After leaving the restaurant, Celine walked toward the Old North Gate, following the directions the scribe had given her.
The closer she got to the northern district, the quieter the streets became.
Most of the storefronts along the street dealt in timber, fodder, carriage parts, and cheap inns. The cargo wagons parked outside were far more run-down than those in the city center.
This area had once been the first stop for northern caravans entering Red Kite.
During the peak of the Northern Route, the wheels of countless wagons would roll over the flagstone streets, grinding the mud dry. Porters only had to stand at the intersections to find plenty of work.
Back then, the family responsible for managing this route was none other than the Rosalind family.
Unlike the other three great families of Red Kite, the Rosalinds had been led by female heads of the family since their founding.
Decades ago, their most favored successor, Elena Rosalind, had disappeared along the Northern Old Trade Route.
Her disappearance not only cost the family a successor they had groomed for years, but it also gave many male branch members an opportunity to break tradition.
Some demanded that a male inherit the headship, while others, under the guise of assisting the family, tried to carve up the Rosalinds' remaining caravans and properties.
The current family head had refused to budge.
She preferred to keep the successor's seat vacant rather than hand the family over to vultures who only wanted to divide the inheritance.
Now, decades later, the Northern Route was severed, the caravans were disbanded, and most of their properties had been slowly devoured by other families.
Very little remained of the Rosalinds.
When Celine arrived at the street where the estate was located, she happened to see an old butler escorting several guests out of the iron gates.
The estate was reasonably large, separated from the street by a long, narrow front courtyard.
The two stone pillars flanking the entrance were still carved with roses and thorns, though the family crest that once boasted gold leaf had long since faded. The black iron gates were covered in rust, and the roses in the yard had clearly gone without careful pruning for a long time, their tangled branches spilling over the edges of the flowerbeds.
There were no guards outside the gate, and no other servants could be seen behind the old butler.
The three guests being escorted out were elegantly dressed, their cuffs embroidered with the silver wheel of the Castro family.
The middle-aged man leading them stood outside the iron gate, making no immediate move to leave.
“Is Lady Leora still unwilling to accept our terms?”
The old butler closed one half of the iron gate, his expression calm.
“My lady's stance is very clear. The Rosalind family will not withdraw from the Northern Route selection, nor will we hand over our remaining warehouses and priority review seat.”
The middle-aged man looked as if he had heard a joke.
“You can't even put together a single caravan. What is the use of holding onto that seat?”
“The Castro family is willing to take over the Rosalinds' remaining debts and preserve this ancestral home. We have already shown you more than enough decency.”
The old butler looked up at him, his manners still impeccable. “We thank you for your consideration, my lord. However, the Rosalind family cannot afford such decency.”
“It is still better than having your collaterals rush in and plunder everything after Lady Leora passes,” the middle-aged man sneered. “The Rosalinds have no heir. How much longer can her health hold out?”
“Once she dies, this family won't even have the slightest bargaining chip left.”
The old butler did not argue. He simply stated calmly that the Castro family had no need to worry about the future of the Rosalinds, and that they would certainly not accept a fate arranged by outsiders while their family head was still alive.
The middle-aged man wanted to speak further, but the butler had already reached out to close the gate.
The heavy iron gate slowly shut, cutting off the rest of his words.
Swallowing his anger, the middle-aged man turned and left with his two companions.
As he passed Celine, his gaze swept over her unfamiliar face and plain cloak, and he quickly guessed her purpose.
“Another one here to collaborate with the Rosalinds?” he scoffed. “I'm afraid you're too late. Right now, they have nothing to offer you but a useless seat, a few moldy old archives, and a drafty house.”
Celine did not respond. She merely stepped aside to let them pass, and the three men quickly vanished down the end of the street.
Once they were far enough away, Celine approached the iron gate and knocked twice.
The old butler had been about to return to the main house, but he stopped at the sound and studied her through the iron gate.
“May I help you, young lady?”
“I saw the notice of collaboration posted by the Rosalind family.”
The old butler was caught off guard. He had not expected any strangers to actually show up after the notice was posted.
“Are you here for the Northern Route?”
“Yes.”
The old butler did not open the gate immediately.
“You must have heard what was just said. The Rosalind family truly has no caravans now, nor can we offer much capital. If you are looking to collaborate with a wealthy family, I'm afraid this is not the right place.”
