Corleone When we returned to House of Order, the sun had already risen above our heads.
From the Red Keep to Flea Bottom, he walked neither fast nor slowly.
The morning imperial meeting was like a long wrestling match, with every word testing the opponent's bottom line. Now that the meeting was over, he could finally put his mind to rest, even if it was only for a while.
The street is very lively.
Vendors were selling freshly baked bread, there was a lot of tinkling in the blacksmith shop, and several children were laughing and chasing a stray dog through the alley.
Someone set up a big pot on the side of the road and was cooking some kind of soup. Steam was rising up, and the aroma wafted over and got into Corleone's nose.
It smells so good.
The little food he ate at House of Order in the morning has long been digested.
From the beginning of the royal meeting to now, he only drank two sips of tea while Tywin and Olenna were arguing with each other. The tea had almost no smell and was of no use at all. Now, the smell of broth made his stomach growl.
This is now. If it were placed half a year ago, no matter how tempting the aroma of the broth on the street is, Corleone would only feel nauseated. After all, no one knows what is stewed in it.
But Olenna did invite him to lunch.
At the end of the meeting, the old woman, leaning on a cane, told him that the cook had bought some good fish from the market this morning and invited him to try it together.
But Corleone declined.
It's not because the fish is bad or that Highgarden's cooks aren't good at it.
The main reason is that Corleone knows very well that even if Olenna Redwin, a poisonous old woman, invites you to dinner, she will never let you finish it in peace.
He could even guess what the other party would say at the banquet.
Things like "I heard that Flea Bottom's income increased by 20% last month. Should you pay more to the Iron Throne?" or "If you climb too high too young, you may break your neck easily."
I'm afraid that by then the fish won't be able to taste anything at all, it will only taste like fire.
So Corleone just excused himself as having some soup at home and left without looking back.
She is not afraid that Olenna will hold a grudge. After all, the power alliance still has to look at interests. No matter how good it looks on weekdays, it is not as good as dividing the cake to win people's hearts.
"My lord."
At this moment, Rorge appeared out of nowhere and thoughtfully held out a paper bag in his hand. "The soft bread just came out of the oven, it's still hot!"
Corleone took it, tore off a piece and stuffed it into his mouth.
The bread had obviously just been taken out of the oven. The crust was toasted to a crispy texture, and you could hear a slight cracking sound when you gnashed it with your teeth, like dry autumn leaves being crushed.
Hot steam comes out from the cracks, carrying the burnt aroma of wheat kissed by flames. It is the smell that only comes after roasting high-quality wheat that has been finely ground and sifted.
Before Corleone came to Flea Bottom, commoners could only eat such food in their dreams.
The bread in Westeros is divided into three, six or nine grades just like people. The nobles' tables are served with fine white soft bread. Eggs are added when kneading the dough, and it is golden and buttery when baked.
The common people eat dark hard bread, using bran-containing rye flour. Sometimes even rye flour is not enough, and barley, oats, and even beans are added.
This kind of bread is as hard as a rock when baked. If left for a few days, it can be used as a weapon. If thrown out, it can even kill a dog.
When eating, you must first soak it in water or soup until it becomes soft before you can chew it.
As for the poorest people... they can't even afford hard bread.
But things are different now.
There are bakeries on every street in Flea Bottom, and people are queuing up to chat, talking about yesterday's Ring of Order game, and whose child found another job.
When the bread was taken out of the oven, the heat hit your face and the aroma of wheat spread half way across the street.
But no one grabbed it, and no one jumped in line.
Because House of Order ensures that all working people can buy bread without having to fight.
In order to make people eat well, Corleone invited Farmer, who had been planting wheat all his life in the Riverlands, to plant an entire wheat field in the open space outside King's Landing. He also had people buy the best stone mill from White Harbor and build a mill east of Flea Bottom.
The finest flour produced was sold to nobles and wealthy merchants, while the coarser flour was reserved for the residents of Flea Bottom.
Although it is made of semolina, the baked bread is still soft and fragrant.
Now everyone in Flea Bottom can eat decent bread, and a whole industry chain has been formed.
The bakery is opened by Black Hand Mafia, the bread is baked by Black Hand Mafia people, the flour is ground by Black Hand Mafia's mill, and even the wheat is grown in Black Hand Mafia's land.
