Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 326 A Day in Bradley's Life

In the harsh winter of the North, the domed buildings of Red Tide City were warm as spring.

Bradley sat up and slowly moved his shoulders, making a soft "click" sound.

"Hmm... these bones are getting more and more unruly," he muttered, picking up a robe from the bedside and putting it on, then leisurely brewing a cup of warm tea.

Maintaining health has become a daily routine, not for longevity, but simply to be able to handle affairs more clearly each day.

This elderly man, over sixty years old, was once the steward of the Calvin family in the Southeast Province, and spent his life dealing with nobles.

He should have prepared to retire four years ago and then enjoy a peaceful retirement within the Calvin family.

However, due to an order from Duke Calvin, he embarked on a journey to the North to investigate the magic marrow mine.

Upon arriving in Louis's territory, Bradley discovered that the young master, who had previously been relatively unknown, was indeed doing a good job, but there were still many loopholes and chaos in the area.

Louis also personally asked him to stay and help develop the Red Tide Territory.

Bradley had planned to help the kid for a year or two at most, and then return to the Southeast to retire once he had established himself.

But once he stayed, it lasted for four years.

He witnessed firsthand how that young man, Louis, single-handedly held up the crisis amidst heavy snow, plague, and riots.

How did a group of refugees, slaves, and defeated soldiers come together to form the orderly city we see today?

How did he go from a pioneering baron to an earl in just a few years, and become the de facto ruler of the North?

Unbeknownst to him, he had become the chief steward of Crimson Tide City, second only to the lord and his two wives in status within the city.

"Ah, life is unpredictable, it's truly amazing."

Bradley finished his tea, rubbed his still-weak back, opened the door and walked out of the room.

The snow and ice in the North are still thick and the cold is biting, but Red Tide City is different.

Geothermal pipes drawn from underground, in conjunction with the Fireback Turtle Greenhouse, keep the neighborhood temperature above the winter standard.

While it's not exactly springtime, at least it's not freezing cold.

Bradley stepped out onto the street, where two young knights from the Crimson Tide Knights were already waiting. They led his horse and cleared the way for him, bowing and saying, "Lord Bradley, the carriage is ready. What are the arrangements for today?"

A slight smile appeared on his lips: "Hmm, let's go to the storage area first, take a look at the main grain warehouse and the salt and meat inventory, and also confirm whether the quota for the third batch of charcoal has been approved."

Then go to the clinic to see if the newly received refugees have settled down.

Then I went to the heating center. Recently, there was a set of geothermal pipes in the eastern area that were not pressurized. Someone reported yesterday that the heat was not reaching the last section of the heated room.

Oh, and remember to book the small meeting room in the Council of State before noon for the Spring Farming Launch Plan and Spring Festival preparations.

Bradley tugged at his cape and made a final joke: "That's all. Let's go. It's cold and the roads are slippery, so tell the driver to slow down. I want to live a few more years."

The carriage arrived at the central street, where prayer candles hung in the windows of each household. They must have been lit for a long time, as the last few flames were still burning.

The first stop was the storage area, a row of semi-underground granaries not far from the inner city.

Bradley walked into the dispatch room with practiced ease, where several officials on duty were sorting out the distribution slips from the previous night.

He didn't need to say anything; he simply reached out and someone handed him the list.

The coal distribution rate reached 94%, the quotas for each district remained stable, and the remaining flexible reserves were also sufficient.

Bradley stood before a long table in the center of the warehouse area, his cloak still on, his fingertips tracing a parchment scroll:
"This emergency allocation table for winter can be further simplified by removing duplicate issuance and double recording."

He pointed to a line of data at the bottom of the table and said calmly, "There are some new residents moving to the outskirts of the southeast district recently. Prepare ten barrels of charcoal as a backup, before anyone asks."

The clerk in charge of taking notes nodded quickly, afraid that her pen would be too slow.

Bradley then looked at the neatly stacked grain bricks, dried meat, and coal briquettes in the warehouse.

