BSI Chapter 8 The Mysterious Easterners
Chapter 8 The Mysterious Easterners
Levi's words, though seemingly casual, infuriated Boyle more than any threat.
If Li Wei had shot and killed his bodyguard, he would only feel fear.
But this sentence directly exposed the only pretense he was proud of.
It has nothing to do with a wanted maid, nor is it a secret transaction, nor is it about wealth and loyalty.
It's bread.
It was the skill that Boyle relied on to make his fortune, which he considered to be the best in all of Boston.
He could tolerate being called greedy, hypocritical, and a complete royalist lackey, but he could not tolerate anyone questioning his baking skills; this humiliated and angered him more than any direct threat.
"What nonsense are you spouting!"
Boyle's obese body trembled with excitement. He tried to stand up from that damned straw mat, but because he had been kneeling for too long, his knees went numb and he slumped back down in a sorry state.
Li Wei ignored his loss of composure.
He simply bent down, picked up a piece of burnt charcoal from the extinguished stove, and casually drew a crooked circle on the clean ground in front of him.
"You're always too eager for quick results." Li Wei's voice remained calm as he tapped the edge of the circle with the tip of a piece of charcoal.
"Just like your bread, if the crust is baked too hard, it locks in the heat inside, and the aroma of the wheat can't be fully released. You're the same; you wrap yourself in a layer of blustering toughness, but you're keeping real opportunities out."
Boyle stared intently at the crude circle on the ground; every word the other person had said was indeed the reality he least wanted to admit.
In order to get the bread out of the oven faster and sell it to the dock managers and shop assistants who were in a hurry, he did indeed tend to burn the fire too high.
The bread's crust is always crispy and fragrant, with an excellent appearance, but only he and the shop's old colleagues know that such bread always lacks something inside—it's not soft enough, and the wheat flavor isn't rich enough.
This is a secret he never reveals, and it's the only flaw in his craft.
And this Asian man, who had never set foot in the kitchen of his shop, actually saw through it all in one sentence.
He not only knew his bread, but he even saw through his personality.
Boy subconsciously reached for his sleeve, but the cold touch of the dagger offered no comfort whatsoever.
He felt like a fat man stripped naked, exposed to the other person's scrutiny, all his pretense and scheming reduced to soap bubbles that burst at the slightest touch.
Outside the warehouse door, Jeb and Silas peered through the crack in the door, completely unable to understand what they were discussing about bread.
But they could clearly see that the boss, who had always been fierce in appearance but weak in reality, was visibly weakening, his fat back slumping down, and he was curled up on the straw mat.
Levi didn't give Boyle much time to breathe.
He tossed the charcoal aside, dusted off his hands, and pointed to Fiona, who stood with her hands at her sides.
"You think she stole your bread and is a despicable thief. But you can't see that she's a rough gem. You only see the loss of a few pence, but you're missing a mountain of gold."
This statement no longer attacks the baker's pride, but rather Boyle's vision as a businessman.
In Boston, a businessman's vision is his life.
Boyle's lips trembled; he wanted to retort, but found himself speechless.
Fiona's performance in the bakery today—that composure and boldness, that precise understanding of people—where is the timid Irish maid she once was?
He was indeed mistaken; he only saw her captivating figure and missed the intelligent beauty.
Instead of continuing to exert verbal pressure, Li Wei changed the subject and asked a seemingly unrelated question.
"Mr. Boyle, have you recently felt that your cousin in the sheriff's team is becoming increasingly greedy and unreliable?"
O'Malley, his cousin, was the sheriff who had taken his silver coins and promised to bring men for a "routine patrol" an hour later!
How did the other party know about his supposedly foolproof escape route?
Only he and O'Malley knew about this!
Did O'Malley betray him?
No, that's impossible. O'Malley hasn't received the follow-up money yet; he wouldn't be that stupid.
Who is that?
Was I being followed on my way to the sheriff's office?
Or does this Easterner have an intelligence network in this city that he can't even imagine?
Sticky, cold sweat instantly soaked his back; the expensive wool coat clung tightly to his body, wet and cold.
