It was nearly midnight when the carriage drove into Flea Bottom.
But this neighborhood did not fall into darkness. On the contrary, it was brightly lit.
On both sides of the street, a wooden pole stood every ten steps. What burned in the lantern was not expensive candles, but refined fish oil. The smell was a bit fishy, but it was bright enough.
This is Rorge's idea, cheap and durable.
Through the car window, Corleone could see the street scene very clearly. There were no beggars huddled in the shadows, no drunkards lying beside the ditch, and no prostitutes with empty eyes.
There are people coming and going on the street, but in an orderly manner.
Children were playing in the street, and an old man was sitting under the porch playing an old violin. The sound was seriously out of tune, but the rhythm was very brisk.
There were many people queuing up around the porridge shop, and the aroma of bread penetrated the nostrils.
"Stop."
Following his order, the carriage stopped one street away from House of Order.
Corleone opened the curtain and got out of the car, stood on the street, and took a deep breath.
The smell of baking bread, the fat of stewed meat, the smell of wood smoke, the pungent smell of fresh paint.
These flavors mix together to form a unique breath called "life".
A boy ran past holding a few pieces of firewood. When he saw him, he suddenly stopped and bowed awkwardly. "Good evening, Lord Corleone!"
"Good evening." Corleone nodded. "Be careful not to fall."
The boy grinned, showing his uneven teeth, and then continued running towards a house at the end of the street.
Corleone continued to walk forward, and Yego followed half a step behind him, looking very relaxed.
In Flea Bottom, no one can do anything against Corleone.
Everyone he met on the road would stop, say "Good evening, Lord Corleone" and then continue to do his own thing, and he would respond to everyone with a smile.
When we reached the small square in front of House of Order, Corleone stopped.
The square was filled with long tables covered with clean burlap.
Candles were lit on every table, and food was laid out, not expensive but rich, including pork cuts, fish, potato and turnip stew, fresh black bread, and several barrels of beer.
At least three to four hundred people were sitting at the table, including men, women, old and young.
They wear clean clothes, their hair is neatly combed, and they have smiles on their faces.
Some people are talking, some are sharing food, and children are chasing and laughing between the tables, but they all maintain the most basic rules.
In the center of the square, Rorge was directing several young people to distribute food. When he saw Corleone, he walked quickly over.
"Everything is ready as you ordered, Your Excellency."
He bowed his waist and kept his posture very low. "Today is the big day for the completion of House of Order. We provided enough food for five hundred people, some wine, and invited a band."
Hearing this, Corleone did not speak, but stood at the edge of the square, looking at the people sitting at the table eating and drinking for a long time.
"Well done."
After a while, he slowly spoke.
There were only a few words, but Rorge proudly straightened his slightly hunched back.
House of Order The third floor.
The fire burned brightly in the fireplace, heating the room, and the heavy curtains were drawn to isolate the lights and noise outside the window.
Corleone was sitting behind the desk, with ledgers and maps spread out on the table. Hearing faint music and laughter coming from outside, the corners of his mouth raised slightly.
He doesn't yearn for excitement, but he likes the smell of fireworks very much, which means that Flea Bottom is getting better day by day.
Dong Dong Dong...
Three slight knocks on the door sounded.
"Come in."
The door opened, and a ferocious-looking middle-aged man walked in. A hideous scar extended from his forehead to his chin, and he looked even more penetrating than the noseless Rorge.
But his expression was very nervous. He stood in front of the table and rubbed his hands uneasily. "Lord Corleone, you... you are looking for me."
"Sit, Carl." Corleone said casually without raising his head.
Hearing this, Carl swallowed and sat down, but his butt dared to touch the edge of the chair, and he kept wondering why he was called here.
Back then, he was one of the most brutal moneylenders in Flea Bottom. He would cut off the fingers of anyone who failed to pay, but since Corleone came, Carl has never done the same business again.
After a while, Corleone finally put down his work and raised his head. A black-haired cat with missing ears came out of the shadows and jumped on his lap.
The light from the fireplace illuminated half of Corleone's face, flickering brightly and dimly.
This made Carl even more nervous. He didn't even know where to put his hands, so he had to hold on to his pants.
"I heard that you persuaded a worker at the dock yesterday to give up his job to your nephew."
Corleone's voice sounded, and Carl suddenly turned pale. "That... that is a misunderstanding. Your Excellency, please listen to my explanation...
"I understand you, Carl."
His defense was interrupted, and Corleone stated in a calm tone. "You are used to ruling with fear. Knives are easier to use than reason, and blood is more convincing than saliva. In the old Flea Bottom, this is the way to survive."
As he spoke, he leaned forward, and the firelight danced on his face, making his dark eyes appear deeper between light and darkness.
"But this is not the old Flea Bottom. It's my territory. The only rules are one: work in exchange for reward, loyalty in exchange for protection."
"No exceptions, no privileges, nothing because of who I am."
Hearing this, Carl's forehead was covered with cold sweat. "I understand, Lord Corleone, I will definitely return the job to that worker."
"No." Corleone shook his head slightly. "You don't understand."
"Apologizing is useless. The work belongs to the worker. If you go back, it's not a favor, it's just correcting the mistake."
"And I want more."
As he said that, Corleone raised his head. "Starting from tomorrow, you will go to work at the dock."
"Stevedore, if you work for a month, ten hours a day, your wages will be calculated. If you can persist, don't cause trouble, and don't complain, we will talk about what you can do after a month."
As soon as these words came out, Carl's lips were trembling. "Stevedore?"
"No, Lord Corleone, please take it back. I have never been Stevedore. That work is too tiring."
