1836: I Became a Literary Giant in Great Britain

At the start of the race, the situation on the track was just as Jimmy had predicted.

Dickens's chosen number 3 favorite, "The Duke," with its explosive power, instantly took the lead, leaving the other horses half a body length behind.

Second on the list is "Lightning," which is closely following "Duke."

The audience in the stands erupted in cheers.

Clearly, the vast majority of people have placed their bets on the "Duke".

The horse that Mike chose, number 7, "Veteran," followed at a leisurely pace in the middle of the herd, maintaining its own rhythm.

It seems to live up to its "veteran" reputation, being more composed than aggressive.

Michelle's choice of number 11, "The Wanderer," unsurprisingly came in last.

It seemed completely out of the game, falling further and further behind the herd of horses.

"It seems Mr. Michel is having some bad luck."

Jimmy stood to the side, shaking his head with a hint of regret.

Dickens, meanwhile, waved his arms excitedly, cheering for his "Duke":

"Go! Go! Keep it up! The championship is yours!"

Michelle didn't speak, her expression calm with a slight smile.

His gaze was fixed on the black dot at the end of the track.

With the race past the halfway mark, Duke's lead is becoming increasingly clear, and the championship seems to be in its grasp.

The atmosphere in the stands reached a fever pitch, with people already celebrating the victory ahead of schedule.

Pop the champagne at halftime!

At that moment, a sudden change occurred!

Number 11, "Wanderer," who had been trailing at the back of the pack, was like a beast awakened from its slumber, and began to chase forward at an astonishing speed!

Its stride is powerful and rhythmic, each step brimming with explosive power and astonishing speed.

The young rider leaned so low that he almost became one with the horse's back.

He didn't urge the horse on with the whip, but seemed to be whispering something in the horse's ear.

"Look! Number 11 is catching up!"

Someone in the crowd gasped in surprise.

Everyone's attention was drawn to the brown lightning bolt.

One!

two!

The "Wanderer" overtook one competitor after another at lightning speed, and its position continued to rise rapidly!

The cheers from the stands cooled down, replaced by a collective gasp of surprise.

Everyone was stunned by this sudden reversal.

"This... how is this possible?" Jimmy's mouth was agape, wide enough to fit an egg. In all his years as a horse racing broker, he had never seen such a crazy comeback!

Michael and Dickens also stopped what they were doing, staring blankly at the figure on the track who had created a miracle.

The last bend.

The Wanderer has caught up to second place, and in front of it is only the Duke, who is far ahead.

The Duke's rider clearly sensed the threat behind him, and he began to accelerate frantically, trying to unleash the last bit of his mount's strength.

However, the "Wanderer's" speed did not decrease at all, and the distance between it and the "Duke" was decreasing at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Fifty meters!

Thirty meters!

Ten meters!

Just before crossing the finish line, the head of the "Wanderer" horse narrowly overtook the "Duke"!

Won!

In the most incredible way, number 11, "Wanderer," who had the highest odds of winning the game, won the championship!

The entire racetrack fell into a deathly silence, then erupted into a cacophony more intense than ever before!

"My God! What am I seeing?!"

"A dark horse! This is a true dark horse!"

"That damn 'vagrant,' my pounds!"

Dickens and Michael jumped up excitedly, embracing Michel tightly, almost lifting him up.

"Michelle! You bastard! How did you do that?!"

"Tell me! Have you secretly learned some kind of magic?"

Michel received a hefty bonus; a guinea investment yielded a twentyfold return.

That's great, it's even more than the reward he gets for writing a whole article...

He didn't regret not betting more chips, after all, luck played a significant role in his win...

Moreover, if you're aiming to win too much, who knows what tricks the bookmaker might pull...

After all, this wasn't the Epsom derby, it was just a regular Newmark game...

Jimmy followed behind them, his expression towards Michelle filled with awe and curiosity.

Why is Michel not only a good poet, but also so skilled at horse racing?

In the pub, the three ordered the best whiskey to celebrate.

"Mr. Michel, I really can't understand why you value 'vagrants' so much?"

"I can't think of any reason to choose it..."

Jimmy couldn't help but ask.

"And what are your reasons for making that choice?"

Michelle didn't rush to answer, but instead asked a question in return.

Dickens first stated his reasoning: "I believe in bloodlines; it's a logic that can't be wrong."

Michael said, "I never believe in trending topics; that's our experience as journalists."

Michelle smiled before speaking.

"What you all say makes sense, but you've all overlooked one point."

"What is it?"

Faced with questions from her friends and Jimmy, Michelle took a sip of her drink before slowly revealing the answer.

"It's the horse's emotions." Michel put down his wine glass.

"Before the race, I observed all the horses. The 'Duke,' although it looked magnificent, had a look of exhaustion and weariness from being overtrained in its eyes. And the 'Wanderer,' although it was quiet, I could feel the suppressed desire in its body, a strong desire to prove itself."

"And its rider," Michelle added.

"The way that young man looked at it wasn't like he was looking at a mount, but like he was looking at a partner fighting alongside him. I believe that this trust can create miracles in crucial moments."

"Of course, the most important thing is that I was lucky..."

