The Ancestral Legacy Begins in the Wild West

Chapter 204 Louis XVI is getting fierce

Isabella felt a little uncomfortable watching him calmly ponder, completely unfazed, and even laughing. After all, she had traveled to many places and seen a lot of the world.

But no matter what, it can't compare to blowing up the Palace of Versailles and killing Queen Marie Antoinette.

Not to mention the subsequent impact, which may change the course of the entire France.

But the Easterner in front of him remained remarkably calm even in the face of such a situation, and it was unclear how he managed to do so.

She pondered for a few seconds, wanting to speak but stopping herself. In the end, she couldn't even utter a single word of complaint against Zhang Chang'an.

"Who exactly are you?" she asked, her voice filled with confusion and helplessness. "Why do you have so many strange things and abilities?"

Zhang Chang'an silently raised his head, looked at the noblewoman in front of him, and calmly replied, "I'm just an ordinary Easterner. I'm just quite studious, so wherever I go, I like to explore new things, which is why I know quite a lot."

Isabella looked at him, naturally very dissatisfied with his answer, and frowned and pouted.

He can crush a ghoul's skull with his bare hands, cut off a vampire's finger with a single stroke, and is skilled in alchemy and martial arts, carrying countless mysterious artifacts.

Zhang Chang'an could guess what she was thinking, but he didn't give a direct answer. Instead, he said, "Anyway, thank you for your help tonight. You brought me back such useful information."

Isabella turned her head away irritably, tucked the hair that was hanging down her face behind her ear, and then wiped her face, which was covered in dust and blood.

"Sigh—" she said in a complicated tone, "Sage, you should thank me. I am the one who should thank you. Thanks to you, Sage, no one will remember the Free Iris incident now."

"But I might soon be wanted as a female assassin, along with you, this mysterious intruder."

She certainly didn't like this situation, but she also knew that it wasn't Zhang Chang'an's fault. That's why she was upset. Zhang Chang'an didn't comment on it either. After all, both he and Isabella knew that at this point, whether they received attention or not was no longer of much significance.

A revolution is about to happen, and when that time comes, they will all be drawn into it, either becoming heroes or dying in it.

The most obvious impact of tonight's events on them is probably that Isabella can no longer return to prison and has to go into hiding.

The Bastille is definitely much more dangerous for her now than the outside world. The warden has met her, and even if he doesn't remember her face, he will surely find a way to locate her.

Of course, having just survived a close call, the atmosphere between them remained relatively relaxed.

Zhang Chang'an leaned against the wall, stretched out his legs, turned his head to look at Isabella, and continued what he had just said, half-jokingly.

"Actually, you're the person I've met who knows the most strange things. What normal French noblewoman knows things like stealth, swordsmanship, or alchemy?"

I'm starting to wonder if you've actually lost all your useful skills.

Isabella looked up, her eyes flashing in the darkness.

"For example, what?" she pondered, then said somewhat guiltily, "I'm a noble lady, of course I don't need to do ordinary chores myself."

Zhang Chang'an pondered for a moment, then propped himself up on his knees and patted the mud off his pants: "Alright, alright, you nobles are impressive. You seem to live in a world of your own. So what do you know? Etiquette? Dancing?"

He glanced at Isabella. She was crouching against the wall, her dark green coat covered in dust, her neat dress still quite tight, and her loose hair hanging down beside her ears, stained with dust and dried blood.

There were scratches on his face and bruises on the back of his hands.

Zhang Chang'an imagined her wearing a long gown supported by whalebone, a wig adorned with feathers and jewels, and strolling slowly in a place like Versailles, holding a folding fan in her hand. He chuckled to himself, shook his head, and then turned to walk deeper into the tomb passage.

"I can dance." Isabella's voice suddenly came from behind Zhang Chang'an.

Her voice was exceptionally clear in the tomb passage: "And she danced very well. It's just a pity you won't have the chance to see it."

Upon hearing this, Zhang Chang'an did not stop walking; he simply waved to him calmly and patted him goodbye.

"When you get out of here."

Isabella's voice came again at this moment, with a tone that was neither a smile nor a laugh: "Perhaps there will be a chance for you to see it."

Upon hearing this, Zhang Chang'an unconsciously turned his head.

The tomb passage was dimly lit, and Isabella, who had been standing there, had vanished. Zhang Chang'an only caught a glimpse of her dark green coat emerging from behind the iron bars and disappearing into the night, like a cat's tail disappearing around a corner.

The main hall of Versailles was shrouded in darkness, with only a few phlogiston lamps lit at the end of the corridor, casting a dim, yellowish reflection on the marble floor.

Louis XVI's bedroom was located at the deepest part of the palace, with the curtains drawn tightly, blocking out both moonlight and the night.

The chief personal servant came to the foot of the bed, holding a kerosene lamp, and gently pulled back the curtains.

She said softly, "Your Majesty, it's time to get up."

Louis XVI frowned slightly and let out a muffled, sigh-like sound.

His eyelids twitched and slowly opened, but he didn't move. Instead, he lay on the bed, waiting for something.

This is not surprising, because ever since the time of Louis XIV, the Sun King, getting up has been a complicated event for French kings, taking several hours.

The first person to wake him would be his chief personal servant, the only one allowed to sleep in the same bedroom as the king.

Then the physician and chief surgeon would come in first to greet the king and check on his health.

Then there is a small wake-up, during which a very small number of personal servants and attendants help the king wash up and eat breakfast, which is usually soup or bread with rum.

Next comes the grand morning ceremony, where ministers and nobles are gradually granted permission to enter in turn with other attendants to help the king dress. It is estimated that there are usually nearly a hundred participants.

The more favored a person is, the sooner they can enter the room to hand the king his shirt, put on his sleeves, and fetch his wig.

So much so that ministers would vie to do all sorts of tasks, including the privilege of serving the king during his excretions and cleaning his chamber pot.

This was seen as the king's utmost trust in his ministers, because the king's health could be discerned by observing his excrement.

Furthermore, there are even claims that ministers who received this privilege could personally taste the products to confirm their health.

All of this, including other things like mealtimes and bedtime rituals, was created to keep the nobles firmly under control and surveillance, and it has been used directly to this day.

So much so that even Louis XVI's introverted nature did not prevent the ceremony from continuing.

Even today, his awakening this time is noticeably more unsettling.

Louis XVI waited a moment, then his brows furrowed immediately. He looked away from the manservant's face and glanced outside the curtains. What was seeping through the cracks in the window was not sunlight, but moonlight.

He froze for a moment.

"What time is it now?"

His voice was still unclear.

The servant lowered his head even further, his voice hushed: "Your Majesty, something has happened at the Little Trianon."

Louis XVI's eyes widened slightly, and his lips opened and closed again.

The gardens of Versailles were so vast that he didn't even hear the explosion at the Petit Trianon, but he did know what it meant.

"Where is the Queen?"

His voice had begun to tremble slightly.

The male servant did not raise his head: "Your Majesty—the Queen...she is dead—"

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