Chapter 299

Purple mist swirls around the harbor, and she feels as if she is walking on clouds.

She changed her name again; this time she is called Jasmine. Jasmine's eyes are not blind, so she does not need to rely on Namelos's eyes to see.

But no matter what name she changes to, Namelos always recognizes her.

"You know my name, right?" she said, scooping up Namelos into her arms.

"Meow..." it replied softly.

"No, now is not the time to say names." Jasmine laughed at the cat, then scratched its head, "But I can tell you my age."

"Meow..."

"I have reached the age at which I can win a garland for myself; do you know how old that is?" She set the cat down, "I am like you, no longer a little girl, though I have not become a mother, but someone thinks," she crouched down, stroking Namelos's head, "so I am going to help."

Having said that, she stood up and went along the narrow alleys of Braavos.

As long as she is a Stark, as long as she dreams of being a wolf, the House of Black and White will never teach her the secret of changing faces.

But it doesn't matter; even without changing faces, I can still become an excellent faceless person. Diana would not let anyone see that she is not the role she is performing.

Her steps were light, making almost no sound on the stone-paved road. In the distance, the cries of seafood vendors drifted through the thick fog and reached her ears.

Long ago, she too used to shout like them.

"Hey, miss, buy one? Freshly caught oysters!" the peddler laughed, saying to her.

These are not freshly caught oysters; all the oysters are distributed from the harbor in the early morning. He did not recognize this former "little sister," so she smiled and waved her hand at him.

She is now a young maid at the theater, and he must play a role according to the demand of Izbalo, the head of the theater troupe.

She does not want to play these boring roles.

She wants to kill the fugitive iron treasurer for the House of Black and White to prove to them that she is already a qualified faceless person, even if she lacks a suitable face. But they disagree, insisting that she is not yet worthy to act under their name.

She will never be worthy, as long as they are unwilling.

The fugitive iron treasurer is on Riverheart Island in the old town, now a viscount of Hightower; she recalls merchants mentioning this.

People of Braavos flee to Westeros, people of Westeros flee to Lys, and people of Lys flee back to Braavos; you see, this is also how the world turns.

Nowadays, more and more merchants, captains, and nobles fleeing here have arrived, while the Braavosi ruined by war are also increasing in number; many are forced to take up spears and join battles that do not originally belong to them.

The whole world is at war; can Braavos avoid it?

Perhaps; anyone who sees Braavos's harbor, the natural stone seawalls along its coast, and the huge Titan statue would realize that this is not a city that can be taken by assault, especially since its shipyard can produce a purple warship every day.

Anyone who wishes to wage war against this city should think carefully before doing so.

This is Old Bissos, a retired shipworker who told her.

"Braavos's fleet is the strongest." He said, "From west to east, no city or nation has a number of ships exceeding half of Braavos's fleet, and even the total number of ships in the whole world would not surpass Braavos's."

She did not know. She had never been to Braavos's shipyard. Only true Braavosi may enter and leave there. The citizens working at the shipyard occupy almost all the houses and streets on the eastern shore adjacent to Shipyard Island.

The cat once sold oysters there, only once.

The people there are not interested in seafood; they prefer beer and sweet wine, like to sit on rooftops, blowing a mouth organ in the thin mist. Sometimes the cat feels they can use the organ's sound to raise magic, letting the wind help them join the ship planks together; otherwise, how could they build such a huge warship in a single day?

The cat does not like that place.

There it connects to the upstream river; from the vast forests on both sides of the upstream river, loggers will cut down thick trunks, throw them into the river, mark them with numbers, then let the timber float downstream to Braavos, where the timber workers stationed on the bank hook them with hooks to the lumber yard for planing and air-drying.

She can smell the fresh scent of forest and trees from there, which always distracts her.

She does not like being distracted.

She passed through the stone narrow alley, went past the shop selling dried fish, and heard several boys shouting as they chased and fought each other.

This is all too common; she pretended not to notice, passing through the thick stone pillars under the canal, across the arched bridge—Queen Namelia Bridge, which she likes the name of—and arrived at Pigment Street.

Since entering the theater, she often comes here to buy the pigments the actors need, and to specially select certain secret products specified for some actresses.

She is pleased, easily gaining these women's trust. Their lovers in the theater will not wonder what the actresses have her bring. Izbalo, Pubuno, and "Button" will never figure it out.

Pigment Street is livelier than it was before the war.

Before the war. She didn't even know which war to refer to.

Countless slaveholders from all over the world began to pour into the city; although she heard many captains sighing and many ordinary citizens complaining about the rising price of bread and butter, the innkeepers and brothel owners were delighted.

