Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

"What's wrong, Winnie? Why are you crying?"

"Because it's sweet, this cake...it's really sweet. I love it, I love it so much, Miss Watson."

Muttering and murmuring, whether it was rambling in her sleep or genuine feeling, the bird girl gently took Charlotte's arm and pressed her pretty face against it in a daze.

however--

despair.

Just then, Su Fu gathered her skirt and sat squarely between the two of them, making a dull thud, just like her angry mood at that moment.

Seeing others behaving so intimately with Watson made her feel genuinely uncomfortable, very uncomfortable.

"Miss Winnie, it's already eight o'clock. The agency is officially open for business."

It was a cold, discreet reminder.

Her tone remained calm, but the distant chimes and her indifferent expression spoke volumes about her concern.

"Yes, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!"

With her heart pounding, the sleeping little bird finally opened her eyes wide and saw Charlotte's ambiguous smile and Sophie's sharp, piercing gaze.

Their eyes met, and their reflections, with crumbs smeared on their lips, were mirrored in the silvery-gray Moon Lake.

She watched as her face gradually turned red, her expression growing increasingly flustered, revealing shame and panic like a bewildered hamster.

Fortunately, Charlotte comforted her by taking her hand and, as always, turned the conversation to the old detective.

“It’s alright, Winnie. I don’t think a gentleman like Mr. Singer would make things difficult for us delicate girls because of a momentary lapse in concentration.”

"One thing at a time. As long as you can distinguish between life and work, and between primary and secondary matters, then there's nothing wrong with it."

He wouldn't make things difficult for that girl. To be honest, Singh is a person who clearly distinguishes between public and private matters. He can be lazy and relaxed in his spare time, but he can also be mature and experienced when needed.

Although Watson's jokes sometimes crossed the line, they were always appropriate, not only not making people feel uncomfortable, but also making them smile involuntarily.

Turning the "Closed" sign in front of the shop over to show it as "Open for Business," the old detective relaxed and casually flipped through today's newspaper.

However, after roughly categorizing the newspaper, he put it down and sighed.

"Ugh, just more boring trivia. Bold and romantic conversations seem to be getting rarer in Tingen."

"I have a feeling that no customers will come today."

"Sir, intuition is not a method that detectives should use to solve cases."

They opened their lips and spoke at the right time, responding and echoing each other. Even though there were only two voices in the office, it did not sound lonely or desolate at all.

"Haha, of course this is not intuition. Perhaps you can treat it as a flash of inspiration in life. And many times, we need a little bit of this sudden feeling."

He got up, put on his dark coat and high-brimmed hat, and began to make work arrangements.

"Just yesterday, I published a news article in the newspaper about the firm lowering its standards for client engagements. These are small, simple things, and while they may not be considered respectable, they might help you adapt to your work more quickly."

"It sounds like the winter breeze is calling you, sir. Are you planning to go out?"

Charlotte took out a handkerchief and wiped the remaining bits of food from Winnie's mouth. While busy, she casually asked, "..."

“Oh, I like that description. You’re right. As a gentleman, there are always things to worry about and take care of. Today, I have a tricky matter to deal with, so I’ll leave the management of the firm to you for the time being.”

With his wooden cane in hand, the old detective waved goodbye without even blinking.

Judging from their demeanor, it was obvious that the so-called thorny issues had little to do with solving cases; they were merely matters of leisure and entertainment.

"Well then, goodbye sir. I wish you all the best in your future endeavors, so that you may contribute to the firm's reputation and further enhance its standing."

After a few sarcastic remarks, he bid farewell to the gentleman, and the spacious front hall quickly fell silent.

As Singh said, there were indeed few guests today, only some neighbors asking for small favors, such as finding lost cats or dogs, or lost and found items.

The reward was low and the journey was long, but fortunately the two little sparrows were in high spirits. Their chirping and chattering made Charlotte more patient.

After winding through the streets and finishing up a host of trivial matters, dusk was drawing ever closer, and the evening glow, like rosy clouds, brought a sense of haste to those passing by on their way home.

As the evening breeze caressed her, she bid farewell.

The brown-haired little bird flapped its wings and flew away, not forgetting to express its gratitude before leaving.