"Then learn."
Corleone just raised his head and glanced at him gently. Just one glance made Carl's heart almost jump out of his chest.
"Either learn it or leave it. Flea Bottom has room for everyone, but it doesn't welcome those who don't follow the rules."
"You can go.
1
Carl sat blankly, seemingly unable to understand what was happening.
After a while, he stood up stiffly and walked towards the door.
"Oh, right."
When his hand touched the doorknob, Corleone's voice sounded again, "You can attend the banquet tonight."
"But remember, every bite of food you eat and every sip of wine you drink belongs to Black Hand Mafia, and you must be grateful."
Carl took a deep breath and nodded.
The door opened and closed.
The room was quiet for a moment, then the knock on the door rang again, and the second guest came in.
"I have a request, Lord Corleone."
When Corleone walked out of House of Order again, the banquet had reached its climax.
The band was playing a cheerful dance music, and a large group of young people danced in the center of the square, with awkward steps but very sincere smiles.
Seeing Corleone appear under the porch, the square was instantly quiet.
Everyone stood up, looked at him with respect, and waited for him to speak.
Corleone did not go up high, he just walked to the nearest long table, picked up a glass of poor beer, and raised it above his head.
"Today."
He spoke, not loudly, but everyone could hear him clearly.
"It's the first day of life in Flea Bottom."
"Starting from tomorrow, there will no longer be free food here, but there will be jobs, pay and dignity."
"You are no longer beggars, no longer refugees, you are workers, members of the Corleone family rule."
"It's not easy."
He continued, his voice steady but revealing a hint of honesty. "There will be difficulties, there will be setbacks, and there will be people of this kind who try to break the rules."
"But as long as we stand together and abide by our common agreements, nothing can defeat us."
As he spoke, Corleone he raised his glass even higher. "Respect labor! Respect dignity! Respect the newborn Flea Bottom!"
"Here's to Corleone!"
The crowd burst into enthusiastic cheers and applause mixed together, echoing in the night sky.
Corleone took a sip of wine and then walked towards the crowd.
He did not continue to give a long speech, but started talking to people, asking Little Tomi if his leg injury was healed, asking the workers if the work on the dock was tired, and asking how the business of the blacksmith shop was.
Each question is simple and direct, but the person who is asked will answer it seriously, as if reporting to his father.
After walking half a circle, he stopped at a slightly remote table.
There are only three people sitting at this table.
Corleone walked to the table, picked up the wine glass, filled everyone's glasses, and then raised his own glass.
"Yego."
The Dothraki Warrior stood up.
"You followed me from the Riverlands to King's Landing, served me like a true Khal and did my bidding."
"Honor your loyalty."
He clinked glasses with Yego, and then they both drank.
"Rorge."
The strong, noseless man stood up in a hurry when his name was called, almost knocking over his chair.
"You were once the vicious dog of the Warriors and the bully of Flea Bottom, but now you have learned to manage, to build, and to rule with order rather than violence."
"You get these people not to be afraid of you, but to respect you, and that's harder than making people fear you."
Hearing this, Rorge's eyes turned a little red.
Corleone clinked glasses with him. "Here's to the new students."
Then turn to the other person.
"Brenne."
The female knight stood up. She was taller than all the men at the table.
"The first time we met, you were in the mud, tied up with a rope."
"You think of me as a scoundrel without honor, a man who lives by conspiracy and lies. Maybe you're right."
"You can leave at any time, but if you stay, I need your sword, not to kill for me, but to protect these people and everything we have built."
Brienne pursed her lips and was silent for a long time.
In the square, the music continues, laughter echoes, and children run.
"To the knight."
Corleone Clink glasses with her.
The wine was spicy, but Brienne downed it in one gulp.
After three glasses of wine, Corleone's face remained unchanged. He continued to drink slowly, looked around the square, raised his voice and said to everyone, "Remember tonight!"
"Remember how we stood up from the mud, remember how we built all this together. This is not my achievement alone, it is all of ours."
After speaking, he raised his glass and said, "To all of us!"
The entire square immediately erupted into a thunderous response. "To Lord Corleone!"
"Here's to Black Hand Mafia!"
"Here's to Flea Bottom!"
The party lasted until late into the night.
Corleone quietly left the crowd and walked into House of Order's third-floor office.
He did not light the lamp, but went straight to the window and opened the heavy curtains.
On the high ground in the distance, the Red Keep was bustling with activity, and the big shots were celebrating the wedding of Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark.
Every window in the castle shines with light, and fireworks rise from time to time, exploding gorgeous but short-lived flowers in the night sky.
It was a night that belonged to the nobility, gorgeous and grand.
Lowering his head, the brightly lit streets of Flea Bottom came into view.
The buildings are still dilapidated and the streets are still narrow, but there is a vigorous and upward vitality flowing.
This is their night, solid, warm and full of hope.
Two lights, two worlds.
Two worlds, one night sky.
Corleone stood in front of the window and looked at it for a long time.
The lanterns in the square were extinguished one by one, but the street lights were still on.
Several workers who returned late walked past each other, chatting in low voices about tomorrow's work.
Candlelight shines through a window, and a mother can be vaguely seen coaxing her child to sleep.
The night wind blew by, bringing the moist breath of the Blackwater River, and the last wedding music drifted from the Red Castle in the distance.
From tonight on, Flea Bottom is no longer the scar of King's Landing, no longer the shadow of the nobles.
It is a seed.
It was the seed he planted with his own hands that would eventually change everything.
And he, Vito·Corleone, will be the one who makes it take root.