The entire storage area was well-organized and orderly, with clear signs indicating where the goods came from and where they were going. This order was not without reason.

Two weeks ago, a warehouse manager was caught red-handed by Bradley for illegally reselling high-temperature charcoal bricks.

That man was one of the first veterans to come to Red Tide with Louis, and he did such a foolish thing in a moment of madness.

He pleaded and argued, even going so far as to plead for mercy in the council chamber overnight.

But the next morning, the man's body was found hanging on an iron hook outside the warehouse gate, with a notice listing his crimes.

After that, no one dared to reach out again.

Bradley wasn't a bloodthirsty man, but in the North, without severe punishments, it was difficult to curb corruption, as the people there were terrified of poverty.

Nowadays, warehouse staff dare not take an extra piece of charcoal, and clerks will proactively report and correct any mistakes made in writing a single line.

The rules have been written into everyone's bones.

Bradley nodded in satisfaction and stepped away from the storage area.

As we left the storage area, the sky was already beginning to brighten, but the fog and snow were still hanging low.

Bradley donned a thick cloak, stepped onto the carriage, and slowly drove towards the clinic with his guards, following the trail of knights' patrolling footprints.

Inside the carriage, Bradley was engrossed in reviewing his notes when he suddenly heard a child's voice: "Good morning, Lord Bradley!"

Looking out the window, two children were squatting under the eaves roasting potatoes, their little faces rosy. One of the girls stood up and waved to him.

Bradley looked up, a smile playing at the corners of his eyes, and returned the greeting with a wave of his hand: "Good morning."

A small scene speaks louder than a thousand words.

If it weren't for the implementation of regulations and the stability of the heating system, how could we see children playing and laughing on the streets in winter?
In front of the clinic, several doctors returning from their night patrol were changing shifts, draped in thick blankets, their faces showing the exhaustion of working through the night.

Upon seeing Bradley approach, Dr. Mary, the person in charge, quickly went to the door to greet him and bowed respectfully.

“Four new cases of fever were reported last night, two of whom fled to private residences and two of whom were local residents. They have been transferred to special hospitals according to procedures.” She paused. “No severe coughing or vomiting was observed, and the preliminary diagnosis is the common flu.”

Bradley nodded and looked at the wooden house, which had long been converted into a special hospital in accordance with the "Red Tide Epidemic Emergency Response Guidelines".

"Have you tried the medicine that was sent from the South?" he asked.

Merry nodded: "I've tried it, and it works best for children. It controls body temperature an hour faster than the medicine from the North."

“If you don’t have enough medicine, write an application,” Bradley emphasized. “Don’t let a single report ruin a whole group of people.”

This is not a casual order; it is stated in the regulations.

Louis's personally drafted regulations clearly state: "Efficiency shall be the priority in winter epidemic prevention and control; medication standards shall prioritize those who are seriously ill; approvals shall not be passed down through multiple levels, and there shall be no deliberate delays."

Bradley added, "Have the medical records been compiled?"

"Returned daily, processed uniformly by the archives, and immediately switched to patient mode if the red line indicator is triggered."

“Very good.” He patted Merry’s shoulder gently. “You did a good job.”

Mary didn't speak, only bowed her head in greeting, and only breathed a sigh of relief after Bradley got into the carriage and drove away.

These seemingly ordinary procedures have long been institutionalized.

After all, every minor illness can turn into a disaster in winter.

Now, not only Merry, but the entire medical team in the Red Tide region can execute every response accurately and calmly because they have established procedures to follow.

After leaving the clinic, the snowfall subsided slightly, but the sky remained overcast.

The path leading to the outskirts of the workshops was still covered in snow, making it impassable for carriages. Bradley, wearing a cloak, walked there with two attendants.

The snow crunched underfoot, and the air was filled with the chill of the ground and the distant smell of charcoal smoke.