"Thank you, Miss Watson, the cake really, really made you spend so much money!"

"As long as you like it, that's fine. After all, whether as friends or colleagues, we should look out for each other, shouldn't we?"

Charlotte cupped the girl's cheeks in her hands, gently rubbing them to transfer warmth and show her care. After that, Charlotte bid farewell to Winnie, whose ears were red, and boarded the train with Sophoby, who was silent but furious, to head to the seaside port.

Tonight marks the end of December, the beginning of the new year, and also the girl's appointed day—a day of extraordinary advancement.

He rubbed the leather gloves between his hands, which he had obtained from Vaughn. Their power was quite direct; through direct contact, they could create a door in a space where there was space inside or outside, allowing for convenient passage.

Rather than calling it an extraordinary item, it's more like a zipper that can be used and discarded at will, or a universal key that requires no verification.

Of course, after several attempts, Charlotte also realized the drawbacks of these gloves. Wearing them would make people instinctively forget the habit of knocking and rashly push the door open without being reminded. Moreover, there would be an interval of about two hours between each use.

Overall, it's not exactly ladylike, but it's quite convenient.

It's a good thing, and we don't need to worry about it. I'm sure everyone will welcome and forgive Miss Watson's uninvited visit.

The train stopped, and the moist sea breeze brushed against my face. Compared to yesterday, it felt refreshing, as if the ocean currents had changed direction, bringing a new wave to the north.

In the sheltered alley, amidst the throng of people, perhaps having finally met Charlotte as promised, the sitting and lying laborers gradually relaxed, revealing a contented smile.

A beautiful appearance is only one aspect; a swaying waist is another; and the warmth of standing on the same side and bestowing kindness without expecting anything in return is the foundation of this advertorial.

"Miss Watson!"

"Ms. Josephine!"

Such respectful terms were heard repeatedly, and along with them came hopeful and exceptionally humble gazes.

Ignoring their indifference, Charlotte raised the corners of her lips, walked warmly to their side, greeted them one by one, and smiled broadly at them.

"No, gentlemen and ladies, you should not address me with such a title."

“I came from among you and have returned resolutely from afar. You have never had to regard me as a high and mighty master, with such restraint and respect.”

She took off her felt hat and discarded her trench coat, dressed in simple clothes, and approached their bedside, giving away the things she had brought with her.

Bread, hot water, cheese...

"This is not a condescending act of charity, but a sharing based on equality."

The audience tonight is here, the audience who cheer for the trial and applaud the arbitrators.

We waited for the bells to ring out, and for the little sparrow to take out her easel and begin to sketch the faces of these suffering people.

In the blink of an eye, the sun sank into the sea, and the waning moon rose into the night. Tonight, the lights were dim and lackluster, but she alone shone brightly, as always.

With a pause and a downward stroke of the pen, the fingertips added the last strand of hair to the slender girl's head. She raised her right hand amidst the crowd, slowly clenching it, as if echoing the voice of the people, as if symbolizing the heart of humanity.

She said, "We should not forget the past; forgetting the past means betrayal."

She said, "Those parties that turn their backs on the masses, those acts that betray the fundamental principles, those actions that lack integrity and fawn over opportunism, have tainted the reason for our struggle and stained the blood we shed."

She said, "Scattered forces are small and weak, but a knot formed by twisting is strong and secure."

Despite the blizzard, she remained steadfast, unaffected by the snow, and her flames burned without scorching.

It is both generous and sparse, both hazy and immature, but when you brush away the snowflakes that cover it, it becomes incredibly hot and radiant.

Drawn by the light in the darkness, pairs of clear, mirror-like pupils gradually opened in the depths of the abyss. They leaped into the air and flapped their wings as they approached the dilapidated harbor.

Those are the demonic insects with clear eyes, creatures that live their lives towards the sun, chasing light and examining the principles of things.

Today, they have come to bear witness, to bear witness—

The curtain is about to rise, and a single spark can start a prairie fire.

The final words were uttered.

she says:

"Our destinies are inseparable; we are one."

she says:

"Comrades."

Chapter Sixty: Drinking the Potion (4.5k)

Those who share the same ideals will share the same heart; those who share the same heart will share the same ideals.

