Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

"Please surprise me in your own way."

Just like the description of the little sparrow, the pursuit of pleasure is also shaped by the past environment, and it is an extremely difficult disease to cure.

She was adopted by an institution as a child and instilled with all sorts of rules and regulations. She had to obey orders and was not allowed to disobey those in power. Even looking up was a luxury. So, after a long period of torment and training, she finally tore apart the people and things that bound her and regained her freedom.

However, although she was displaced and seemingly at ease, those days and nights were still unforgettable for her, and her subconscious still pursued the pleasure of revenge and the unbridled freedom of recklessness.

Charlotte defines herself as a wicked woman because she is always playing the role of destroying happiness in those stories, and she does so tirelessly and enjoys it.

Therefore, the moment she opened her eyes again, she thought that even a villain like herself could be reborn, which was both a blessing and a curse for the world, and a curse for others.

She had lived long enough and accepted death with a clear conscience. Therefore, when she first saw the three little birds, she intended to change her attitude and become a kind and understanding elder sister, but her true nature was hard to suppress.

Driven by her pursuit of pleasure, she treated the girls kindly while meticulously crafting the story, putting in more effort and detail than ever before to create a tragedy.

She wasn't actually afraid of the birds discovering her actions. If they did, so be it. They had received her favor and benefited from her kindness, but it was she who was hurt and lost. All she had done was squander three sincere hearts. What could they do to her?

Hurt her?

Hehe, are you willing to part with it?

A weak accusation is ineffective, and a stern interrogation will only elicit a silent response; a tougher approach might be more effective.

If necessary, she could recall Watson's puppets to see how the birds reacted. After all, having one's true face revealed beneath the mask was quite an interesting thing. Thinking about it, she was rather—

look forward to.

Medieval life was too boring; without electronic devices to pass the time, people had to find amusement through other means.

Her legs rubbed together slightly, causing the elegant skirt to dip inward, revealing slightly damp wrinkles—a sign of excitement.

Of course, all of this requires power to support it; she must hold the power to decide her own destiny in order to enjoy and play tricks with peace of mind.

This is not acting, but rather the source of motivation, which is nothing more than the joy of life described in his early self-description.

......

In the early morning, a small, thin figure was stumbling and running forward on the street.

She was a chestnut-haired girl, panicked and disoriented, unable to tell which way was which, and with no time to pay attention, because her eyes were already blurred with tears, and even if she opened them, she couldn't see anything, just like herself now.

"The book will always turn its pages, little sparrow."

Winnie's mind was still replaying the beautiful woman's concluding remarks; those gentle yet cruel words were like a sharp knife piercing her heart.

She had been kind and persuaded by Watson to stay, becoming a junior assistant at the firm with a decent salary that could change the impoverished circumstances of her mother and sisters. Therefore, she owed a great debt of gratitude. That's why she was so panicked and listless when she heard the gunshot and saw Watson fall, as if she had lost the pillar of her life.

only--

"Why, is it like this?"

The girl's steps gradually slowed down, and she finally stopped at the entrance of a deserted alley. She leaned against the cold stone wall, covered her face with her hands, as if this could hide her tears and conceal her vulnerability.

"The story could have ended there. I worked so hard to read and improve myself, thinking that I could become the swan you hoped for, but you used words, the words I know best, to tell me the truth..."

"Light and casual, you don't value me and you don't care about yourself. Am I just a toy to be discarded when you want to? Don't you ever look at anyone else?"

She threw the newsboy cap off violently, belittling herself as if in despair, venting the grievances she had been unable to express.

Her keen talent allowed her to go beyond the surface of the interpretation; Winnie only glimpsed a corner of the truth before seeing the rest of the picture.

She didn't cry because she was deceived, but blamed herself for her own incompetence.

Watson never cared about others, much less about herself. She seemed to accept the gunshots of the bell-ringing ceremony with a clear conscience, without any lingering attachment, and even enjoying it.

Such a person cannot be restrained. She lends a helping hand out of pleasure, without asking for anything in return or for understanding. But can she accept this kindness and the rewritten life with a clear conscience?

