Chapter 202 Representative

The moist south wind, mixed with the salty smell of the ocean, brought broken ice floes and precious spring rain to the sea water of Port Morris Harbor. A thin layer of new green was quietly and wantonly spread in every corner of the harbor.

The young apprentice in the dock was grinding nails with a file. He worked intermittently, and from time to time he unconsciously stroked the hem of his coarse linen shirt with a tar-stained hand, staring blankly out the window at a small white flower trembling in the dusk in the cracks between the bricks and stones.

Although his master usually enjoyed whipping people on the back with a ruler, he would show mercy around the festival day, sending young men like him out to run errands in the streets to give them a break from their heavy workload. But these past few days, he hadn't been allowed to leave. Things had changed in Port Morris. Divine punishment had descended, and the lowest slaves had slaughtered all the port officials. Rumor had it that they would find everyone in the port who had used slaves and burn them all to death.

The apprentice didn't want to be burned. There were also slaves in the dockyard, who were fed even worse than the children, yet were tasked with the heaviest and most dangerous work. But now the entire dockyard was shut down. Rumor had it that the shipyard's owner, Master Ruskin, had died, and senior workers like the master were required to attend "meetings" every day to debate the dockyard's ownership and future fate.

"Hey!"

Someone knocked on the windowsill, and the apprentice shuddered. Remembering his master's instructions, he almost turned around and hid behind the whale oil barrel. But when he saw a child about his own age outside the window, he couldn't help but relax a little.

"Who are you looking for?" he asked warily, gripping the file tightly.

"I'm not looking for anyone, I'm asking for directions." The child grinned at him: "You know the city, the city, uh, what's the city..."

"City Hall." A sturdy young man slapped him on the back of the head. The child muttered, shrank his neck, and hid aside.

The man dressed as a sailor leaned forward and looked inside. Seeing the apprentice staring at him in fear, he simply took out two copper coins and stuffed them in. "Kid, do you know how to get to the city hall?"

"Brother, why are you spending so lavishly?" Jack Rabbi complained to his brother after leaving the dock. "I spent a lot of money all the way from the Kasa Strait to Port Morris. Why should I give him copper coins just to ask for directions?"

"Kid, this is called saving when you should save and spending when you should spend." Eske Rabbi clicked his tongue. "I've been to Port Morris. Local kids will come and serve as guides for outsiders to earn money. If you pay them enough, they'll be warm and attentive, but if they're stingy, they'll definitely try to rip you off. They might even lead those foreign merchants to a black market that specializes in kidnapping and slavery."

"It's going to be different soon." Jack couldn't help muttering: "Mr. Nova is here, and he said he wants to abolish slavery."

"It's not that simple." Ask rolled his eyes. "He's useless here. A weak university professor who can't even swing a hammer."

"Then why did you leave Skua Wharf and come here?" Jack stared at him suspiciously. "Are you here to look for Sister Marcyline?"

Ask opened his mouth, then finally, in a rage, slapped his brother on the back: "Don't ask questions, little kid, you're such a nuisance!"

…

In the city hall, Greven, who was busy and dizzy, looked up and saw the black-haired young man standing at the door. He was stunned for a moment, then quickly left his desk and walked forward. "Mr. Ghost, you're here!"

Good evening, the other nodded solemnly. Greven paused, then replied with a slight cough, then continued, "Security has been arranged. None of the noble representatives have arrived, and all the invitations we sent out have gone unanswered. The Chamber of Commerce did send someone, but not the president, but a subordinate director. As for the temples, only the Temple of Eros has said it will send a priest to attend."

"I expected that," the black-haired young man said calmly. "This meeting is diametrically opposed to the nobles' own interests. They are the ones being 'liquidated,' so it's normal for them not to come. Don't worry too much."

This could even be called "reversing Tiangang" - you have to know that in any decision-making organization in the Silver Iris Empire, nobles, priests and even big businessmen are the decisive members. It is "fair" to be merciful and give one or two seats to commoners. How can an organization formed by slaves, with commoners and slaves as the majority of its members, invite nobles in return?

Feeling deeply humiliated, the nobles naturally disdained to deal with this new, immature, and chaotic organization. In their view, these slaves were nothing more than a mob of opportunists seeking to take advantage of the situation. As soon as the surrounding cities dispatched troops, they would be immediately thrown back into their cages. Why lower their status to deal with them?

