She Is Not a Witch

“Bear with it a little, my dear Eileen. After all, this isn’t our home,” the father said with a hint of helplessness, trying to comfort her.

“I don’t care. So many people crammed together is unbearable.”

“Alright, alright. Daddy will go talk to the manager.”

The father, his temples slightly graying, looked at his daughter with doting eyes and asked his butler to inquire with the maid about the manager’s whereabouts.

Soon, a noblewoman in a purple dress descended the stairs. She wore a black lace veil and black silk gloves.

“It’s been a long time, Angus. How have you become so crude?” The noblewoman seemed to be an old acquaintance of the wealthy merchant.

“What a surprise! It’s been a while, Lady Philia. I had no idea this shop was yours. My apologies.”

“Eileen, come say hello. This is Lady Philia, the once-renowned Blue Songstress of the continent. You’ve always admired her, haven’t you? Now you get to meet her in person.”

“Hello, Lady Philia.” The blue-dressed girl lowered her head nervously, curtsying awkwardly, all her previous arrogance gone.

She never imagined she would meet her idol here today.

The Blue Songstress was a title famous across the continent, inherited only by the most exceptional songstresses. They were honored guests of royal families and great nobles in various countries, wielding immense influence in both common and upper-class circles. Every concert would be sold out, with tickets hard to come by. It was said that at its peak, tickets were scalped for up to 10 gold coins each, and those were just standing tickets.

Although Lady Philia had retired for many years, she still held great reputation and influence in the industry.

The only title on the continent that could rival the Blue Songstress was the Crimson Songstress. These two titles represented the highest honor in singing and performing arts in the Ivar world.

Since Lady Philia’s retirement, a new generation of Blue Songstress had yet to emerge. No new songstress had gained unanimous recognition to inherit the title.

“Lady Philia, may I learn singing from you?” The blue-dressed girl looked at the legendary figure before her with longing.

“I’m sorry, but I no longer take students. If you’re interested in singing, there are many excellent songstresses in Hoplanor. You could learn from them.”

The blue-dressed girl looked dejected and turned her eyes to her father.

Angus stroked his daughter’s head and looked at Lady Philia.

“Can you make an exception, Philia? We’ve known each other for a long time.”

“You know my principles, Angus,” the noblewoman shook her head.

After chatting for a while longer, the wealthy merchant led his daughter to Loranhil’s table.

The other tables were mostly full, either occupied by men or couples. Only Loranhil’s table had a single occupant, appearing rather quiet.

“Hello, may we share your table?” the merchant asked politely.

“Certainly,” Loranhil replied softly, her eyes hidden in the shadow of her hood, revealing only an exquisite chin and silver hair.

Recalling her idol’s rejection, the blue-dressed girl Eileen was in low spirits, defiantly eating large spoonfuls of ice cream.

Her father stroked her long hair lovingly, comforting his daughter.

The butler from earlier didn’t enter, instead waiting by the carriage outside.

Soon after, Eileen got a stomachache from eating too much ice cream and went to the restroom, leaving only Loranhil and the middle-aged merchant.

Loranhil savored her ice cream in small bites. The cool sensation melted in her mouth, spreading a rich, sweet milky flavor throughout her palate.

“I wonder where they get the milk from,” the girl mused quietly, her curiosity piqued.

“It’s probably from the Gufia Grasslands, though this is likely made from powdered milk. Fresh milk is too difficult to transport,” Angus explained casually, overhearing the girl’s question.

“Isn’t the Gufia Grassland where the beast-folk live?”

“Yes, they herd cattle on the grasslands. There’s a demand for fur, milk, and meat. By trading these goods, if you can import from there and transport them to Vegar, you can make a tidy profit.” Angus displayed his merchant nature, speaking offhandedly. This wasn’t exactly a secret, but it was risky, so not many people engaged in this kind of business.

From the northern Gufia Grasslands to southern Vegar, one had to pass through the Western Wind Kingdom, but currently, the Western Wind Kingdom was unstable, with various uprisings and independence movements occurring frequently.

Angus explained that this trade route had not been easy to navigate in recent years.

Uprisings? The girl couldn’t help but think of that young man, Pullman. No, I must be overthinking, she dismissed the thought.

“Are you a merchant from Vegar? You seem very familiar with these matters,” the girl’s melodious voice came from under the hood.

“Yes, I was originally from the Western Wind Kingdom. In my early years, I went to work in southern Vegar to make a living. I’ve managed to earn some money over the years.”

Loranhil’s voice was exceptionally light and pleasing. Although Angus couldn’t see her face clearly, he was happy to answer some simple questions.

As they continued to chat, Angus initially thought the girl before him was probably just a young lady from a noble family who had sneaked out to travel, and didn’t pay much attention.

However, as they talked, he discovered that although Loranhil was unfamiliar with market conditions, her ideas about business marketing were unheard of. Various novel concepts surprised even this well-experienced merchant.

Concepts like bundled sales, buy-one-get-one-free, lucky draws, three-tier agency sales, viral advertising, hunger marketing, and more—even just hearing about them, one could sense their immense appeal. Moreover, the girl’s insights into customer psychology during purchases were remarkably accurate, making Angus wonder if he had truly mastered his trade after all these years.

“If you told me you were a princess who had snuck out of the Verdant Empire, I’d believe you.”

Angus scrutinized the girl opposite him. Her black robe appeared to be made of some high-grade material, with tiny water droplets still sliding off its edges. Her delicate face was hidden in the shadow of the hood, impossible to see clearly even sitting this close—likely a hood with supernatural effects blurring vision.

She wore gray silk gloves, but the glimpse of fair skin between her sleeve and glove indicated exceptionally well-cared-for skin, impossible for an ordinary family.

Her accent was so standard that it was impossible to tell where she was from, something usually only children of great noble families would be so strictly trained in.

“I’m just an ordinary person,” Loranhil shook her head, denying Angus’s speculation.