Chapter 277 I never dreamed I'd see him again...
"Of course there are, but we dare not interfere."
"Why?"
"Because the mistresses are too fierce, they are afraid of getting into trouble."
I laughed. "Luckily I'm not in the East, otherwise I would have been surrounded and beaten by your mistresses too."
Bernard laughed, “Then they wouldn’t dare.”
"Why wouldn't I dare? The Earl's mistresses are all so fierce, aren't the King's mistresses even more ruthless? They all walk around with their heads held high."
“I only have one mistress who can walk sideways.” He smiled at me, clearly referring to me.
I pretended not to know and said, "Oh, really? I hope I can meet her someday and see what she looks like."
He laughed, “You can see it every day, just by looking in the mirror.”
“I’m not a mistress,” I said to him with a smile, “just someone to sleep with occasionally.”
Upon hearing "sleep," he couldn't help but take off his outer robe and then his pants very quickly. I was stunned. He hugged me tightly and said, "You're right, we're sleeping."
He pinned me down on the soft, thick carpet, and I couldn't move.
"Wait!" I stopped his lips from falling on mine. "Aren't there too few of us?"
"Oh, how so?" He asked impatiently, his mouth covered.
"The two times I saw you before, when you fell from the sky, you were in bed with a group of women. Now it's just the two of us, won't it be too boring?"
He laughed and gently but forcefully pulled my hands away, then pressed his entire body against mine...
A few days later, my second issue of the newspaper was published. This time, the content was richer. In addition to the usual kingdom news, such as the natural disasters in the northern and southern territories, the damage to crops caused by six months of drought, the booming foreign trade in the western territories thanks to the prince's wedding, and the fact that the Grand Chancellor of the northern territories, Manberia, was too busy with internal strife to attend the western territories trade fair, I also added a lot of noble gossip, making it more interesting.
"Judging from the feedback received from various places, the newspaper has been well received," the printing manager said to me respectfully.
Seeing that the printing manager had lost a lot of weight, and realizing that I had also lost weight, I considered whether I should hire some people, but that would increase expenses.
As we sat at the dinner table that evening, trying to figure out how to start the conversation, Mia excitedly blurted out, "Grandma, did the Earl's mistresses win?"
“We’ll definitely win if we outnumber them,” I said, glancing at Bernard.
Bernard smiled faintly.
Aurora started talking about building the straight road, implying that she needed money. Bernard generously offered to take on part of the project. Hearing this, I suddenly felt awkward about bringing up money again. Asking him for more money would be like taking advantage of him.
Yesterday I gave Nathan a red envelope containing three thousand gold coins as a wedding gift. I originally wanted to give five thousand gold coins, but the head maid advised me that when high-ranking nobles get married, guests usually only give two or three thousand gold coins in red envelopes. For the wedding of an ordinary nobleman's illegitimate son, a thousand gold coins would be more than enough.
But what I think of is Nathan's help to me. Without his help, I would not have been able to collect so many good stories, let alone find so many channels.
Finally, three thousand gold coins were sent. Whether they accepted it or not, it was sent anyway. The money came from Aurora's account, and at least half of Aurora's income came from Bernard.
Forget it, I won't ask Bernard for money. I'll earn it myself. It'll be tough, I'll do it all myself. Once everything's on track and I have advertising, the money will come naturally.
And so I started working hard again. I really worked hard, doing everything by myself. I wrote the articles all by myself, laid out the layout all by myself, coordinated the distribution all by myself, and finally had to check the sample copies, proofread, and approve them. I was incredibly busy. Every day I was busy from the moment I opened my eyes, and I was still busy in my dreams at night. I was never idle for a moment.
I'm extremely tired, so tired that I don't even want to talk to anyone. But the newspaper operation is definitely on track; the response has been good for two consecutive months, and this month we started accepting subscriptions for the paid edition.
“We’ve received five hundred orders so far,” the printing manager said happily. “That’s pretty good.”
Yes, only a little over a thousand copies were printed in total, and five hundred were pre-ordered, which is a really good result. The other five hundred or so copies will be sold individually.
Aurora and her eldest son discussed publishing two issues of an agricultural product investment advertisement, which had a decent effect. Several wealthy businessmen were in contact with them, so it seemed promising.
I will be placing a business advertisement in the next issue of the newspaper and will officially start charging for advertising. I hope I can make money.
Tomorrow is another new issue release. I was busy all night and collapsed in the study in the early morning. When the head maid brought me sweet soup, she found me lying on the sofa and panicked so much that she dropped the tray on the floor.
When I woke up, Bernard frowned at me. "Couldn't you have delegated some tasks to someone else?"
I turned my head away. "There's no suitable person."
He was silent for a moment, then said, "Why didn't you tell me you needed money?"
“I don’t need the money,” I said.
He laughed, stroking my long hair. "Still being stubborn. Your daughter is so assertive when she asks me for money. Can't you learn from her?"
“I’m not that thick-skinned.” I couldn’t help but look at him again.