“I am not looking for the wealthiest family,” Celine said calmly. “I am looking for the one that suits me best.”
For some reason, the old butler felt slightly intimidated by the aura radiating from the young lady. After a moment's hesitation, he finally opened the gate.
“Please, come in.”
The front courtyard looked even emptier than it had from the outside.
The roses in the flowerbeds bloomed sparsely, and weeds had overtaken the open space once used to park carriages. Most of the outbuildings on either side of the main house had their doors and windows tightly shut, and one was even boarded up with wooden planks.
Over the dozens of paces from the iron gate to the main house, Celine did not spot a single other servant.
The old butler led her into the front hall.
The furnishings inside still retained the orderly structure of the old nobility, but it was visibly hollowed out. Most of the picture frames had been removed from the walls, leaving only lighter rectangular patches, and the pedestals that once held vases and sculptures were bare.
This family had not collapsed overnight.
Over several long decades, they had slowly sold off everything they could part with, barely managing to survive until today.
The old butler led Celine into a parlor, where an elderly woman sitting by the window was looking down as she drank her medicine.
Her silver hair was combed immaculately, and she wore a dark red gown that was old-fashioned but neatly kept.
This was the current head of the Rosalind family, Leora Rosalind.
The old butler walked over to her side and said softly,
“My lady, this young lady saw our collaboration notice and wishes to participate in the Northern Route agency selection.”
Leora set down her medicine cup, looked up at Celine, and raised her hand to the butler.
“Her credentials.”
Celine pulled out her replacement seven-day merchant travel permit and handed it to the butler.
The old butler examined the seal on it, and once he confirmed there were no obvious issues, he presented the permit to Leora.
Leora took the permit, glanced first at the entry registration in the upper-left corner, and then shifted her gaze to the supplementary page attached to the back.
“The supplementary procedure was guaranteed by the White Feather Registry, and both the seal and the serial number are correct. According to the laws of Red Kite, you are indeed a merchant with a legal identity.”
She laid the permit flat on the table, tapping her fingertip on the blank space at the bottom of the supplementary page. “However, there is no signature or seal from the caravan leader here.”
“This means the Black Rock Caravan did not personally confirm that you entered the city with them.”
Celine's gaze lingered on Leora's face for a brief moment.
It seemed that although the Rosalind family had fallen from grace, the person sitting in the family head's seat was far from senile.
Leora raised her eyes, her gaze turning cold.
“The White Feather Registry completed the paperwork for you, but they cannot verify your true origin.”
“A person who entered Red Kite with a patched-together identity, unwilling to even reveal where they came from, yet wants to use the Rosalind name to participate in the Northern Route selection.”
“Where do you get the confidence to think I would hand the survival of my family over to you?”
Celine, having been exposed, did not panic. “I do have my reasons for hiding my identity.”
Leora was somewhat surprised by her candor.
“At least you admit it readily,” she said, pushing the permit back to the edge of the table. “But just because the Rosalind family has fallen on hard times does not mean anyone can walk through our doors with a patched-up permit to test us.”
“Show her out.”
The old butler gathered the permit and stepped up to Celine. “This way, young lady.”
Celine did not stand. Leora's judgment was even sharper than she had anticipated, but this did not disrupt her plan.
The more perceptive her opponent was, the more weight her next move would carry.
Celine reached into her pocket and pulled out a silver necklace.
The dull pendant dangled from her fingers, its surface covered in tiny scratches left by time.
“Since you have already seen through my hidden background, then this—”
“I am certain you will recognize it.”
Leora's gaze fell upon the necklace, and her cold expression instantly froze.
She stared at the pendant, her breathing gradually growing rapid as her lips began to tremble unconsciously.
“Bring it here.”
She struggled to maintain her outward composure as she carefully took the necklace from the old butler's hands.
Her aged fingers gently traced the edge of the pendant, finally stopping at the clasp.
Click.
The pendant popped open in the middle.
A faint magical light slowly rose, condensing above her palm into the figure of a young woman.
She stood before a backdrop of blooming roses, smiling at whoever had captured the image.
On the inner side of the pendant, a line of slightly blurred, tiny script appeared.
【Elena, may you shine brighter than the blooming roses.】
Leora gasped sharply, her clouded eyes instantly welling with tears.
“This is... Elena's necklace.”
Rate on N.U.