When this simple yet affectionate title reached everyone's ears, it felt as if the fate of fellow countrymen was being shared on each other's shoulders.

There was no grand speech or impassioned plea; Charlotte simply bent down and shared the same land with these suffering people, no matter how dirty or cramped it was.

In this era, knowledge is monopolized by the upper class and used to elevate social status, rather than serving labor or the practice of transforming the world.

People are uneducated and take ignorance as their faith. They seek peace of mind and are accustomed to bowing down. Even if the mountains above them are removed, they will subconsciously look for new nobles and new emperors.

They don't care who leads them; they just want to survive, to have a bowl of hot soup, and to get a good night's sleep. And when someone tries to destroy even that hope, no leader is needed; everyone will grip their sickle and hammer tightly.

A month is too short a time, so Miss Watson will not preach any so-called shared ideals. She will only do one thing: make people recognize who the enemy is and who the friend is, and gradually implement a powerful belief through action.

It doesn't need to be too deep; just clearly identify the individuals who betray their class and understand the source of exploitation and oppression.

Not much is needed; a little bit of sweet fruit and fresh vegetables can motivate each other and remind each other what we are striving for.

"A party that abandons the masses, betrays its fundamental principles, lacks integrity, and panders to opportunism..."

Such a voice resonated in people's hearts, and gradually some people raised their heads, and gradually some people looked towards the brightly lit streets in the distance. That was Puya Street, the street controlled by the India Party, the trade union organization that had once spoken out for them.

And now...

The orange-yellow flames flickered and melted the air, blurring even people's faces, just like the turbulent thoughts swirling within them.

Josephine.

With a pause at the tip of the brush, the final stroke of the painting is completed, a soft call from the little peacock seeking affection.

"Keep these paintings safe. Suffering is not something to be celebrated or praised. They are just a testament to our awakening and overcoming of it."

Charlotte gently stroked Sophie's hair, then loosened her fingers, letting the crimson silk slip through her palms, strand by strand.

"True happiness is always created by our own hands."

As the voice faded and the footsteps receded, that thin figure passed over the lying refugees and their sallow, emaciated faces.

They hoped and longed, yet were constrained by their confused circumstances and limited knowledge, unable to express what their hearts desired.

Fortunately, some people stood up for them and spoke out for them.

"Since we cannot see the sun, then I will ignite the first spark."

Against the sea breeze, the silver-haired girl stepped on the rugged road, on the muddy snow, and on everyone's hearts.

The surging waves crashed against the shore, and the biting north wind swept through the humble dwelling, turning the entire Tingen into a part of the deep sea, where everyone was a fish swimming with the current. Only she went against the current, chasing the only remaining light in the cold water, moving forward and forward, searching for an exit that might not exist.

Gradually, some people raised their heads to follow the dawn, and gradually, some people straightened up to get closer to that beautiful figure.

Whether it stems from concern, shared aspirations, or a desire to conform...

One, a patch, a cluster—they are different people because they vary greatly in height, weight, and appearance. Yet they are also the same people because they all have tired faces and heavy steps.

On Puya Street, at Fisherman's Bar, the gilded sign hangs high, and oil drips from the bright kerosene lamp, full and abundant.

Sometimes, one could hear lively discussions and toasts; other times, one could see people in brocade robes walking in, with red carpets laid out, and the decadent joy unfolding around them like a painting.

So incompatible, so diametrically opposed.

"Stop!"

With a stern shout, a group of burly, well-dressed men and women blocked Charlotte's path, as well as the vast crowd following behind her.

These men all wore union armbands on their shoulders—circles encircling the ferry, with ears of wheat surrounding both sides.

They were members of the labor union, warriors who once stood on the front lines of the struggle against the unscrupulous factory owner. But now, they are indulging in the lukewarm benefits of their struggle, unable to extricate themselves from their debauchery.

“I, we’ve come to find Brett Canning, the former union leader and now a party leader.”

"Here to cause trouble?"

Glancing at the people behind the girl, seeing their withered and sallow faces, the leading man chuckled and casually shook his neck, making his bones crack.

“That gentleman is not someone you can just see whenever you want. If you go back now, none of this will happen.”

"Of course, if you wish to go in, Miss, I think the boss wouldn't object."