Most shops on Gongfang Street were closed for winter break, with seals hanging at the entrances and piles of snow. Only the small building at the end of the street was still emitting plumes of white steam.

That's the Red Tide Heating Center, the central team responsible for maintaining the city's geothermal system during the winter.

As you get closer, you can hear the hissing of steam, like the breath of some living behemoth in the snow.

Several technicians, wrapped in sheepskin aprons, were squatting in front of the open pipes adjusting gear valves, their faces red from the cold, but none of them stopped. Bradley approached quietly: "Thank you for your hard work. I've come to take a look."

The technicians turned around in surprise, especially the youngest boy, who took a while to react.

He stood up in a panic, still clutching the wrench in his hand, his face flushed: "Th-thank you, sir!"

This young man was Hamilton, the deputy head of the steam engine manufacturing team.

Bradley smiled slightly, his gaze fixed on the new device.

It was a steam pressure regulating boiler half-buried in the brick foundation, with the connecting copper pipes and heat conduction channels extending out crookedly, like steel snakes emerging from the ground.

A sign was welded to the side, the words on it blurred by the high temperature, with only the words "Red Tide No. 1 - Winter Use" still barely legible.

"Is it thanks to this machine that the West Side didn't freeze?" Bradley looked at the valve that was constantly spewing white steam.

Hamilton, who was squatting down checking the pressure gauge, turned around, his tone revealing a hint of pride: "It... well, it can probably raise the temperature from twenty degrees Celsius at geothermal levels to thirty-seven or thirty-eight degrees Celsius."

He scratched his head and added, "But the technology isn't fully developed yet, so we have to keep an eye on it every day. If the pipe bursts, the whole section has to be dug out and reconnected."

Bradley didn't laugh; instead, he nodded.

This thing is far from elegant or sophisticated; it looks more like a monster cobbled together from sheet metal and hot welding.

But it really works; it can actually prevent the warm houses in the red tide from freezing into iceboxes.

Bradley turned to look at the end of the pipe: "By the way, someone from the East District reported yesterday that the temperature in the last section of the greenhouse is too low, and the heat isn't reaching the bottom. Have you checked that?"

"We've checked!" an older technician chimed in. "That section of pipeline was buried, and the heat pressure was insufficient; we're sending a component over, and it should be restored tonight."

“Okay.” Bradley nodded, his gaze sweeping through the snow fog. “You’ve worked hard. I’ll have logistics send another batch of hot meals tonight.”

Without saying anything more, he turned and left.

…………

When we returned to the government square, it was already dark, but the meeting hall was brightly lit, with the stove and steam pipes making it warm and cozy.

Bradley sat in the head seat, with a pot of tea that was still warm beside him.

Representatives from the Craftsmen's Office, the smoked fish factory, the Education Department, and other districts have arrived one after another.

The steaming conference room was filled with the sounds of people talking, and several bowls of stewed meat were placed on the table as a late-night snack brought in advance by the kitchen.

Bradley flipped through a notebook and said briefly, "You did a good job with last year's festivals. This year's Lunar New Year celebrations require earlier preparations than usual, so you need to do even better."

Then came the plans for each district to celebrate the Spring Festival.

The representative from the craftsmen's area stood up, rolled up his sleeves, and said excitedly, "We've prepared a 'Winter Iron Drilling Challenge'! Thick steel plates provided by the workshops will be drilled on-site to see who has the steady hand and the strongest strength."

"What's so interesting about this? It would be better to recreate last year's sword forging." Someone chuckled.

"This year, the smoked fish factory is holding a 'King of Smoked Fish Competition,' with each fishing household contributing a bucket. The judging panel will taste the best flavor! We want the aroma of seaweed to fill the square!"

“We have designed a new ‘snow race’ with obstacle courses, including vine jumping, net climbing, and ice slope climbing.”

Bradley took notes on everything, occasionally making annotations and nodding.

He waited until everyone had finished reporting before closing the notebook: "Lord Louis...I'm afraid he won't be able to attend the festival performance."