The slaveholders brought their gold coins from other city-states into this city, making ordinary commodity trade here even more prosperous.

Pigment Street is the same. At this moment, the street is walked by wealthy merchants and officials of various skin colors and clothing—they even look like various pigments—but they seem not yet to have grasped Braavos's customs, still retaining the dress habits of their former city-states.

Braavos's assassins will not like it; after they receive a lesson or two, perhaps they will understand.

Jasmine easily made her way through the crowded crowd, then turned to look at the shouting and fighting not far away. Another quarrel. The brawl arrived together with the people coming.

The shop she wanted to go to was right here. She gave a shy smile to the two bearded guards at the door, quickly entered the shop, greeted a few young women, and then hurried to the innermost part of the shop.

"Fighting while shouting in a foreign language," the innkeeper Fiona gazed at Jasmine, "to demand this much and still be able to fight—I can't do it. Making me speak a foreign language would be difficult for me. I really don't know how hard it must be for you, little Jasmine, to memorize so many lines."

"My lines are not many." My dear Florian—using three languages—this is over. Apprentices are not qualified to speak many lines. "Diana is the queen." She leaned on the shopkeeper's counter, "She is a Zakarin; she now knows four languages, but the boss requires her to learn a fifth."

"Five kinds?" She covered her mouth. She always looks surprised. "Having me strike five poses would be about the same." She boredly raised her head to count her fingers, "Does Diana have a performance in three days?"

Fiona guessed that her slightly plump face still retained the prettiness of her youth.

She kept saying how beautiful she was when young, how Mr. Holige felt his heart flutter when he first saw her, how much he still loves her now, and how many shops he has entrusted her to manage.

She repeatedly told her these things.

This is truly heartbreaking.

Jasmine had seen Mr. Holige. But every time she saw him, she saw him embracing different women, sometimes several. Once she saw Mr. Holige shout a price at a courtesan. After seeing him shout the price twice and then give up, she was unsure whether Mr. Holige would seek the courtesan for another night, since he had lost to others that time.

But even then, he did not give up his own pleasure.

"Diana has a performance tonight; if you need it, I can ask Mr. Izbalo to reserve a private seat for you, and if it's already fully booked, he can ensure you get the best available spot." Beside her will be that handsome man with silver hair and gray-green eyes.

Since this handsome man came from the north to Braavos, he has often come to the theater to watch Diana's performances.

According to people's introductions, he has ten longships under his command and once secretly smuggled thousands of barbarians from beyond the Great Wall to the eastern continent. He takes pride in this, having once boasted to Diana, "I saved thousands of poor souls from winter and famine."

Fiona was the one who met that handsome man back then.

"My little jasmine, how can I thank you?" She showed a big smile, her hands touched her face, her moist lips touched her forehead.

She smelled a strong perfume, but it did not disgust her.

After kissing her, she took a package from behind the cabinet, lightly patted it, and then pushed it toward her with a meaningful smile.

"I hope Diana will like it," she said, biting the corner of her mouth, then she again took out a slightly smaller box from behind the cabinet, "This is for you, little Moli; how could I forget your help?"

I didn't help at all.

"He is very dangerous," Moli could smell it.

Yes, dangerous; if he weren't dangerous, how could he overcome difficulties and save several thousand barbarians from the icy snows? Without him, those people could only choose to starve or freeze to death in the deep winter!

"But..." Moli bit her lip, "but he won't be a good husband."

She laughed. "Fool," her sweet smile, the way she licked her lips reminded her of some girl's sister, "I already have a husband, and I am not a queen, so I have no right to replace him."

As for what came after, Moli did not want to understand, but Fiona was not going to let her go.

"Have you seen his face? How handsome his face is, and his figure…… You have seen his bearing, surely you know how elegant he is……" She suddenly took Moli's hand, showing an expression of regretful pain, "Mr. Holger cannot give me a child, Moli," her eyes looked as if pleading, "but I want to try again…… to try once with a young, witty, tall Silver Prince Silver King. If, if I could become a queen like Diana's theatrical performance, I would certainly choose someone like Lord Rain as king."

Moli hesitated. This is not something someone her age could understand.

"I have promised, so I will definitely help you. But afterward, you must do it yourself."

"Of course, such a matter naturally requires me to do it personally." She brought her mouth close to Moli's ear, "Mr. Holger says he is a descendant of the Dragon King; if I could bear him a silver-haired prince, he would surely be very pleased." She looked affectionately at Moli, "Everyone would be very pleased, wouldn't they?"

Only I would be pleased.

"Yes, madam," she said.