But the money to buy the bread was earned by the people in Flea Bottom themselves.
This is very important.
Corleone once told Rorge that charity cannot bring order, and only fair transactions are the only driving force for long-term development.
If you give a person a piece of bread, if he is full today, he will be hungry tomorrow.
But if you provide them with a job and let them earn money to buy bread, they will never go hungry again in their lives.
As long as Black Hand Mafia exists forever.
Corleone tore off another piece of bread and stuffed it into his mouth, chewed it twice, then broke it in half and handed it to Rorge.
"You eat too."
Rorge was stunned for a moment, took it, tore off a small piece and stuffed it into his mouth.
He chewed slowly, as if he was tasting something remarkable.
Corleone said nothing and just continued to walk forward.
Rorge followed behind, his steps lighter than usual, because he knew that Corleone didn't like to be disturbed when he was thinking.
All the way to House of Order, I climbed from the first floor to the third floor. The corridor was very quiet, and the sun shone in through the windows, paving a golden road on the stone floor.
Corleone put the last bite of bread into his mouth, took out a handkerchief from his arms and wiped the corners of his mouth, and then opened the ward door.
Then... he was stunned immediately.
I saw Balman lying on the bed, the bandage on his upper body had not been removed, revealing a large area of strong chest covered with chest hair.
Beside the bed, a certain Dornish prince was sitting there.
Oberyn himself was also wrapped in bandages, from his chest to his waist, and his whole body was as white as a snake that had been practicing for thousands of years.
He should have been lying on his bed to recuperate, but at this moment, he was holding the edge of the bed with one hand and putting the other hand on Balman's chest, his movements were a bit warm...
From Corleone's perspective, Oberyn could clearly be seen touching Balman's chest all the way to his lower back, with a mesmerized expression on his face, and even a hint of a faint smile hanging on the corner of his mouth.
It looks like he is holding his lover in his arms.
Balman, who was seriously injured, lay there motionless, with a complicated expression on his face, staring straight at the ceiling, as if praying for this to end soon.
Corleone stood at the door, the bread in his mouth had not yet been swallowed, and his mind was shut down for a moment.
Although I know that this Prince of Dorne's life style has always been absurd and he likes to try all kinds of good things, but...
That's Balman·Byrch!
The old knight was nearly fifty years old and weighed at least one hundred and fifty pounds. He lay like a beached walrus and his chest was so hairy that it could even house a nest of sparrows!
You can even say this???
Could it be that Oberyn has been locked up crazy these days because he is really hungry?
"Should I leave?"
Corleone The corners of his mouth twitched, and he quietly stepped backwards over the threshold.
The air in the ward suddenly solidified.
Oberyn's hand stopped on Balman's chest, and his entranced expression instantly turned into extremely embarrassing.
Balman slowly turned his head, looking at Corleone with eyes that were a little blurry due to excessive blood loss, but his lips moved, and in the end he only uttered a vague "uh".
"You... continue."
"No no no!!!"
Seeing Corleone making a gesture to close the door, Oberyn suddenly retracted his hand and jumped up from the bed, so fast that he didn't look like a person who had not recovered from a serious injury.
However, the physical condition is obviously not affected by human will. Sweat suddenly appeared on Oberyn's forehead, and his face became even paler.
But he couldn't care less about the pain.
"Don't... don't go!!"
His voice was at least two tones higher than usual, and he gestured wildly with his hands in front of him. "I'm not... I didn't... I just...
"I'm enjoying it!"
"Appreciate it?" Corleone raised his eyebrows.
"Yes! Appreciate! Appreciate your sewing skills!"
As Oberyn said this, he reached out to grab Balman, wanting to show his wounds to Corleone.
But Balman had had enough of being touched by him all morning, and kept shrinking back.
Seeing this, Oberyn suddenly became anxious.
Bend down directly, grab Balman's shoulders with both hands, and use all your strength to lift him up.
It has to be said that the Dornish Red Viper's physique is awesome. Despite such a serious injury, he was able to lift Balman's 150-pound body.
"Look!" He pointed at the wound on Balman's waist and yelled, "Look at this suture, how neat the stitches are and how evenly spaced they are!"
