"It is a great honor to welcome the arrival of this day together with everyone here. I believe the passion of football can inspire fighting spirit in our citizens, and the spirit of football can motivate our nation toward better development and a brighter future!"
Amid enthusiastic cheers and applause, John Rotini, the new prime minister of the Wien Empire, concluded his speech. Accompanied by a purple-haired man beside him, he left the field and entered the VIP box.
Today was the opening match of the new Wien Football First Division season, and Wenli Grand Stadium was packed with fans.
After entering the box, the purple-haired attendant helped Rotini take off his formal jacket. Rotini dropped ice cubes into two glasses of red wine, kept one for himself, and handed the other to the purple-haired man beside him.
"Mr. Oni, do you like football?"
The purple-haired Oni replied, "No, I don't."
Rotini shrugged. "Neither do I."
Yet football was the most popular sport in Wien, and even politicians chose such moments to grab some exposure.
Although Rotini had defeated his rival to win the election, the new government still faced immense trouble.
Externally, waves of rebellion were gradually rising across the colonies, while late-developing industrialized nations, dissatisfied with the Wien Empire having preemptively seized so many raw-material regions and markets, were secretly financing and stoking the unrest;
Internally, factions were tearing at each other, and even within his own party, signs of a split were already showing.
An aide brought over the latest intelligence report. Rotini opened it, read through it, and handed it to the purple-haired Oni beside him.
The opposition party was liaising with factions within his own party, preparing to launch an impeachment motion against Rotini.
Of course, the motion was just a pretense; the real objective was to force Rotini into resigning voluntarily.
Rotini drained his glass of wine in one gulp and said indignantly:
"They've lost their minds. They have no idea what they're doing.
"Fine! I could resign right now. When the time comes, a new record will be etched into history:
"The shortest-serving prime minister in the great Wien Empire, forty-five days in office!"
Oni said, "The pension for a retired Wien prime minister is a hundred thousand riels a year. If you really resign now, it's quite a profitable bargain."
"Hahaha." Rotini was amused. "Except the price is dragging the empire's reputation through the mud. I really can't imagine how low our empire would have to sink for such an absurd thing to happen."
"In the future, anything is possible."
"As you said, that's in the future, not now."
Just then, someone came in to report: "Prime Minister, Mr. Steven is about to arrive for a visit. According to the itinerary, you will take a group photo here."
"Understood."
Steven was the owner of today's home football club. He was young; his father, Old Steven, was a prominent entrepreneur in Ruilan, while Steven himself was hailed as the most outstanding second-generation heir of recent years.
Rotini asked with a smile, "Oni, guess whether our young Mr. Steven truly loves football?"
"He probably does. After all, buying a football team is hardly an insignificant expense."
"Not necessarily. Their family originally owned a club in Ruilan. Later, they transferred the debts of a subsidiary onto the club, ultimately letting it go bankrupt.
"The money used to buy this club was borrowed from Ruilan's national bank, and now he simply refuses to pay it back.
"I received a diplomatic note from the Ruilan government just yesterday, asking me to help resolve the matter."
"What do you plan to do, Prime Minister?"
"Oh, what else can I do? I wish there were more foreign businessmen like him who love Wien, preferably emptying out their mother countries in the process.
"As for those poor wretches trying to smuggle themselves across the border, I truly hope they all drown in the sea to feed the fish. You won't be offended if I say that, will you, Oni?"
"Not at all. I understand your perspective."
"Rest assured, I will fulfill my promise to you and push for citizenship for those immigrants who have settled down and hold steady jobs. They are our stable voter base for the future, but you also understand the domestic public opinion right now. Things like this cannot be rushed."
"Please rest assured. As long as you are willing to grant status to a portion of them, those purple-haired people who receive citizenship will oppose illegal immigration even more fiercely than the old Wien locals."
"I have always appreciated your wise stance. Truly, Oni."
"Thank you for the recognition, Prime Minister."
Young Steven arrived, bringing a large contingent of reporters with him.
The VIP box featured a massive glass window facing the stadium. After the reporters entered, many rushed to the terrace, intending to capture the most natural "match-watching scene."
Rotini sat there with a reserved expression.
Young Steven sat beside him, leaning forward so that he appeared a head shorter than Rotini—even though Rotini's short stature had long been one of the opposition's favorite targets of attack.
"Thank you so much for coming, Prime Minister. It is an honor for me and my club."
"I am a football fan myself. Starting from my great-grandfather's generation, our family has been ardent, hardcore fans."
Oni added from the side, "Back then, it was polo."
After all, the history of the football league could hardly trace back that far.
