Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

The gray-haired girl was squatting on the shore, clutching a small bag of bread in her palm, her fingertips slightly red from being soaked by the waves.

She gently picked up a small piece of debris and tossed it onto the water's surface. Fine ripples immediately spread through the mist, and silvery-gray fish emerged from the depths, vying to peck at the food.

Their backs sliced ​​through the water's surface, then quickly disappeared, like a fleeting thought.

"You naughty girl, what brings you to this day, trying to soothe these insatiable fish?"

The girl's lips curled up slightly, and she deliberately sprinkled more water.

This time she threw it further, and the breadcrumbs scattered like flying catkins. In an instant, the fish chased after that insignificant favor, leaving brief, messy ripples on the water's surface.

The tide lapped against the stone steps, and the distant, low whistle of a ferry drifted over, but she simply watched the fish quietly—they came and went, only briefly belonging to her in the misty morning.

“Mélisande, I’ll return the favor to you with this question—”

"What brings you to visit those ungrateful birds today?"

With a loud laugh, the former detective now wore a different outfit, and a strand of hair fell across her pure white lace collar in the shadow cast by her hat brim.

Her gaze drifted downwards, her aristocratic dark-colored long dress clinging tightly to her figure, the slender waist neatly cinched by a patterned leather belt.

With a graceful wave of her hand, her skirt fluttered in the sea breeze like a soft sword drawn from its sheath. The doll she had just emerged from was elegant yet not fragile, exuding a dashing and playful charm.

This gesture was like the thorns on a rose, deliberately shown to others, but the blue-haired beauty ignored it, simply chuckled, and squatted down beside the former.

“Birds? I don’t think that way. Birds at least know their way home and know where their safe nest is.”

"Then I will be that fish, only remembering the fleeting seconds of my life, completely unaware of what gratitude is."

Watson, or rather, the deceased detective, retorted without hesitation, and was then lifted up by the tall, beautiful woman, who scrutinized her with amusement.

"Those who are ungrateful and don't know how to cherish will be abandoned, my bad girl."

Holding up the silverfish that had come to her by its scent, Melissand slowly clasped her hands together, extinguishing the fragile life in the crimson blood at her fingertips.

“Last Sunday, at a banquet hosted by an earl, the main course was sashimi of this silverfin fish. That night, all the guests fell into an eternal sleep. They ate the bait and paid with their lives, and what about you, Watson?”

The dark gold eyes tore open, transforming into the vertical pupils of a cold-blooded animal. This woman never liked to reason; she only acted according to her interests, just like herself.

"..."

After a moment of silence, Charlotte suddenly raised her lips, revealing the unique radiance of youth in her smile.

“Mélisande, thank you for taking care of me these past few days, and also—”

She tiptoed slightly, and even though she wasn't tall enough to reach his forehead, the girl still forced a kiss, leaving a warm, damp kiss on his cheek.

"This is a return gift."

Offering oneself to a wolf naturally comes at a price.

Her unique stubbornness lies in allowing herself to give and refusing to take or demand things from others.

"Ah."

With a soft "yes," it was impossible to tell whether she was happy or unhappy. Like a butterfly that changes shape a thousand times, Melissant's face lit up with a smile in an instant.

She pulled the slender girl in front of her into her arms, and the blue-haired beauty gently stroked her soft gray hair, making the delicate flower even more radiant.

“I’ve heard about the trouble your ‘doctor friend’ caused in Florence; it was quite a stir.”

It is a veiled insult, a playful dig at someone indirectly.

Charlotte didn't respond, but instead leaned forward and bit down hard on the other person's earlobe, drawing a little blood.

"There's nothing I can do. She's always like this. She could have solved it quietly, but she insists on making a big fuss about it."

It was a soft whisper in someone's ear.

"Then you must never follow her example, my dear Watson, my princess."

The war in the Duchy of Plantagenet had not yet ended when the reformists' cannons blasted into the nobles' inner court, only to be rebuked by the people who ruled with servility.

For thousands of years, feudal rule has made people forget what fairness is and how to live a decent life. They have become accustomed to prostrating themselves and to being content with making a living.

Therefore, as the tide of resistance began to weaken, the reformists, who had been sitting idly by, swarmed around like wolves and hounds, tearing apart the meager gains and burying those pitiful people in a great fire.

For the former elites, the king's head has been cut off, and the symbol of authority has collapsed. For the new party today, both rules and systems are in dire need of rebuilding, yet they lack the strength to succeed them.