Can't do it.

The soft-hearted Winnie couldn't do it; even knowing that the effort was meaningless, she would still try.

A sweet kiss while solving a case, the lingering sweetness of a morning Sachertorte... like expensive chocolate poured over a cake base, it's an unforgettable luxury once tasted, and how could a little sparrow, who has already brought it to its lips, completely forget it?

As she bent down to pick up her dusty newsboy cap, a delicate pocket watch slipped from her pocket and fell into her palm.

The first time she repaired Watson's pocket watch, proving that she was also useful, she saw this identical object. At that time, she was so happy, as if the person in front of her was everything she had longed for.

Before she could even think about when it had been placed there, she slowly bit her lower lip, trembling with anger, yet puffing out her cheeks like a squirrel, revealing only a palpable resentment.

“You know I won’t give up, yet you still use this method… Fine, as you wish, I will improve myself, whether it’s becoming an extraordinary being or something else, until I can truly restrain the rootless Yunping.”

The chestnut-haired girl wiped away her tears, clutching the pocket watch with a mixture of laughter and tears. The gunshot had not yet faded from memory; she laughed at it, yet also wiped away her tears.

she says:

"Watson, you really are a complete—"

"asshole."

Chapter 144 False Compassion and Tips

The gaze shifts, and the brown-haired beauty is combing her short, neck-length hair, sitting in front of the mirror, admiring her reflection.

A gentle smile, an air of composure, and impeccable neatness—every wrinkle was smoothed out. The seemingly contradictory adornments combined to accentuate her slender figure encased in the coat, and the sharp, confident presence beneath her natural makeup.

What a beautiful face!

Escaping Miss O'Shaw's leisurely rest, when she opened her eyes again, she was already as the good doctor Isabella, tending to every blade of grass and tree in Florence.

She put the investigation results she had written last night into her briefcase. This plague that had spread to most of the outer city was not really her concern, but who wouldn't yearn for a recognition of their nobility and greatness?

A good reputation is her strongest armor. Moreover, as a doctor who saves lives, how can she satirize the ugliness and selfishness of those faces and highlight her own nobility and purity if she doesn't dedicate herself selflessly?

To truly enter the inner city of Florence, Dr. Pu Shi's status is not enough. Even a noble lady like Eliza only made a slight impression on him because of the design of their first meeting. If he really wanted to treat that girl, his reputation would be the key to opening the door to the Dikbatov family.

Next, he went to the relief center to end the epidemic in his own capacity.

The sound of horses' hooves echoed through the low buildings as always, and with the coachman's intermittent coughs, Charlotte couldn't help but pull back the window curtains to look at the morning scene outside, which seemed like a distant memory.

Unlike when I first arrived in Florence, in just a few days, the plague, like an invisible hand, had quietly enveloped every street and alley. The once bustling crowds had vanished, replaced by haphazardly lying displaced people. Their faces were ashen, their eyes sunken, and their skin covered with dark red spots and festering sores. The air was thick with the stench of decay, a suffocating mixture of burning herbs and the acrid smell of corpses.

The market was long abandoned, with stalls piled high with rotten vegetables and moldy bread. A few emaciated stray dogs rummaged through the garbage for food, occasionally letting out a low whimper.

It was a desperate, hoarse voice.

"Sir, I've heard that many people have died recently."

Perhaps surprised that such a beautiful woman would strike up a conversation with him, the driver, whip in hand, quickly pulled on the reins, slowing the speed of the journey slightly.

He remained silent for a long time, wanting to see the speaker's expression, but the window screen separated them like an iron curtain, clearly distinguishing between the noble and the lowly, and making all complaints and sarcasm disappear from his throat, replaced by more respect.

“Hey, madam, in Florence, death is so common. It’s much better to die from an illness than to break a leg, become homeless, or live a life of misery.”

Suppressing the itch in his throat, the driver spoke of the suffering of others and his own helplessness, as if complaining and grumbling.

