Prosper nodded. "This mission is extremely important, so there will definitely be a generous reward."
The cultivator suddenly lowered his head. Just as Prosper was about to ask him about it, he abruptly looked up and leaned closer, a trace of excitement in his voice. "Sir, I've thought it over carefully. Poisoning the food directly isn't safe enough—what if someone eats late or something? Oh, right, could you give me some funding?"
"Yes. How much do you need?"
"Twenty livres." The cultivator tightly interlaced his fingers as though clutching something. "I'll find an excuse, like it's my birthday. No one remembers my birthday anyway, so I'll hold a small banquet, buy some good alcohol, and poison the food and drink beforehand. That way, I can make sure they all consume it at the same time..."
"Besides, I can invite you to join us too, saying you're my relatives. If anyone isn't poisoned badly enough and tries to destroy the intelligence before dying, you can finish him off immediately!"
Joseph shook his head at that, then nodded and pushed the door open. "It's him—the Fouche I was looking for."
Eman followed him in and explained to the astonished Fouche that it had merely been a joke, and that there were no foreign spies.
Joseph sat down opposite the cultivator, glanced at his expression, and said, "Mr. Fouche, you seem somewhat disappointed?"
"No, not at all..."
Joseph got straight to the point. "If you had to establish an Intelligence Department as quickly as possible, how would you do it?"
Fouche raised his eyes to glance at the youth before quickly lowering them again, rubbing his hands together. "May I ask how much funding I would have?"
Joseph thought for a moment. "Five hundred thousand livres. If necessary, more can be added."
An