"This is not sewing, this is art!"
Seeing the guy's ecstatic expression, Corleone was speechless for a moment. "Don't you have it yourself?"
"That's different!"
Seeing that his explanation was finally effective, Oberyn threw Balman down casually. The injuries on his body made the two of them grimace.
Immediately afterwards, he pulled off several bandages on his chest, and the wounds had scabbed over.
"I have been in a coma before, or I lost too much blood and was so sleepy that I didn't have time to observe it. Now that I have finally seen such exquisite skills, of course I have to observe it carefully!"
He was excited, dancing and praising Corleone's Surgery skills.
No wonder.
After all, this guy is an expert in using poisons, and he has been studying in the school for several years, so Medicine must be no different.
According to Corleone's judgment, [Surgery|v4] can almost put him on par with the top surgeons the Doctor in his previous life. If it were not for the limited industrial level of Westeros, he could do better.
But despite this, Corleone's surgical technology is enough to amaze everyone in this world.
Corleone really had no interest in caring about this overly energetic red viper, so he returned to the room and walked straight to Balman's bed, pulled up a chair and sat down.
"How do you feel?"
Hearing this, Balman weakly opened his eyes and looked at Corleone, with some complicated emotions in his eyes.
"Not bad."
"Thank you for your help, Master Corleone."
Corleone nodded without answering. He reached out and pulled down the thin blanket covering Balman, revealing the bandage wrapped around his waist.
On the white bandage, near the lower back, there was a small patch of newly oozing blood. It was obvious that Oberyn's rough manipulation had opened up the wound that had finally stopped the bleeding.
He shook his head, picked up a clay pot from the tray beside the bed and uncorked it. The smell of alcohol immediately filled the air.
The technology of distilling alcohol is not complicated, and Flea Bottom can do it.
Pour alcohol on a piece of clean gauze, Corleone pressed it directly on the wound on Balman's lower back without saying a word. The old knight's body suddenly tensed up, his fingers clenched the sheets, and his teeth clenched, but he did not scream.
He just buried his face into the pillow, breathing rapidly and heavily, like a wounded beast enduring pain.
"I'm not asking about your injury."
Corleone continued to speak, using conversation to relieve his pain. He gently wiped the gauze along the edge of the wound to clean up the blood that seeped out bit by bit.
"I'm asking you, how are you feeling now?"
"Killed his wife with his own hands, and burned the castle to rubble with fire. Now Tanda is dead, Falyse is also dead, and only your wife's mentally retarded sister survived because she ran out to defecate in the wild in the middle of the night."
In just a few words, Corleone had finished bandaging, stuffed the end of the bandage into the gap in the wrapping, pressed it flat, and patted it to make sure it wouldn't come loose.
Then, he leaned back on the chair and looked at Balman with his black eyes. "The most important thing is that you have become a murderer now, and there is no chance of naming the inheritance. Stoke Worth will probably only be able to take advantage of your brother-in-law."
As soon as these words came out, the pale Balman twitched the corner of his mouth.
"Bronn."
When he said that name, he seemed to be able to imagine the proud look of a certain hedge knight at this moment. "That guy must be smiling from ear to ear right now."
Corleone did not deny this.
After all, Bronn has said frankly many times that he hopes that Balman and Falyse will die soon.
Well now, Falyse is dead, Tanda is dead, Balman has become a murderer...
.. The inheritance of Stoke Worthsburg fell from the sky and hit him on the head.
Probably the best deal Bronn ever made in his life was marrying Lollys.
"Let him be."
After a moment of silence, Balman seemed to be saying to himself, "It's all in ruins anyway."
His eyes were looking at the ceiling, but there was no anger or unwillingness in them. They were just gray, as if he was so exhausted that he had exhausted all his strength and didn't want to care about anything anymore.
Corleone said nothing.
He just sat in the chair and stared at the fat man lying on the bed.
A few days ago, Balman was changing glasses at Cured Meat Street's banquet, thinking that he was a nobody, but now he is lying here, stabbed in the back, his wife died in his own hands, his castle was burned down, his inheritance rights are gone, and his future is gone.
He committed murder and set fire, saved a Tyrion and a dozen children, and then found that he had nothing left. Anyone else would probably not be able to accept it for a while.