"The people here don't live more than a few years. They never get to enter the prosperous inner city in their entire lives. They are buried in the ground and thrown into the river after living for only twenty-odd years. How much of the black, stinking water of the Rhine is made up of the clothes and limbs of the displaced people soaked in pus? Alas, perhaps this epidemic is something that even God couldn't bear to see and sent down to make their suffering less."

"And what about you, sir?"

Upon hearing this, a sweet, metallic taste surged from his heart and lungs, stopping the man's hand from wielding the whip. This caused the horse to lose its aim and neigh in panic.

"Hehe, I've also contracted that damned disease. For a poor soul like me, even if I dress up in the finest clothes, it's only to save face for the guests. There are so many people coming and going. I don't know when it started, but I started coughing up dark red blood, just like those poor souls. Even breathing became increasingly difficult. This is probably the curse that made me abandon my hometown and come here to suffer."

"From the initial stage of symptoms until now, how much time has passed? Have you experienced dizziness or fever during this period?"

Unmoved, her voice remained calm and gentle.

"Excuse me, ma'am, why are you asking these questions?"

He seemed to be accusing or questioning, "Shouldn't you damn rich people be indifferent?"

"It seems that it hasn't been more than two weeks. Is it a pulmonary infarction, or did thick phlegm appear in the throat first? Have you heard of tuberculosis? If it was transmitted from person to person, then it should be classified differently. Also, I would like to ask where you usually get your water for home use."

Charlotte, with clear and logical examples and reasoning, picked up her round-bellied fountain pen and, despite the jolting, wrote down her usual beautiful words on the paper.

Her memory was naturally good, but the sense of ritual was necessary for the performance. Besides, the clear distinction between pen and paper was always more convincing than mere verbal narration, which was essential for her future actions.

"This is just an illness. Once the source of the infection is contained, the number of infected people will gradually decrease, and the previous patients will gradually recover with the help of appropriate medications. You will be saved, and so will they."

"Our lives will eventually return to normal. After this experience, all doctors and government officials should realize the necessity of public health."

Like a flute soothing the ear, even with the many technical terms, the weight of those words instantly dispelled the driver's daze, leaving him feeling at peace.

"Please forgive my disrespect, madam, do you need me to answer any further?"

The rider stopped the horse, and was about to turn around and lift the window screen to express his gratitude, but all that was left was a single sentence and a small bag of herbs to alleviate his symptoms.

"No need, I've already heard your reply, thank you."

Through observation with her hands and eyes, Charlotte analyzed the results point by point without needing the former's detailed explanation.

The description just now perfectly matched her earlier assumption that the reason there were relatively few patients on Sue Street was because the street was formerly a brewery, and the workers there now mostly drank brewed beer instead of using the water pumps made from the Rhine River that flows through the entire outer city.

Given the prevalence of air pollution, almost everyone would imagine that this epidemic is related to the persistent smog. However, it is not easy for diseases to spread in the atmosphere, even for the extraordinary. Water, an essential ingestion, is the most likely source of disease to confuse the senses.

Florence, once a small capital, could certainly rely on the self-circulation of rivers and streams for sewage disposal. However, after Emperor Rothali moved the capital after establishing the country, the land beneath its feet became an ever-expanding metropolis with numerous factories and a surge in population. Everyone used water pumped from the Rhine River for drinking, washing, and cooking.

This naturally amplifies any factor that could potentially affect water quality, and diseases become inevitable.

No wonder I smelled a faint stench when I first arrived in this city; the sewer system here is not fully developed, at least not in the outer city.

Although pharmacological knowledge was still quite limited in this era, she was able to purchase some herbs from a nearby herbal medicine shop that could relax the mind and relieve coughs, thanks to her knowledge accumulated in her previous life.

It cannot be cured, but it can make these unfortunate people feel a little better.

No longer scattering paper money with the arrogance of Watson, Isabella simply offered what she could, like every hurried doctor, a fool trying to thwart the invisible grim reaper, and so—

"Sir, this is what I leave for you..."

"tip."

Chapter 145 Dagger and Ready to Strike

"You mean, the medium for disease transmission is water?"