Therefore, the Enlightenment Society relied on wisdom and knowledge as its absolute means to control this country, which was on the verge of collapse after suffering natural disasters and man-made calamities, and was one of the religious sects that founded the nation.

"How do you feel as a colleague of the ringleader?"

In the distance, a ferry hoisted its sails, its sharp whistle piercing the sea mist and reaching the ears of the two.

"How could we be villains if we quell the rebellion and bring millions of people back to a peaceful life?"

"But in Tingen, you were clearly shouting for fairness, for democracy, for the ideals that those dead people pursued their whole lives, and you were tempting those little birds to their doom."

Upon hearing this, Charlotte could no longer contain herself. She covered her lips and nose, her initial snicker turning into a loud, uncontrollable laugh.

“Mary Sander, you and I both understand. Ideals are a luxury. Only the living have the right to talk about tomorrow, and the venerable Miss Watson died long ago with that gunshot.”

"Watson, who distributed bread to children in the slums, the detective who defended the innocent in court, is gone. Now, she is only yours—"

The sea breeze suddenly turned fierce, blowing her gray hair wildly. The girl then picked up a strand of hair, twirled it around her fingertips, and let her smile radiate a sweet yet alluring heartbeat.

she says:

"Accomplice."

"Good boy."

Without lowering her brows, Melissand took out a handkerchief and gently wiped away the blood that had seeped from her earlobe, her eyes returning to their original gentle and doting expression.

"You should have had enough time to digest the 'Arbitrator's' potion during this period of administrative duties. The promotion to Sequence Eight isn't complicated; the key lies in..."

Perhaps Charlotte knew this was bait that would inevitably come at a price, but like those naive little fish, she took the bait.

The whispers in their ears were not to be heard by outsiders. When other footsteps approached, they waited quietly like a loving mother and daughter, without saying a word.

until--

"master."

Along with that title came a lovely young woman, dressed in a tattered gown and a dark top, as beautiful as Malena from "Malèna." She was rather short, but had a charming face that was somewhere between a girl and a woman, like a sweet, slightly ripe citrus.

Her name was Ansuna, but it was a new toy that offered her some comfort while she was in a foreign land.

Image: "as shown", Location: "Images/1746292463-100417737-113311157.jpg"

Chapter 163 Tracing the Origins, You and Me

"How are you feeling, Ms. Valenti?"

Inside the brightly lit hall, a well-dressed man beckoned to pour a cup of hot tea, then gently pushed it forward, sending out sticky steam.

“There’s no need to entertain an ordinary person in this way. I’m used to being poor and can’t afford such extravagant pleasures.”

With a fierce look on her face, Charlotte rudely pushed the tea set aside, the porcelain cup scraping against the table with a harsh sound, and the tea inside almost spilled.

Now, with her renowned reputation and impeccable character, she no longer needs to debase herself or gain sympathy through misery. She only needs to state her needs and desires in the newspapers and make them public. Those in high positions who enjoy extravagance will then have no choice but to sit down and talk with her.

The legal representative of the Plymouth Smelter was just like that; naturally, he didn't want to offend a dying man, so he had no choice but to come in person.

The man's smile froze for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure, with only a hint of gloom flashing in his eyes.

“You misunderstand. This is just basic hospitality. After all, a brave person like you who dares to expose the truth and confront those in power deserves to be treated with courtesy.”

"Ha, warrior? I thought you saw me as nothing more than an ungrateful troublemaker."

It was a cold, mocking laugh.

The roar of a steam engine came from outside the window, making the glass doors vibrate. This renowned mansion, originally a place for the wealthy and powerful, now seemed unusually deserted, with only two figures standing opposite each other.

It wasn't that there were no guests, but after Charlotte's arrival, most of the powerful and wealthy consciously stepped aside, making room for them.

Who would dare to provoke a reckless madwoman? In their eyes, Isabella was such a person.

“Well, Ms. Valenti, let’s get straight to the point.”

Taking advantage of this brief interval, the man got up, walked to the window, and pulled the heavy curtains tight, ensuring that only the two people present could see and hear him.

"Ah."

Charlotte was happy to grant the most basic equality at the beginning of the communication, as if it were a bargaining chip to enjoy in advance.

"As far as I know, your factory was once commended by the municipal government, but during a recent inspection, it was found that your sewage system was directly connected to the drinking water source in the downtown area, and the heavy metals contained therein far exceeded the limits stipulated by the Public Health Act."

The brown-haired beauty took out a few notes from her handbag, pushed them forward, and criticized them mercilessly.

