Chapter Thirty: The Remarkably Influential Lady (Please Vote and Keep Reading)

York’s answer astonished Mr. Walter. He had not expected a poor lad to possess such a degree of insight into a colonial territory thousands of miles away in Africa.

"You see, Father, I told you! Mr. York is a man of great learning!" Laurina quickly put in a good word for York, knowing her father’s temperament all too well. At the same time, she gave York a subtle kick under the table, though her intent remained unclear.

"It seems you are quite knowledgeable about Algeria... Mr. York, would you be interested in becoming a correspondent for *La Vie Française*?" Walter set down his knife and fork, looking at York while signaling the waiter to pour him some Johannesburg wine.

York hesitated for a moment and reached out to "Absolute Terror Tiger" through his friend interface, asking if he had found a job yet.

"Why ask that? I can just roam!" Absolute Terror Tiger stood before the Holy Trinity Church, performing energetically for the players in his livestream.

York understood. At the table, he looked at Walter: "I am satisfied with my current work. As for the correspondent position you mentioned, I would like to recommend someone else to you."

"He has profound insights regarding Algeria; what I said earlier was merely repeating his ideas."

"To think there is such an expert! Is he in Paris now?" Mr. Walter nodded repeatedly.

"Of course. If you are interested, I can have him visit your newspaper office tomorrow," York replied with a smile.

Besides, if he remembered correctly, the identity Zhang Long had purchased was that of a reporter for *La Vie Française*. This was perfect. With the two of them working at the newspaper and gathering intelligence, he could simply practice fencing and flirt with noble ladies—after all, they met every week to share information.

For the rest of the meal, Walter reminisced with his old friend Duroy. Duroy’s voice was consistently loud, attempting to capture Laurina’s attention, but her focus was entirely on York; she barely spared him a glance. Even Madame Walter, that exceptionally buxom and beautiful noblewoman, directed more of her gaze toward York than toward Duroy.

How could this be? Duroy had come to Paris with the sole intent of seducing Madame Walter. She was a woman of immense power and influence—the very pillar who allowed Walter to remain the proprietor of *La Vie Française*!

Having transferred his consciousness into the body of the handsome man named "Duroy," he had hoped to leverage their "old comrades-in-arms" connection to make a lasting impression on Madame Walter... yet it was all being ruined by York, an outsider!

"Are you finished with your meal?" the maid beside him asked, noticing Duroy grinding his teeth.

"Yes." Duroy quickly composed his expression, dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief in embarrassment.

The dinner concluded with everyone seemingly satisfied. As the carriage pulled up to the residence, Mr. Walter saw Duroy and York off.

"Please, you must have that insightful friend of yours come to the newspaper office tomorrow before two o'clock. Just tell the receptionist you have an appointment with me." Walter was clearly invested; it was evident that he had been struggling with what to write for the political commentary column.

"I will, Mr. Walter." York nodded, signaled slightly to Duroy, and stepped into the carriage.

"Young people these days." With only Walter and Duroy left on the street, Walter shook his head and sighed, "Just because my daughter fancies him, I have to entertain such a poor boy. God... luckily he isn't a complete idiot, or I would have thrown him out!"

"Don't say that." A thoughtful look appeared in Duroy’s eyes. "At the very least, he is a handsome friend; otherwise, why would your wife and daughter keep casting glances at his chest?"

"Forget it. Women are like that—they always prefer the younger, the handsomer, the more vigorous! But you are right, he is indeed a handsome friend." Walter stomped his foot on the ground as if to prove he was still young and vigorous, though a cough in the evening breeze betrayed his frailty.

"Then, goodbye, old comrade. If the opportunity arises, I shall treat you to a night at the Musard Dance Hall." Walter turned and headed upstairs.

As he climbed, coughing, he was met by his wife carrying a bowl of almond milk. His throat was stinging, and a bowl was exactly what he needed.

"Thank you, you are so thoughtful, my sweet." He took the bowl, gasped, and drained it in one go. His body suddenly stiffened, and his eyes lost their luster.

At this moment, silver light shimmered in Madame Walter’s eyes. She counted the silver strands on her husband’s head and couldn't help but sigh: "Another husband to die! At this rate, when will I ever finish digesting my potion?"

"In Paris, where are there so many 'marriageable husbands'? It’s damnable!"

A vicious expression surfaced on her beautiful face. As she cursed, Mr. Walter subconsciously reached up to claw at his own throat—likely because his mistress had issued the command of "damnable."

She paused for a moment, her expression shifting, before she walked into her daughter’s room. Looking at her equally oblivious daughter, she pressed a full bottle of almond milk into her hands.

"Say it after me."

"Say it after me..." Laurina echoed.

"I will take this almond milk to York, the fencing instructor. I will watch him drink it with my own eyes, and then I will bring him home. The afternoon would be best." Madame Walter issued the instruction to her daughter.

"I will... I won't." Laurina was supposed to follow her mother’s command, but for some reason, a look of struggle crossed her face, and she finally uttered the words, "I won't."

Madame Walter was stunned, a horrifying expression twisting her features: "Is it true love? You little bitch, true love that aids in potion digestion!"

She lunged forward and grabbed her daughter by the throat, her grip tightening. She was truly hateful. Ever since she drank the [Madame Almond Milk] potion, she had been desperate to digest it and ascend to the next rank, but the conditions for digestion were far too harsh!

Her first husband had lived for three years, but his true love for her had lasted less than a month. No matter how hard she played the role of the "Madame," the progress of her potion digestion remained negligible.

Her second husband was even more short-lived; he had survived only a year and three months, helping her digest barely a quarter of the potion while leaving her a legacy of two hundred thousand francs and an estate.

The third was Mr. Walter. They had been married for over five years. To play the perfect wife, she had polished his manuscripts, used the almond milk to control his guests, and helped him rise in the world—yet the stingy Jew loved only money and felt not a shred of true love for her!

She envied her daughter’s true love, for it was the key to digesting the potion and the key to breaking the secrets of the almond milk. If only her daughter had shared even a fraction of that love with her, she would have ascended to the next rank long ago!