Rotini immediately chuckled. "Ah, yes, polo."
Once the photographs were taken, and before the match had even begun, Rotini stood up and took his leave.
Settling into the car, Rotini took a towel and wiped his face. "Ruilan people always carry a foul stench of body odor."
"In the eyes of the Ruilan people, we Wien folks always carry a stench of bean paste."
"Hahaha."
Rotini loved to laugh. Every time he laughed, wrinkles formed layer upon layer across his forehead, settling into a deep crease right between his brows.
"That old fossil Danton needs to be dealt with. I cannot allow him to keep sitting in the Speaker's chair."
"Please rest assured, Prime Minister. I have already arranged it. The day after tomorrow, the York City Prosecutor's Office will launch an investigation into a molestation case involving Danton from twenty years ago."
"Who was the victim?"
"A purple-haired cleaner nearly ninety years old."
"Oni, do you know how old Danton's current wife is?"
"Twenty-five. A voluptuous, beautiful lady of pure Wien bloodline, with blonde hair and blue eyes."
"I believe our Danton will explode with rage when he receives this indictment. He will shout, 'You can insult my character, but you cannot insult my taste!'"
"I believe this is the precise method needed to show your opponents: crossing us will lead to such an end."
"Excellent, very amusing. Having you as my aide is truly a blessing granted by God."
"It is my honor to assist you."
The dedicated car arrived at the harbor, where a cruise yacht was docked, ready to depart.
Before stepping out, Rotini asked, "Oni, are you really not coming to the island with me to unwind?"
"My apologies, Prime Minister. I have business to handle, and there is a purple-haired gathering this afternoon."
"No, I know, Oni. You share the exact same taste as Danton—you have no interest in young, tender flavors."
"That isn't it, Prime Minister. As you know, because of Mr. Luther's death, the purple-haired gatherings are charged with tension. As Mr. Luther's successor, I need to keep them under control at this juncture. We cannot afford violent incidents breaking out to disrupt your new administration."
"All right, I understand. Thank you, Oni. Next time, then. Next time, I must take you to the island to enjoy yourself properly. Believe me, as long as you let go of that tiny, negligible shred of guilt in your heart, you will reap endless pleasure and bliss."
"I look forward to it, Prime Minister. Have a wonderful time."
"There won't be much time for pure play. I have to hold nonstop meetings with those people. Fortunately, one can enjoy oneself while holding meetings—it makes things far more efficient, haha."
Accompanying this faintly sinister smile, the crease between Rotini's brows became even more pronounced.
Oni escorted Rotini out of the car. At that moment, another car pulled up beside them. A wheelchair was lifted out, bearing a physically disabled man. He was a renowned author whose entire body was paralyzed except for a single movable finger. Because of this, he enjoyed immense fame in Wien—and indeed throughout the literary world—revered as a paragon of inspirational perseverance.
Oni remarked softly, "Is he here to accompany the party?"
Rotini corrected him: "No. He plays harder than anyone."
"But he can only move one finger."
"No, two."
Watching the gathering of dignitaries and elites board the cruise ship, and observing the vessel depart for a private party island not far away, Oni smiled faintly. He produced a handkerchief and wiped his hands, which were not dirty in the slightest.
Back in the car, the driver asked, "Mr. Oni, where to next?"
The assistant sitting in the front passenger seat asked, "Queen's Avenue, I presume?"
Oni looked at the driver and the assistant. Both were Order priests in disguise—one from the Project Team and one from the Whip of Order—though the driver had no idea of the true identity of the assistant beside him.
"Drop me off at Red Leaf Street ahead."
"Understood, sir."
That street was lined with quite a few pastry shops.
Oni stepped out of the car at Red Leaf Street.
He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and was about to leave when he caught sight of a distinctive figure entering the largest pastry shop. It was Richard.
Behind Richard followed another familiar figure... Philomena.
After Richard entered, Philomena stationed herself outside the door like a bodyguard.
Neo licked his lips. This was truly an unexpected combination. Had it not been obvious that both were well aware of each other's presence, Neo would have worried that Philomena might wipe out the entire street of pastry shops in a fit of rage.
Out of curiosity, Neo slipped inside behind them, moving in a manner imperceptible to outsiders.
Philomena remained impassive. Once Neo entered, she drew a sheet of black paper from her robes, folded it into a black crow, and released it into the air.
Inside, the pastry shop was bustling.
Normally, inviting two women to eat pastries together was already considered rather wild; three or four, regardless of one's physical endurance, would just feel chaotic.
Richard, however, had called for twelve.
Neo counted them. Exactly twelve.