The brief words and general remarks seemed to lack credibility, and one could see the carelessness of the scribe. But just looking at the stern eyes of the former, even if one had something to say, one could only suppress it in one's heart and remain silent.

Look, the truth is so cruel, so ironic.

"Madam, the bill has only been in effect for a few days. Even if there are reforms, we will need time. The process of creating something from scratch is always backward compatible. You have been through this before, so you should understand our difficulties and predicaments."

The man's words were sincere and earnest, almost devoid of any arrogance, all in an attempt to gain a word of affirmation.

Upon hearing this, Charlotte pressed her fingertips down, holding the tangled papers, as if she intended to back down.

This was obviously intentional, just to watch the other person's Adam's apple bob, revealing their eagerness and tension. The wicked woman, always seeking pleasure, would nod in satisfaction at this.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you. I can certainly understand your hard work as the person in charge, whether it's dealing with stakeholders or appeasing the discontent of the factory workers, but—" Holding the handle of her glass, she took a small sip as her voice rose and fell. Her demeanor was exceptionally elegant, like that of a noblewoman, but what she uttered was a cruel and ruthless iron law.

“Those philanthropic ‘media’ would be happy to add more space to tomorrow’s morning paper.”

Yes, she is a role model. If others do not agree, they will be labeled by the resentful crowd. This is an open threat.

“You can’t do this, Ms. Valenti.” The man’s hand gripped the edge of the table tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force. “This will ruin me, ruin the livelihoods of thousands of people.”

"interesting."

Charlotte gently set down the tea set; the sound of the porcelain clinking against the table was so crisp it was like the tolling of a bell. She tilted her head slightly, a hint of mockery flashing in her brown eyes: "When the workers were wailing in their beds from lead poisoning and disease, you never seemed to consider their 'livelihood'."

Outside the window, the roar of the steam engine suddenly intensified, as if echoing the standoff.

Fine beads of sweat appeared on the man's forehead. He loosened his tie and said in a hoarse voice, "We can... compensate those sick workers."

"Just compensation?"

The kind doctor seemed to be questioning again, and the former finally realized the irreversible nature of the situation. He tore off his mask of humility, and his voice suddenly rose, like the sharp cry of a crow.

"Enough, I've already given enough, Isabella. Do you even know what you're accusing? How long do you think you can keep up your wrongdoing?"

"It will last until after my death."

His unintentional question received an affirmative answer.

A moment of distraction is like a change of pace in a musical piece. In fact, this is the moment Charlotte has been waiting for. She wants to throw out the irrefutable truth when the former is hysterical and out of control, to break the scales and make him lose all courage.

This is the perfect moment.

“At the Plymouth Smelter, 47 workers have died from heavy metal poisoning in the past three years, the youngest of whom was only 12 years old.”

The papers slipped neatly from Charlotte's fingers, more detailed than before, down to every word and every number, compared to their previous simplicity.

The words are written in black and white, leaving nothing to be missed.

"Especially in your factory's cleanroom, an investigation revealed the collection of dozens of unidentified corpses, including Davis and Ford..."

The names spoken one by one seemed like bolts of lightning striking the room. The man's pupils suddenly contracted, and he staggered backward, knocking over a vase behind him.

The expensive porcelain shattered on the ground, and the spilled water seeped into his shiny leather shoes.

"How could you know, madam? There are some things I can't decide. Please don't keep asking me. I really can't say it, I can't bring myself to say it."

His voice had almost turned into a muffled vibrato.

Finally, Charlotte lifted her skirt and rose from the soft seat. Her steps were light and slow, yet they were like the strides of a marcher as she stepped over the shattered porcelain shards.

The simple women's leather shoes fell into the man's lowered gaze. Even with a great effort to raise his head, he could only see the man's smooth, ferocious chin.

She made a slight smile, but was so startled that tears streamed down her face, soaking her crotch.

Tell me, who is behind the scenes, who is sitting idly by?

Instead of asking, it was a statement of certainty.

“No, you don’t understand what kind of beings they are,” he said almost pleadingly. “That extraordinary power, those terrifying methods, can torture anyone to the point of wishing they were dead.”

"I can give you money, lots and lots of money, as long as you don't pursue this further..."

A pale face rose, and the hoarse stumbling stopped, but Charlotte became an angel in white again at this moment, gently helping the former up, softening her eyes and voice, and whispering in his ear.

“Even if you are despised by the people and condemned by thousands, you will still suffer a fate worse than death if you do not confide in me.”