The "insurance" he arranged has now become a cold noose around his own neck.
Since the other party knew that he had gone to see O'Malley, they must have guessed his intentions as well.
If I had made any unusual moves just now, or chosen to fight to the death right now, then when O'Malley and his men "coincidentally" arrived, what they discovered would probably not be some "secret deal."
Instead, it was the cold corpse of a baker and a perfect scene of "committing suicide out of fear of being exposed for smuggling".
"Do not be nervous."
Just as Boyle was about to faint from the shock of his own imagination, Levi's voice rang out again, this time with a reassuring tone.
"I mean no harm. I just want to tell you that true security doesn't come from bribing thugs who might betray you at any time, but from becoming someone that even the strong are willing to protect."
"To be precise, he is a person of value."
He picked up the cup of tea, which had long since gone cold, and gently blew on it to remove any heat that wasn't actually there.
This action allowed Boyle's tense nerves to relax slightly.
He got it.
The other party wasn't trying to kill him, but rather to teach him a lesson.
Levi took the delicate little tin box from Fiona and gently pushed it in front of Boyle.
"The lieutenant likes it, doesn't he? But what he sees is just the tip of the iceberg. This thing is worth far more than just sobering up a drunkard."
Boyle's gaze involuntarily fell on the box of "Oriental Awakening Powder".
The flame of greed stubbornly ignited once again in his heart.
Li Wei stood up and slowly walked towards the warehouse door.
Jeb and Silas, who were guarding outside the door, immediately tensed up, gripped their short sticks tightly, and assumed a defensive posture.
Li Wei completely ignored their tense muscles and fierce expressions, simply looking calmly at the burly man named Jeb.
"How long did you work carrying goods at the dock last night? How many hours did you sleep?"
Jeb was taken aback, not expecting this Asian to ask him that.
He glanced instinctively at the boss behind him, and seeing that Boyle remained silent, he replied in a muffled voice, "I carried bootlegging all night, and only finished just before dawn. I slept for less than two hours."
His face was etched with deep fatigue and exhaustion, his eyes were sunken and bloodshot.
This is the norm for dockworkers.
They traded their lives for a few pitiful shillings.
Li Wei nodded, pinched out a small pinch of grayish-white powder from the tin box, and handed it over.
"Smell it."
Jeb hesitated, looking at the pinch of powder, then at Boyle.
Boyle's mind went blank at that moment; he simply nodded subconsciously.
With the boss's tacit approval, Jeb no longer hesitated. He stepped forward, took a deep breath into Levi's outstretched palm.
Soon, a cool sensation penetrated deep into his brain and then slowly dissipated.
The weariness and exhaustion that clung to his limbs and bones vanished in an instant, like morning mist dispersed by the sunlight.
His eyes widened suddenly, and the bloodshot veins in his previously cloudy eyes seemed to have faded considerably.
"My God..."
Jeb gasped in astonishment, cracking his knuckles as he stretched his neck and shoulders. "What the hell is this miracle drug?"
Silas, who was standing next to him, was also stunned.
He knew all too well how his companion had looked, half-dead.
Clearly, such vivid examples are more impactful than any flowery words.
Boyle was stunned, staring intently at the radiant Jeb, then at the small iron box in Levi's hand.
His mind was no longer filled with fear, nor with worry for his cousin.
Instead, a series of frenzied images flashed before our eyes: officials working through the night in the governor's mansion, reviewing documents; officers in the barracks who needed to be constantly vigilant; and nobles who partied all night in salons and at card tables, spending money like water.
They all need this!
They'll go crazy for this!
This is hardly a "refreshing powder" at all.
This is a gold mine that can never be fully exploited!
The key to this gold mine was now right in front of him.
At this moment, greed completely triumphed over fear, and a gambler's fanaticism gleamed in Boyle's eyes.
He raised his head and looked at the Easterner who had returned to the main seat.
He stopped thinking about how the other person knew his secret, and he no longer cared about the humiliation he had just suffered.
All he knew was that he had to seize this opportunity at all costs.
Boyle supported himself on the ground with trembling hands, struggled to adjust his posture, and lowered his proud and obese head.