Greven smiled, sensing the bloody implication. Knowing that the other party couldn't see him, he habitually picked up the document and prepared to continue dictating to his colleague, but someone took the paper from his hand.

The brown-haired young man was stunned. He slightly widened his eyes and asked in surprise, "Your eyes—are they healed?"

The other person's entire attention was on the documents. Upon hearing this, he took the time to glance at him coldly and quickly, and responded lightly. This familiar coldness and sharpness made Greven breathe a sigh of relief, and he couldn't help but feel genuinely happy for him.

"Things aren't going smoothly," the brown-haired young man said with a wry smile, noticing the man's intense gaze. "For example, the shipyard workers near the slums are willing to take over the operation of the entire shipyard, but the Chamber of Commerce disagrees. It's said they have a partnership with the Ruskin family, and according to the agreement, the shipyard should now be considered the Chamber of Commerce's property, giving them the right to take full control."

"I understand." The black-haired young man nodded slightly. He always had a calming power. "We will have the answer after the first meeting."

As soon as he finished speaking, someone pushed open the door: "Greven, Mr. Ghost—the representatives from the sea have arrived!"

The City Hall was ablaze with lights at night. In just a few days, the greasy smoke from the kerosene lamps had blackened the once pristine white marble. The shadows of the guests from afar passed one after another across the walls, dim, vast, and hazy, like wandering spirits in a dream.

In the enclosed reception room, Nova silently gazed at the dusty faces, some familiar, some unfamiliar. These were the specially invited delegates to the first Port Morris Representatives' Conference. They came from all corners of the country, from all walks of life. But without exception, they were all proletarians.

Eske Rabbi, a seafarer representative from the Seamen's Union at Skua Wharf in Casa Strait, had a familiar face with him, Jack Rabbi, the younger brother of his student Madel Rabbi.

The Black County Coal Union representative, a bespectacled man who called himself "Four Eyes," had the typical working-class look and inherited the calmness and stiff beard of the previous chairman, Guy Mavro.

Ivan Adrian, a student representative from the Baita University Trial Association, looked much more mature. At least when he saw the familiar face of the teacher, he did not jump up and down in joy, but instead kept smiling foolishly at him.

There were also some unexpected strangers, such as a representative from the Batalha Highlands Textile Association, a rare woman who was introduced and sponsored by Esq Rabbi. She was tall, elegant, and beautiful, wearing a simple, well-fitting dress.

Next to the lady is the chairman of the "Ear of Wheat" Association of the Batalha Highlands, an old man with dark skin and gray hair. His drooping skin is covered with brown age spots, but his eyes are sparkling.

Greven approached, greeting each one and introducing them. To ensure the safety of these representatives and to alleviate their concerns, this invitation was not open to the Hong Kong public, but was held internally. Of course, a large part of this was due to Mr. Ghost's connections. Greven didn't believe that a shaky organization formed by a group of slaves would attract so many like-minded allies in the short term.

As expected, when Mr. Ghost was introduced, many representatives' eyes lit up. He hesitated for a moment whether to continue addressing him by the code name "Ghost", but then he saw the gentleman take the initiative to step forward and politely take off his gloves before extending his hand.

"Nova, editor-in-chief of the Limin Daily and former professor of theology from Baita University." The gentleman even told a rather calm joke: "He's probably a fugitive on death row in the Vatican now."

The people of Port Morris, aside from those in the know, gasped. Some had vague suspicions from the recent publication of the Limin Daily, but when their suspicions were confirmed, they still felt a sense of unreality.

—The legendary Mr. Nova! The living Mr. Nova! He had even personally guided them to victory in the slave rebellion. Some who had resented him due to his harsh, harsh, and merciless style were now in a daze.

"I'm Julie Watson, from the Twelve Spinning Wheels of the Batalha Heights." The only woman smiled slightly and shook his hand in a friendly manner. "I've heard of you a long time ago, Mr. Nova. Your newly improved spinning machines have saved us textile workers a lot of time. If you're willing, we'd like to ask you some questions about these spinning machines."

"Of course, ma'am, it's my pleasure." The black-haired young man leaned towards her gracefully.

He turned to look at the old man beside him, who had already extended his hand. "Ben Raj, the president of the Wheat Ear Association, is here to increase grain prices and reduce taxes."

He looked at the dark-haired young man in front of him kindly and said, "Young man, you said that farmers who are squeezed by taxes and are heavily in debt will one day be forced to lose their freedom and become slaves. So those of us who have nothing must unite. I agree with this, so I came here with Julie."