[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations":3,"chapter-the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-8":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","The Nation of Ten Thousand Nations",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2332976,4562,"Chapter 8: The Plea of a Petty Man","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-8",8,"\u003Cp>One week later.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’m hungry,” Baldwin said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’ll check the kitchen,” Cesar said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In people’s imaginations, the king’s son and his attendant must be able to obtain anything they desired; perhaps you could say that Amalric I, filled with love and pity for his only son—who might depart this life even sooner than himself and endure countless humiliations and sufferings before then—was willing to fulfill every one of his demands.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But in this era, the scarcity of goods was as bare as a blank sheet with a few random scribbles; even in the Holy Cross Castle’s kitchen, only vegetables, smoked meat, dried cod, and salted herring were available.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Grand banquets, the kind recorded by monks, required advance preparation—many days of effort—to gather sufficient livestock, grain, and game birds and beasts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The castle steward and master cook had to buy spices, honey, and salted sugar from merchants, bake bread, cure meats and preserves, retrieve silver and porcelain tableware and linen tablecloths from storage, and spend considerable time polishing, washing, and drying them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On ordinary days, the king and nobles ate two or three meals a day (three during war), simple even by modest standards—often not even fresh; a bowl of barley porridge with dried meat or a day-old loaf dipped in wine sufficed, let alone commoners, who ate coarse-ground barley or even raw grains boiled into gruel, and adding dried peas or seasonal vegetables was considered a luxury.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>People still avoided and stepped aside for Cesar, but compared to Wit, the prince’s new attendant was far more likable—he never spat deliberately at others, never lingered near water sources or stoves, and always kept four or five steps away when speaking; most convincing of all, his appearance remained perfectly unblemished.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“A pious good child,” they said, firmly believing Cesar had escaped illness due to his deep piety—especially the cook and the maids.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What vegetables do we have today?” the black-haired young attendant asked politely.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Onions, cabbage, turnips, pumpkins, and kale,” replied a maid timidly; vegetables were never precious, merely piled haphazardly on the kitchen floor—this day’s portion. Cesar took a leather sack and filled it with two onions, one cabbage, and some dried peas.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Under the fruit master’s guidance, he took two apples, surely the sweetest and juiciest; the butcher handed him a slab of roasted beef, as long as an arm; fresh milk from this morning had been boiled and poured into a round, swollen clay jar.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Would you like some beer?” the brewmaster panted as he rushed over. “Beer just arrived from the monastery!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cesar hesitated—he disliked and disapproved of alcohol, regardless of strength, for it harmed the body; yet in Arasal, and many other places, lacking stable clean water, people had grown accustomed to using wine as a substitute, and unrestrained drinking was seen as a symbol of manhood. As heir to Arasal and his attendant, neither he nor Baldwin could avoid this.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The beer had been brought by several monks from the Monastery of Saint John the Baptist; they remembered Cesar, greeted him cheerfully, shook his hand, and wished him God’s blessing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing those who had once helped him, knowing they were well, was surely pleasant—but Cesar’s good mood was soon shattered by an unexpected visitor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Stop!” Cesar said with revulsion. “Or I’ll call the guards!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The man who suddenly leapt from the shadows was Wit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the Left Tower, Wit had not looked like this—he wore a fine linen tunic, a goat-skin cloak, and deer-hide boots, his face ruddy, his body stout; any stranger seeing him would have called out, “Master!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now, his fat had been sucked out as if by a devil’s straw; his eyes bulged grotesquely; he wore only a coarse linen robe reaching his knees, barefoot, reeking of odor—not as if stained, but as if oozing from deep within.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cesar needed only one glance to know Wit had slipped into the castle by clinging to the cart during the beer delivery.