He wondered if this counted as some sort of obsessive-compulsive disorder inherent to an Order priest.
The private booths were too cramped, fitting only a small bed and a nightstand with a box of tissues.
Thus, Richard and the twelve sisters and aunties were seated in the main hall of the pastry shop. It was originally a waiting lounge, and it was now thoroughly crowded.
Richard was a regular. He reclined sideways in his chair, chatting away with everyone.
Young Master Aisen came often, and his visits were no longer confined to the first street he had frequented. By now, legends of Young Master Aisen were circulating across more than half the pastry shops in Wien City.
In the beginning, everyone assumed he was some wealthy young master who suffered from physical dysfunction and came here seeking psychological comfort.
Later, as more people became acquainted with him and took on his business themselves, his reputation underwent a complete shift.
Chatting with him was immensely comfortable and relaxing.
No matter the topic, he could keep the conversation flowing smoothly without leaving a single person feeling neglected.
After chatting with him, each of them came away with immense psychological fulfillment, as though they had undergone a flawless session of massage therapy.
This was also why Philomena disliked how Madam Tangli was always claiming Karen spoke better than Richard. She had witnessed firsthand just how persuasive and sweet-talking Richard truly was.
Put the Department Head in this same environment and see what happened...
Still, Philomena could not imagine a scene where Karen sat face-to-face with twelve pastry-shop sisters and aunties. It completely clashed with Karen's usual image.
As the conversation progressed, women kept stepping away—presumably summoned for work—while others returned, having finished their shifts.
The head count remained dynamically fixed at around twelve.
One relatively young auntie went back and forth over a dozen times.
Evidently, she enjoyed conversing with Richard so much that she did not pay much heed to her clients' dignity during her services today.
Neo noticed that during these exchanges, a peculiar aura emanated from Richard. It was not the aura of the Light bug, but the bloodline power within him.
Neo knew Richard and Karen were cousins, which meant Richard also possessed the Art bloodline.
This discovery astonished Neo.
The Art bloodline was regarded as a curse, yet its predecessor had actually been the blessing of the God of Eternity.
And now, this kid Richard was actually radiating this blessing outward—effectively bestowing a benediction upon these women chatting with him. It would improve their physical health and ward off misfortune.
Though Wien was an empire, life at the bottom was far from blissful or comfortable. There were vast numbers of bankrupt citizens. Especially among those working in pastry shops, those who chose it voluntarily were a tiny minority; the overwhelming majority were driven by sheer necessity.
Many of them had numerous mouths waiting at home to be fed. If they failed to land a client for a day, they would not even be able to put bean paste and black bread on the table that evening.
Such people possessed near-zero resilience against risk. They lived perpetually on the edge of the abyss, far too easily favored by suffering.
In the early eras, the Church of Goddess Mills had originated among islanders upon the sea. It had not initially referred specifically to the trade of prostitutes, but gradually evolved to encompass those cast adrift by fate.
And as Richard "bestowed his blessing," an aura of faith was grafting itself onto him.
Neo understood. Richard was like a red-hot boiler: while dispensing warmth to others, he also required water to cool down.
This made Neo wonder whether the kid had somehow been touched by the grace of Order.
When a temple elder condensed a godhead and entered the Temple of Order, the Temple of Order would grant a blessing to the elder's family, ensuring prosperity and producing talented descendants for generations.
There was no reason the inheritor of the God of Order, as he rose, would not carry a similar effect around him.
In fact, everyone around Karen had experienced immense personal breakthroughs after following him—especially those Karen had awakened, who shared a direct and much deeper bond with him.
Of course, Neo knew that if he voiced this theory to Karen, Karen would never believe it, much less agree with it.
That fellow was clearly the god's inheritor and harbored the hunger addiction within him, yet he obstinately insisted that human will could triumph over all.
Still, which god's grace was influencing this kid Richard?
After watching for a good while, sensing the gathering was winding down, Neo prepared to leave.
He stepped out of the pastry shop and walked to the street corner. Just as he was about to hail a cab, a second-hand black Ponce pulled up in front of him.
Karen was behind the wheel. Sitting in the back was Little Kanna, hunched over her schoolbag, diligently doing her homework.
Neo shrugged, walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, and slid into the seat.
"I didn't expect Philomena to progress so fast."
"Her appetite has been growing by the day lately. When Grandmother goes grocery shopping, the vendors assume she's opened a restaurant."
"Heh." Neo pulled out a cigarette, placed it between his lips, and handed another to Karen.
Karen took it and glanced at the brand. It was the latest release from the Church of Thunder.
"Doing well for yourself these days, aren't you?"