"That's why I don't get married."
At this time, a gloating voice with Dorne accent came from the side.
Corleone turned around and saw that Oberyn guy pouring a glass of red wine from nowhere and tasting it.
Although he had warned this guy not to drink alcohol, how could the Dornish Red Viper be able to quit?
"Marriage is a thing. If you invest too much in it, you are afraid that she will betray you. If you don't invest in it, she will resent you."
"If you treat her well, she thinks you should. If you treat her badly, she will hate you for the rest of her life. No matter what you choose, it is wrong."
As he said that, Oberyn completely ignored the warning look from a certain the Doctor, picked up the red wine and took a sip, with an expression on his face as if he was recalling something long ago.
"I have a friend in Dorne. He married a very beautiful woman and treated her extremely well. The woman asked for a garden, so he spent two thousand Gold Dragon to hire a gardener from Highgarden."
"Then she asked for a white horse without a hair on it, so he rode the horse for three days and nights to find the best horse dealer on the border of Dorne."
He paused and took another sip of wine. "Then the woman ran away with his Captain of the Guard, and took away half a year's tax before leaving."
"He chased her to the border, and the bitch stood on the bridge and said to him: You were so good to me, so good that I couldn't breathe."
As he spoke, Oberyn put down his cup and spread his hands.
"Look, this is marriage, so I don't want to get married. I just want children, not a wife."
"After all, children can be rebellious at most. When they grow up, they will kill a few unimportant people when they have nothing to do, or they may be caught having an affair."
"But at least they won't take your money."
After he finished speaking, he laughed first.
The smile on his face, which was pale due to blood loss, looked a bit miserable and a bit magnanimous.
Balman Close your eyes.
Oberyn's words were like a dull knife, they couldn't cut but they hurt terribly.
After more than twenty years with Falyse, he thought he had learned not to care about those harsh words and not to look at her fish-like face.
But in the end Balman discovered that he had cared about her all his life.
Corleone leaned on the back of the chair and looked at these two guys. One was lying on the bed like a corpse that was not dead, and the other was leaning against the window like a poisonous snake that had its tail cut off but was still smiling.
The sun shines in through the window, making the dust in the air look like golden powder.
"Women are never satisfied with the status quo."
He shook his head and suddenly said, "You give her a piece of bread, and she wants a glass of milk. After you give her the milk, she wants a silk skirt."
"To put on a gorgeous silk dress, you must have a castle. Once you really have the castle, she will start to want to find a man worthy of the castle.
"What's behind?"
After waiting for a long time Corleone didn't say anything, Oberyn frowned and asked.
"There is no more behind, that's all I can think of." Corleone calmly raised the corners of his mouth slightly."
. What kind of comfort is this?" Balman's eyes were a little red and he muttered in a hoarse voice.
"I didn't say it was comfort."
Corleone chuckled, stood up and walked to the window, took the wine from Oberyn's hand and took a sip himself.
Red Viper protested, but even in his heyday, he probably couldn't defeat Corleone, so he had to surrender to the Doctor's power.
"But fortunately I bought some time for you."
Hearing Corleone's voice, Balman raised his head and looked at his back in confusion.
The sun shone in from behind, coating the outline of Corleone with a layer of gold, making it difficult to see his expression clearly.
"You need trial by combat, Ser."
Corleone turned around, his black eyes looking particularly deep in the sunlight. "And you must fight in person."
"But the good news is that your trial will take place after you recover from your injuries, and this time... can be indefinitely long.
"As long as I want."
"How the hell did you do that?" Balman Before he could speak, Oberyn couldn't help but scream loudly.
After all, he knew Tywin's temper very well, and it was really difficult to take the meat out of that Old Lion's mouth.
Corleone didn't answer. He just turned around and looked out the window at the streets of Flea Bottom. People buying bread had already formed a long queue in the sun, and Coordinators in gray uniforms was patrolling among the crowd.
The sun was nice and warm, and it shone on those people's faces, and everyone was smiling.
He squinted his eyes and felt the rare harmonious atmosphere in King's Landing. After a while, Corleone turned around and gently shook the red wine in the cup, grinning.
"Because I made him an offer he couldn't refuse."