Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

Leon paused in his tracks, turned, grasped his wife's hand, and gently stroked the swollen redness, being careful to avoid the two festering spots.

"Look at your hands; you need rest, not more work."

She had taken up making wicker baskets during the day, often piercing her fingers with the splinters, and by night, she would transform into a laundry worker, submerging her injured hands in icy water, causing the wounds to swell and fester repeatedly.

Leon knew that the little finger and ring finger on her left hand had already lost sensation. Father Hugo from the parish had said it would be best to amputate them, or else eventually the entire arm might decay.

But they had no money for the surgery.

Not to mention the cost of the operation, even if a doctor was willing to amputate for free, she dared not accept it. Post-surgery, she wouldn't be able to do anything for at least a month; with just Leon's meager earnings, their children would likely starve to death.

"No! I'd rather let them rot away!"

Mrs. Leono suddenly pulled her hand back forcefully and exclaimed, "One day, at most two days, perhaps we can reclaim our land!

"You won't have to push that damned soil cart anymore and stay away from those toxic things!

"I heard from Mrs. Frank that extended contact with that stuff could blind you; a distant relative of hers suffered that fate."

"Please, at most we'll eat Mr. Marsans's bread for a while. But if it works out, we could return to paradise!"

Marsans was the most unscrupulous baker in Antoine Town. His bread contained at least half sawdust and sometimes even mud. But it did have one advantage: four pounds of his bread were cheaper by one sou than others.

Paradise?

Leon was suddenly stunned.

He had once been a farmer, knowing no craft. After losing their land to Boka, he could only move to Paris and take up the cheapest and most undesirable jobs.

Like now, he worked for a dye factory. Specifically, he pushed carts of soil containing some "alkaline substance" from several miles away back to the factory, then dumped it into a large pool to mix with poisonous liquids.

The soil was said to reduce the toxicity in the water. Apart from that, everything else was bearable. Every ten days, he had to go down to the bottom of the pool to stir the soil with a shovel. He would be very close to the toxic liquid, and after a day's work, he would be dizzy, feeling a burning sensation throughout his lungs...

Previously, every morning he would till the soil and water the plants in his own fields, returning at twilight. Although he would be sore from fatigue and have little food left after paying the taxes, there was always something for the family to eat, truly like paradise.

He found he had almost forgotten that life.

Every day, crushed nearly to breaking by over 14 hours of heavy labor, his remaining energy all focused on that small piece of bread, how could he think of anything else?

His wife continued to speak: "Dom is ten years old and can't read yet. Father Hugo said Marsans can also start to attend the church's literacy classes, but they now have to sweep chimneys every day.

"If they don't learn to read, they'll never find jobs that pay a bit more... Discover hidden stories at My Virtual Library Empire

"Oh, and Mr. Pellier from the laundry mentioned that the recent order to review the tax records was issued by the Crown Prince, so perhaps those bureaucrats wouldn't dare..."

A glint of light suddenly flashed through Leon's cloudy eyes.

He vividly remembered that when he first moved to Paris, gangs were rampant, and thieves were more numerous than summer mosquitoes; he had to group with over ten coworkers just to feel safe walking home.

Then the Crown Prince instigated a significant police reform. He watched in person as the imposing police, yelling "In the name of the Crown Prince," used guns to herd gang members into dead ends and then all bound and taken away.

Since then, their living environment had become much safer. Situations like going out to fetch water at 10 PM, which was unthinkable a few years ago.

And that almost miraculous Divine Medicine—the Prince's Blessing—was surprisingly affordable at just a few sous. Meanwhile, the town doctors charged at least a franc for other medicines.

Then Leon remembered the impressive sight of the Crown Prince leading the triumphant army through Paris City earlier that year. His Highness shone like a war god bathed in golden light.

Those bureaucrats surely wouldn't dare ignore the war god's commands.

Thinking of this, he made up his mind in an instant and nodded to his wife, "Let's give it a try then."

...

Paris.

Kols Street.

Leon sat wearily on the ground, his stomach continuously rumbling loudly. Waiting in line didn't require physical strength, so he had only brought a half-pound of bread for the day's nourishment.

Just then, a shout came from the front, "Next."

"You're up," someone reminded Leon.

He suddenly jolted awake and stood up, walking towards a row of tables in front of the Tax Bureau.

A young clerk looked up at him and asked, "What is your name, and what matter do you want to appeal?"

"I, I am Paul Gessien Leon. I, I feel that five years ago the Tax Collector Mr. Boka said I owed taxes..."

Leon swallowed nervously and mustered his courage, "and fined me an unfair amount."

The clerk at the Tax Bureau took a few documents from his hand and nodded politely, "Can you explain the details?"

Leon recalled the events organized by the factory manager Mr. Pierre, took a deep breath and said, "That spring was a bit cold. You know, it slowed down the wheat growth.

"Indeed, by May the wheat had just started sprouting. Then Mr. Boka suddenly sent someone to the village, announcing that this year's taxes needed to be paid early, by mid-June.

"Normally, by mid-June, we would have started the harvest. But that year, the wheat wasn't ripe until July.

"The Tax Collector came to my house three times for taxes, and he beat me. But since the wheat hadn't been harvested, I had nothing to give him. So, he claimed I was severely delinquent and fined me twice the tax amount..."

Leon's voice choked up a bit, he continued bravely, "At that time, to increase the spring planting, I had borrowed 30 Leva at a high interest rate from Mr. Boka.

"I calculated that even if I sold all the crops in the field, it wouldn't be enough to pay the taxes after repaying his money..."

He sighed heavily, "The Tax Collector tied me to a tree at the village entrance for two days and nights. My wife was pregnant at the time and the shock caused her to miscarry...

"In desperation, I had to mortgage all the land and livestock to Mr. Boka, and I still owed him 15 Leva, oh, I had paid that off the year before last."

Leon looked at the clerk, "Sir, as you know, the taxes were always paid at the end of July. If the taxes hadn't been suddenly demanded early that year, I wouldn't have been fined, and I would have been able to pay. I asked Mr. Pierre from the factory, and he said Mr. Boka couldn't just change the tax deadline arbitrarily..."

The young clerk frowned and took down everything he said, then asked about some details carefully, finally handing him a notice, "You can go back for now. Once we determine the result, we will immediately contact you."

"Ah, ah," Leon nodded repeatedly, walking towards Antoine Town in the twilight. Behind him, hundreds of people in similar situations were still queued in an extremely long line.

Three days later, a Tax Officer with two assistants came to Leon's house.

...

Tuileries Palace, second floor.

Godemid, with a self-congratulatory expression, told Joseph, "Your Highness, apart from planning to halt the caravan trade, they also intend to disrupt the normal operation of the Port of Marseille.

"I discreetly inquired with Pellier, and it seems that they plan to pay off all the managers and workers at the port to take leave and go home."

Joseph's face immediately turned cold.

These fools really don't know what's good for them.