"Having died once and cleared my debts, I naturally have to treat myself a bit better. But can you show a little ambition? Are you still checking the price and brand of cigarettes?"
"I rarely smoke now."
"What, the hunger addiction hasn't dropped by for a chat lately?"
"I suppressed it."
Neo patted his pockets, found no lighter, and naturally reached into Karen's pocket to pull one out. With a *click*, he flicked the flame to life and leaned over. Karen held the cigarette in his mouth and let it light.
"Suppressed it? Meaning what—like you did with Kevin?"
"You could put it that way. Except Kevin's seal has been unlocked by me now, and he's consumed several tonics that originally belonged to him. Right now, finding someone who can beat my dog would probably be quite difficult."
"Sigh, Kevin has finally seen the light of day."
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Had enough fun yet?"
"No."
"I see."
"Seems like nothing much has been happening lately."
"Plenty is happening. A war is coming. In a few days, Order will move against Life. This campaign will be far fiercer than the one against Samsara."
"Understood. I'll short the Life coupons immediately, maxing out the leverage to the death."
Saying so, Neo took a deep drag of his cigarette and cursed:
"Damn it, now that's real stock trading! That's what a true God of the Stock Market looks like!"
Karen did not respond.
Neo continued, "So if there ever is a God of the Stock Market in the future, she'll definitely be a subordinate deity. After all, she needs people to feed her insider information."
"Once this war concludes, the Temple will head to Mink Street to settle the matter regarding my grandfather."
"Are you ready?" After asking, Neo tapped his forehead. "Heh, you have Kevin now; you don't need me anymore. Sigh, to you, I'm not even worth a dog these days."
Karen glanced at Neo and replied:
"Indeed."
"You bastard."
"What exactly are you busy with?"
"Since you tracked me down, you could find out what I've been doing with a flick of your little finger."
"Alfred wanted to investigate you, but I refused."
"You should trust that butler's sixth sense."
Karen tossed the cigarette, which he had taken only a single drag from, out the window.
"Oh, damn it! Have you forgotten the agony of having no coupons to buy cigarettes back then?!"
"Sorry."
Silence fell over the car once more.
Karen was the one to break it: "You can't tell me?"
"I already said, you can investigate it yourself."
"Are you afraid I won't agree?"
The two of them were simply too familiar with each other—so familiar that during a conversation, the underlying meaning far exceeded the words spoken.
Many things did not need to be articulated; unspoken understanding allowed them to skip straight ahead.
Sitting in the back doing her homework, Little Kanna merely felt the two in the front were engaged in a philosophical debate. Her philosophy textbooks were entirely filled with these half-understood, baffling exchanges.
Neo lit a second cigarette.
Karen continued, "There were many things you did that I disagreed with, but I never once stopped you. Often, I even joined in."
Neo shook his head. "This time is different. You would definitely stop me."
Neo slid his seat back a notch, adjusted his posture, crossed his legs, and faced Karen:
"How about finding a place to have a fight?"
"You can't beat me right now."
"Fuck! Can't you be a little less blunt? I've made some progress lately. At the very least, I can hold out against you longer than I did in the desert and create more openings."
"My progress since the desert has been far greater than yours."
Especially after taming the hunger addiction, Karen could now draw upon its power without restriction.
Neo sighed. "Sigh, that takes all the fun out of it."
"Are you looking for an early beating?" Karen asked. "Do you think what you're about to do will meet with my direct opposition?"
"Have you been watching too many theatrical plays lately? Only on stage do you find such clichéd, melodramatic tropes."
"Neo, perhaps you could try confessing to me. I might just say, as I always did: 'Are you out of your mind?' And then, I'd watch your performance."
Neo rubbed his nose and looked out the window. "I have to go. Otherwise, the black market bank will close."
"All right."
Neo opened the door, got out, waved to Karen, and melted into the crowd on the street.
He had once taught Karen how to shake off potential tails swiftly, yet this time he walked away naturally, confident that Karen would not follow him.
After walking a considerable distance, Neo came to a halt. He pulled a handful of one-riel coins from his pocket and distributed them among the purple-haired children scouring the trash cans in the alley.
The children showered him with blessings and ran off happily.
Silently, Neo pulled out another cigarette and placed it between his lips. But when he flicked the lighter several times, no flame appeared—it was out of fluid. He tossed the cigarette into the trash can and slipped the lighter back into his pocket.
"It's not a question of whether you'll stop me. You're already stopping it, because you don't want their experiment to succeed. Well, I don't want their experiment to succeed either.
"However,
"I want to try it myself."
Chapter 870