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As Cesar observed Wit, Wit studied Cesar. When Cesar first arrived at the Left Tower, neither had taken notice of this little slave—what did it matter if he was the prince’s attendant? The prince was merely a leper! He ought to have been banished to the valley beyond the city, left to perish with those abandoned by God…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But because he had a king for a father, these pious good souls were forced to serve him—yet they never wanted the castle steward to ask them how they’d been blinded by generous rewards, how ecstatic they’d been upon securing this position.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Who knew that with Cesar’s presence, the prince—who had always remained silent no matter how brazenly they acted—suddenly expelled them from the Left Tower, refusing to hear any of their pleas? They were neither knights nor attendants, not even blacksmiths or carpenters; as ordinary servants, they had no right to reside permanently in the castle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But who, once inside the castle, would willingly leave? Even handling manure here was easier than quarrying stone, tilling soil, or herding outside—and during war, the castle was the safest place.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They, too, had been driven by desperation, their minds bewitched by the devil into doing such things!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His hands clawed uselessly above his head, as if reaching for a hat—but his hat had long vanished. He knelt, hands pressed to his chest, head raised, greedy eyes sweeping over Cesar—he wore the same deep-blue silk tunic with gold and silver lace at cuffs and collar, white woolen hose, brown long boots, a wide leather belt (commoners were permitted only cloth belts), a dagger at his waist, and a silver cross hanging from his chest.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If only he hadn’t… if only he’d known, this clothing and the honor it represented should have been his!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Please,” Wit croaked, “please, Attendant Lord, don’t call the guards, don’t call them—have mercy, I’ve come to beg forgiveness, to repent!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When he learned he’d been “chosen,” Wit had rejoiced for a time, grown arrogant—he believed he’d escaped hell, returned to the world, even ascended to heaven. But that cruel hand of fate swiftly slapped him: he had indeed been pardoned, made a monk, yet upon arriving at the monastery, he quickly realized his leverage was far less than he’d imagined.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had never been fit to be a knight or even a proper servant. Now chosen, he could only treat trivial ailments and minor wounds—no exaggeration: skin rashes, scrapes, chills or fevers could be cured with a spit or a sip of warm wine; if that failed, bloodletting sufficed, entirely unnecessary for a monk—praying for divine grace cost a fortune.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Had Wit possessed Cesar’s appearance and character, perhaps wealthy lords or even kings would have kept him at court, a pleasing sight—but he was such a vile sinner…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His life in the monastery was nothing like he’d imagined—he labored like a peasant, slept on the ground, ate meager, wretched meals.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He simply couldn’t endure the suffering and found a way to return.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Compared to before, Wit’s current appearance might evoke pity—but aside from the traps he’d laid to harm Cesar, just his past deeds alone—after Cesar became familiar with the castle servants, he’d heard many of Wit’s misdeeds.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This little weasel’s malice seemed aimed at everyone: “Like a stinking wineskin full of sour wine,” the cook said, brimming with bitter spite, he delighted in tormenting anyone he could, from fellow servants to his own master.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was the first to complain and curse, the first to extort over trivial matters, the one who incited other servants to slack off or whisper maliciously; in a short time, he turned the Left Tower into a nest of scoundrels.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“...I know there’s been a misunderstanding between us,” Wit said. “But I swear by the Holy Sepulchre—at least I, Attendant Lord, sincerely wish to befriend you and serve our good master together.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No need to say that,” Cesar replied. “When your accomplices were hanged, they probably didn’t imagine you—the mastermind—would blame all the crimes on them.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wit was cautious—he merely delivered the news of their impending expulsion to the other servants, then implied Cesar was behind it. He brought wine and pies, summoned courtesans; those simple, vicious fools naturally knew what to do: “What do you want to do?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I want to return to the prince’s side,” Wit said, then quickly added: “I know I made mistakes before—but Attendant Lord, I’ve now been chosen. I’m a monk. If I serve the prince as his personal secretary, like Heraclius, it would benefit the prince, who is still forbidden from participating in any sacred rites.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He feared Cesar wouldn’t understand and rushed on: “You know, lepers are forbidden from participating in sacred rites; thus, when succession is needed, their authority is stripped. But with me, I’ll prove the prince fulfills every duty to God like any other Christian.