In the high-level reception room, Academician Fowler, dressed smartly, was reviewing Charlotte's investigation findings, his tone carrying an obvious questioning tone.

"Through on-site investigation and verification, most clues tend to support this hypothesis: the entire outer city uses water pumped from the Rhine River. If the source of the disease is rooted here, then the current large-scale outbreak is reasonable."

Separated by a wall as thin as paper, the groans of those patients seemed to still echo in my ears. However, the bright light above could not penetrate their eyes, nor could it dispel the heaviness of their breathing, just as the former coldly rejected them.

"The Rhine is the mother river of Florence and even the entire empire. The water pumps used for supply are also maintained by specialists. How could there be sewage or even pathogens leaking in?"

Drawing back the curtains covering the windowsill, Fowle pointed to the hazy smog and spoke with considerable certainty.

"It must have spread through poor air quality, which is why it has been able to infiltrate different neighborhoods and lead to this worrying situation."

As he spoke, the man sighed softly, then took out smelling salts from his jacket pocket, sniffed them carefully, and his unique and cautious manner was completely unlike that of a doctor in a welfare home, but more like that of a hypocritical persuader.

So, was that previous facade simply for Ms. Mossan's benefit? Charlotte had assumed that the dean would maintain his friendly and polite demeanor and not become the chameleon she disliked most, given how easily he changed his expression based on social status.

Well, this is for the best. At least it will relieve her of a lot of guilt and burden.

"Then, Mr. Fowler, I would like to ask, where did you confirm that this was transmitted through the air? If we look back at past cases, the possibility of droplet transmission is much higher."

"Everything needs a reason. Investigation and verification are the basis for the reliability of conclusions, rather than unfounded speculation and questioning."

Undeterred by the difference in their social standing, Charlotte stepped forward again and slammed the investigation results heavily in front of the man.

The former tried to evade the question, but she deliberately refused to comply.

Academician Fauval's face instantly darkened. He narrowed his eyes and impatiently tapped his fingers on the table, all traces of the enthusiasm he had shown during the initial meeting gone.

“Ms. Valenti,” the voice said with a condescending coldness and a hint of coercion, “I admire your enthusiasm and your efforts, but medicine cannot be concluded based on mere passion. Your investigation sample is limited, your logical chain is weak, and you think you can overturn the consensus reached by the entire medical committee based on just a few patients’ testimonies and simple water quality tests?”

"Don't take your own cleverness too seriously."

He scorned Charlotte's words, his stern expression mirroring his blatant oppression of those in lower positions who challenged authority.

“You’re quite right. However, this report wasn’t just given to you; it was also presented to the municipal government. Therefore, you can’t dictate my will, nor can you silence the voices of those with a conscience. Besides, what about consensus?”

Remaining calm in the face of change, she noticed the chestnut-haired beauty's gaze growing increasingly sharp, and a sudden laugh escaped her lips.

“I left Florence a few years ago, so I don’t know much about what happened there. Now that I’m back, I’ve looked through the cases and found that there are many suspicious cases.”

"Three years ago, the medical committee insisted that the plague was spread by miasma, resulting in the sudden death of three hundred workers who drank inferior beer. Last March, the puerperal fever at St. Mary's Maternity Hospital was attributed by the gentlemen to the mothers' constitution, until someone discovered that the attending physician never washed his hands."

Charlotte noticed that the man's pupils behind his glasses were contracting violently, like a mouse whose tail had been stepped on.

"If you insist that this is airborne transmission, then please explain—why do families living in the same apartment building but drinking from different water sources have a three-fold difference in infection rates? Why is the mortality rate in upstream neighborhoods much lower than that downstream?"

"It's just a statistical coincidence," Fauval replied curtly. "The living habits of the lower classes are inherently dirty and chaotic; who knows what else they might have come into contact with in private?"

"Is that so? You said that there are specialists managing the water pumps on the Rhine River, but every day, several tons of industrial wastewater are discharged into the river bend. Only the spring water, which is specially supplied to the noble district, comes from an unpolluted tributary upstream, so there are very few cases."