But remember, making it the brightest festival in the entire North isn't about saving face; it's about letting everyone know that Red Tide Territory will be even better this year.

The hall fell silent, followed by a burst of applause.

…………

As night deepened, the fireplace in the Crimson Tide Lord's mansion burned brightly, its flames casting flickering shadows on the stone walls.

Louis sat in a chair, one arm around the baby in his arms, gently rocking his embrace.

The child was only born a short time ago, and his eyebrows and eyes had not yet fully opened. He would only occasionally smack his lips and hum a little before falling asleep again.

The carpet beside the fireplace was soft and thick, and the room was so warm that one almost forgot that it was a cold, snow-covered night in the North outside the window.

Bradley stood to one side, the briefing pages turning:
"Regarding distribution, everything is stable in the storage area, and the supply of charcoal should continue well until the Spring Festival. The clinic has completed its flu isolation procedures, and the medication supply at Mairui is sufficient."

Preparations for the Spring Festival are progressing smoothly, all districts are reporting positively, and the evaluation system is operating as usual...

He paused, then closed the briefing scroll: "There are no major hidden dangers; everything is under control."

Louis looked up, his gaze passing over the briefing, and smiled at him, saying, "I trust you to get things done."

Bradley bowed slightly, his voice lowering: "It's what I should do."

The daily report should have ended there.

But Louis gently patted the sleeping child in his arms and looked up at Bradley: "I may not be in Red Tide City for most of next year."

Bradley was taken aback.

Louis continued, "At Dawn Harbor, the basic surveying has been completed. Once the snow melts, we must begin the first phase of piling and harbor basin excavation."

So I'm leaving things here to you. I hope the Red Tide will remain the same while I'm gone.

Bradley nodded: "Rest assured, my lord, I will arrange everything."

He glanced at the child in his arms and suddenly said softly, "When the young master grows up and knows that he was born in such a winter, he should be proud of you."

Louis smiled, said nothing, and gently rocked the sleeping child in his arms.

Before leaving the room, Bradley couldn't help but look back at the heartwarming scene one last time.

Louise still looked down at the child in her arms, her gaze as gentle as a fireplace on a winter night.

A strange warmth welled up in his heart.

…………

It was late at night when we left the Tulou castle.

Bradley walked into the public bathhouse, and the chill of the day seemed to melt away completely in that moment; this was one of his few days of rest.

The young guard saw him and immediately came forward, smiling as he said, "Lord Bradley, your room is ready."

It was a small private room located at the back, with heated stones embedded in the four walls, and hot spring water flowing in continuously.

A polished wooden tray sat by the pool, complete with a teapot, towels, and a change of clothes.

Bradley took off his cloak and slowly sat down in the hot spring water, feeling as if he were sinking into a kind of warm tranquility.

In the misty air, he exhaled a long breath, leaned back against the stone wall, and closed his eyes.

“When I left the Southeast back then…” Bradley murmured to himself, “I thought it was going to be a tough job.”

In the Calvin family, he was merely a dutiful old butler, a tool that could be discarded at any time.

And here, in the Red Tide City, which is covered in snow yet warm as spring.

He was the chief deacon, the deputy to the city's government, and the "Lord Bradley" the children talked about.

His decisions determine whether many families can keep warm on winter nights and enjoy a stew on snowy nights.

His judgment influenced whether the entire territory could continue to function smoothly during the blizzard.

More importantly, people show respect for him because of what he did, not because of who he is.

Bradley opened his eyes and looked at the slightly yellowish light in the steam.

"To be able to work with Lord Louis in this icy land and bring Red Tide to where it is today..." he said softly, "is perhaps the best decision I've ever made in my life."

Snow was still falling when Bradley stepped out of the bathroom.

But he felt that every wisp of warmth and every light in the city was a response to the little bit of pride in his heart that he had never spoken aloud.

(End of this chapter)