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As he spoke, he stared at Cesar—his only remaining leverage was Cesar himself; his uncle had stopped speaking to him, the monks treated him like a prisoner under surveillance, and as for powerful figures like Abbot John, the Count of Tripoli, or Amalric I, he had no right to even meet them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Very well,” Cesar said after a moment’s thought. “I’ll mention it to the prince.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>——————————————\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’re back?” Baldwin sat before the hearth, reading a heavy book by firelight. “What did the kitchen have today?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Some decent vegetables,” Cesar said. “Drink some milk first, then I’ll make soup.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Baldwin moved aside from the hearth. They shared the milk from the clay jar. Cesar lifted the two-handled pot, poured in some water, hooked the pot’s handles with the poker, and expertly hung it above the hearth on the iron bar. Flames immediately danced around the pot; the water boiled soon. Cesar held the roasted beef, drew his dagger, and slowly shaved slices into the boiling water, then added cabbage and onions.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Baldwin came over to help. Cesar glanced at him. “You don’t need to wear the veil or gloves inside the room.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But you’re here,” Baldwin said. His eyes reflected the fire—a calm, lake-blue gaze.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“If I were to be infected,” Cesar said, “I’d have shown symptoms long ago. I told you I won’t fall ill.” He rose, removed Baldwin’s veil, then his gloves—both were thin silk, easily ignited by a spark; wearing them near the hearth was dangerously unsafe.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I saw…” Baldwin said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Wit. That was Wit, wasn’t it?” Baldwin turned to look at his companion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cesar briefly told Baldwin about Wit’s proposal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You probably don’t know,” he continued, “Wit and the others were originally father’s chosen replacements for you—servants were just a temporary arrangement.” He smiled sadly—a difficult expression to imagine on a nine-year-old boy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“After confirming I had leprosy, David and Abigail, along with my former friends and attendants, were no longer suitable to remain by my side. My father sought suitable candidates among wandering knights and their descendants, offering them future and honor in exchange for loyalty. Take Wit—he had no right to serve me. But who could have foreseen such a drastic change?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“They weren’t forced,” Cesar said. “They weren’t slaves—no master. Though they did sell themselves for a high price.” After arriving at the castle, he learned the servants were hired on daily wages; Wit and the others earned ten times what others did.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Baldwin’s smile grew more genuine, then he shook his head. “But they soon regretted it. They lived in constant fear—even though I hadn’t yet suffered the facial rot or bone deformities of long-term lepers, I must say they tried hard to control themselves. But later…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Not everyone can be fearless and accept this kind of semi-imprisoned life.” He looked at the flames. “Unlike other servants or attendants, once known as mine, one inevitably faces rejection and loathing.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Couldn’t they leave?” Cesar sneered. “Even leeches are picky about their victims’ skin being too thin.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Baldwin laughed. “So you won’t let Wit return to my side.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Who dares trust such a worm?” Cesar said. “But this matter…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’ll speak to Heraclius. His debate class is this afternoon,” Baldwin said lightly. If Wit were merely evil and foolish, perhaps the matter would end here—but he seemed unusually gifted in malice, so he couldn’t be spared. Yet dealing with someone “chosen” was beyond their power.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Here is the bonus rule.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the day of official release, update ten thousand words.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Regardless of whether it is officially released.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If monthly recommendation votes reach ten thousand, add one chapter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If monthly monthly votes reach one hundred, add one chapter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If monthly tips reach ten thousand, add one chapter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On top of ten thousand favorites, add one chapter per thousand additional favorites per month—meaning five thousand more favorites equals five bonus chapters monthly, ten thousand more equals ten, and so on.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Monthly totals are settled at month’s end; bonuses are added the following month.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",2141,"2026-06-20T20:58:34.857Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","5889290348bff75e58a5826739b5db0cb275c5a7fd1c916dee1541c852cb9b5c","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-9","the-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-chapter-7",168,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthe-nation-of-ten-thousand-nations-cover.jpg"]