“Then learn to make it thicker,” he said, “otherwise you’ll suffer.”
“I’m willing, it’s none of your business,” I said.
He suddenly kissed my lips, a forceful kiss that made it hard for me to breathe. I managed to push him away and catch my breath.
"I just wanted to test if your lips were really that hard," he laughed.
I rolled my eyes and ignored him.
He looked at me with a smile, "It's not that hard."
An hour later, a silver note worth fifty thousand gold coins was delivered to me. At the same time, there was also a delicate little box containing a golden key.
“What is this?” I asked Bernard.
"I told you I would give you the key to my private treasury."
I fiddled with the heavy key. "No wonder everyone's vying to be a king's mistress; there are such great benefits."
“Being a king’s mistress is not something you can just do on a whim, especially being the chief mistress.”
"You mean, I'm now your chief mistress?"
Doesn't everyone think that way?
I sighed. He could never get a divorce. I could only be his mistress, albeit a high-ranking one, but that was different from my original intention for love.
But how could he possibly get a divorce? His queen had stood by him through thick and thin, through more than a decade of arduous struggle for the throne, sacrificing all her youth and resources. How could she easily step down? His queen had also been extremely wealthy; he owed her wealth to his consolidation of power in the capital and his eventual ascension to the throne.
“I’ve said before that you could be my second wife, and I’ve proposed to you,” he suddenly grabbed my hand. “Do you agree now?”
We'll see.
Once I agree, I'll have to go back to the East with him, abandoning everything here. Perhaps I can control the business remotely, but it's still worse than being in the capital. As time goes on, the newspaper business might be completely taken over by Aurora. But can Aurora manage it well? I fear it will all end up being lost.
Two weeks later, I officially launched the recruitment process. There were no age, gender, or nationality restrictions; applicants first needed to pass a written test and an interview. I carefully designed the test and interview questions, and those who passed would participate in a group presentation I personally chaired, where their suitability would be determined based on their performance.
A month has passed in the blink of an eye, and the initial selection of candidates has been finalized. There are twelve candidates in total, who were selected from more than one hundred people based on their scores from highest to lowest.
On a late autumn morning, I wrapped myself in a thick wool shawl and wore an ivory-white long dress adorned with sapphires. Surrounded by several maids, I entered a side hall on the first floor of the palace.
I immediately spotted a familiar, handsome face and paused in my tracks.
I never dreamed I would see him again.
Our worlds are too far apart, and it's almost impossible for us to meet again, but now he's standing right in front of me.
Thirty candidates sat around a large round table in the side hall, with people sitting in front and behind them. When they saw me, they all stood up and bowed.
He smiled at me; it was a beautiful smile.
I suppressed my pounding heart and sat down as if nothing was wrong.
My first question was: "When you encounter conflicting information from sources, how do you verify it?"
Each candidate took turns answering. When it was his turn, he said, "Multiple cross-verifications, certification from multiple authoritative figures, and priority given to authoritative sources."
I then asked, "What should I do if I encounter rejection or difficulties while searching for information?"
He replied, "Adjust the way you ask questions, build trust before communicating, or communicate indirectly through a third or fourth person."
I then asked, "How do we balance the authenticity and timeliness of information?"
He replied, "We prioritize accuracy and authenticity, repeatedly verifying information from multiple sources. We can also add details later to strive for fair and accurate reporting."
I asked him a few more questions, and he answered each one concisely and accurately, clearly better than the others. The printing manager nodded several times.
After the on-site presentation, I returned to my study and reviewed the results of the written and oral exams. His scores were neither high nor low, ranking in the middle. I had a feeling that he deliberately didn't score very high to avoid attracting attention and thus make it to the final round.
Otherwise, given his dominant performance in the finals, it's impossible that he only got an average grade in the earlier exams.
He was afraid that his name would be too conspicuous and he would be rejected.
I didn't really notice him. I only glanced at the list of candidates for the written test and the list of candidates for the interview. When the list of candidates for the defense came into my hands, I just glanced at it casually. I didn't look at the names of the thirty people in detail.
Half an hour later, the printing manager placed the defense score in front of me. This was the result of the joint scoring by me, the printing manager, and the distribution manager. Without any controversy, Nathan ranked first.
I asked Bernard in the middle of the night, "Would you mind if Nathan worked for me?"
Bernard had just taken off his robe, opened the bed curtains, and lay down beside me. He sighed, “I was always worried you would secretly hire him, afraid I would find out.”
It turns out he already knew.
"I must have been obsessed," I sighed. "It turns out I'm eighteen years older than him." Strictly speaking, you could even say nineteen.
I only found out he's only seventeen when I looked at his resume today. I asked him his age a long time ago, but he was vague and unclear, saying he was neither too young nor too old. I guessed he was at most in his early twenties, but he wouldn't give me a straight answer, only saying he was a little younger than me.
I only found out today that he is seventeen years old.
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Author's Note: I'm thinking of changing the book's title to "Playing Around in Another World," which might better suit the theme. What do you all think? There haven't been enough comments lately, could you please leave more?
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