:

"My opinion is that it's acceptable."

“What terms should we offer?” Fyodor asked.

A state visit like this will inevitably spark much speculation and bring many benefits, especially given the near-absence of official exchanges between Victoria and Ursus. Such a sudden visit could potentially reshape the global landscape for years to come. The Duma parliament is precisely targeting this, which is why it's engaged in such heated debate.

Everyone knows that Ursus is currently impoverished. Its military industry is collapsing one after another without war, but the development of its light industry has never received the support of the people. Compared to the convenience of directly plundering or buying cheap goods from other countries through war, the people of Ursus are not very interested in slowly developing their own light industry and having to bear the high prices brought about by the technological gap.

But even Fyodor had no right to mock their shortsightedness. After all, if a hundred Imperial Rubles issued by the Ursus Imperial Bank could buy ten pounds of domestically produced rice, but twenty pounds of cheaper, better-tasting imported rice, even a fool would know which to choose.

The quickest way to control foreign dumping is to start with tariffs, but in the previous era—the era of great conquest—tariffs were granted to local nobles by the previous emperor, becoming a privilege of the nobility. Fyodor repeatedly tried to reclaim the right to tariffs, but was repeatedly thwarted by the powerful nobles and royalists who, as beneficiaries of the system, used various means to evade it. Later, Fyodor realized that even as emperor, this was not an area he could control. His royalists, his biggest supporters, were the biggest beneficiaries of the tariff rights; for Fyodor to tamper with tariffs was to undermine his own foundation!

If, however, we can manage to strike out one or two deals with these Victorians who have made a sudden and ambiguous visit...

The emperor of the Ursus Empire held his breath, quietly waiting for his ministers to answer his questions.

Chapter 127 My Honor, Your Highness!

Your Majesty, are you aware of the procedures required to accomplish something in Ursus?

First, you need to draft a proposal with sufficiently elegant wording, comparable to classic essays. Ursus was once synonymous with violence and barbarity. The frozen tundra of the North Plains bestowed upon the Ursus people a resolute character and a strong physique, but it also firmly imprinted that ruggedness into their bodies. After entering civilized society, the Ursus people began to frequently be ridiculed by the "civilized nation" led by Victoria. This prompted the Ursus people to reflect deeply and change their past primitive customs, developing art suitable for them, based on grandeur and magnificence. This was originally a good thing. However, extremes always lead to other extremes. The current Ursus people are somewhat overly pursuing so-called "civilization," to the point that proposals lacking literary merit are not even worthy of being discussed in the council.

Secondly, you need to persuade the four factions within the country. The royalists are a loose alliance of powerful princes whose power stems from the princely system of military command and customs authority established by the late emperor. This made them the first major warlord faction in Ursus, but they are at least loyal to the royal family and share its interests on major issues. The conservatives come from the national civil service system, mainly composed of civil servants selected through examinations across the country. Led by ministers, they are powerful but lack military power, existing solely as an appendage of the state system. They are not a major threat, but you must be wary of their potential for treason and collusion to gain greater power—if the benefits are sufficient, they will certainly do so, and very thoroughly! Then came the new aristocracy, those clowns hastily thrust onto the historical stage by the impetus of capitalism. Their origins were eclectic, mainly composed of splitters from other factions, yet they continued to grow stronger. The consequences of their power, if you have ever perused the historical records of the Great Rebellion, will certainly be alarming. They were perhaps the only force that directly aimed to "overthrow the imperial system" as their ultimate goal. In comparison, the local warlords formed by the remnants of the Great Rebellion seemed less terrifying.

After convincing them, and with all due respect, your proposal has essentially been distorted beyond recognition.

Even so, you will eventually face an unavoidable question: Will the Ursus Empire accept this proposal?

"Your Majesty, please forgive my rudeness, but I must tell you this tragic truth."

Witte lowered his head even further, so that it didn't look like a bow, but rather like a confession. His face was filled with helpless pain, and he managed to utter the tragic truth with great difficulty:

"We can't offer any terms."

Fyodor stood frozen on his throne, as if struck by lightning. This emperor, who had ascended the throne after the death of his predecessor but lived his entire life in its shadow, asked incredulously:

"What do you mean? Witt, my friend, what are you talking about?"