Michelle's words silenced everyone present.

They never imagined that there could be such meticulous observation behind a horse race.

Who in their right mind would observe a horse's mood and condition before a race?

"Michelle, you're a devil."

Dickens sighed with genuine admiration.

It was getting late, so the group decided to spend the night in Newmarket and head back the next day.

Michelle spent a comfortable night at a hotel next to the racetrack.

Unlike bustling London, Newmarket still retains some of the tranquility of the English countryside.

However, this peaceful morning was shattered by a sudden accident.

A commotion arose from the direction of the racetrack, with shouts and hurried footsteps mingling together, a stark contrast to the usual clamor at the training ground.

Michelle, still half asleep, suddenly sat up in bed.

Dickens, in the next room, was also awakened.

Michael, a seasoned journalist, had already pulled up his pants with astonishing speed and rushed out of the room.

Their skill is so adept it's heartbreaking...

"What happened?"

Michelle asked loudly as she dressed.

"I don't know, but it sounds like something really bad has happened!"

Michael's voice could be heard coming from the hallway.

The three hurried downstairs and rushed into the cool morning breeze.

They rushed towards the commotion, the thick morning fog swirling around them, adding a surreal touch to the scene before them.

As the three approached, the chaotic shouts suddenly became clear, revealing terror and disbelief.

"The rider! The rider has fallen!"

"Duke! That horse... has gone mad!"

Michelle, Dickens, and Michael pushed through the crowd, and the sight before them was horrifying.

The noble racehorse "Duke" was trembling violently, its belly heaving, its eyes wide open and bloodshot, and fine foam oozing from its mouth.

Beside him, a figure dressed in a racing suit lay on the grass.

It was the rider of "Duke" who had led the way yesterday.

His hat lay fallen to the side, revealing brown hair stained with mud. A large, unnatural dent was in his chest, and dark bloodstains spread rapidly, staining the soil beneath the chest of his green jacket.

He lay there motionless, enveloped in a deathly silence, a stark contrast to the restless horse beside him.

There was also a familiar figure beside them.

Jimmy, one of Newmarket's best horse brokers, was enthusiastically introducing the racehorse men to them yesterday.

He was standing not far from the "Duke" at that moment, his face completely drained of color.

His mustache looked lifeless, and he appeared extremely haggard, as if all his strength had been drained away.

Jimmy's lips were pressed tightly together, as if he were carrying some heavy secret.

"What's going on?"

Dickens' voice was low, and his blue eyes were filled with shock.

He was a person who loved life, and the scene before him undoubtedly made his heart tighten.

Michael's expression also became unusually serious. Unlike Dickens, he did not express his emotions directly, but instead habitually observed his surroundings.

His sharp gaze swept over the spot where the rider had fallen, the Duke's abnormal condition, and the obvious pain and unease on Jimmy's face.

Michael noticed that although there were many onlookers, no one dared to touch the rider, as if it were a forbidden zone.

"Did someone go to call the doctor?" Michelle asked.

His voice remained as steady as ever.

Despite the unsettling scene before him, he tried his best to remain calm.

He noticed that the rider's breathing was very weak and the situation looked critical.

"We've already sent someone to invite them! Hopefully... hopefully it's not too late."

Jimmy's voice was hoarse, tinged with despair.

He turned his head and looked at Michelle with blank eyes, his expression filled with complex emotions.

There was sadness, self-blame, and something else that was hard to explain.

Michelle's gaze shifted from the rider to the "Duke".

The horse's state of agitation was far beyond what was normal; its muscles were twitching continuously, and its eyes revealed not ordinary fear, but rather a kind of mania induced by drugs.

He frowned, a sense of foreboding washing over him.

In his previous life, he had read some rumors about horse racing cheating, which mentioned some illegal incentive methods.

Michael had already walked up to Jimmy. He didn't say much, but simply patted Jimmy's shoulder gently.

The two exchanged a glance, and Michael's expression turned serious, as if he had read something from Jimmy's eyes.

He pulled Jimmy to the edge of the crowd, lowered his voice, and the two whispered to each other.

Jimmy shook his head from time to time and sighed from time to time.

Michelle and Dickens stood not far away, watching Michael's expression gradually shift from seriousness to an incredulous anger, which was then replaced by a deep sense of helplessness...

He glanced at the "Duke" every now and then, then at the fallen rider.

After a few minutes, Michael ended his conversation with Jimmy.

He walked back to Michelle and Dickens with a livid face.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Dickens asked anxiously.

Michael took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, as if trying to calm the turmoil in his heart.

He shook his head, a sorrow that defied description appearing on his face.

"This is a man-made tragedy," Michael said softly.

"Man-made? You mean this tragedy was caused by someone?"

Dickens pressed on, his voice laced with suppressed anger.

He had always felt deep sympathy for the weak, and the rider's tragic plight undoubtedly stirred up the anger hidden deep within him.

Michael looked around to make sure no one else could hear their conversation before lowering his voice and explaining slowly.

"Jimmy told me that this is likely related to the fact that the 'Wanderers' upset the 'Duke' yesterday."

Michael's tone was full of emotion.

"The owner of 'The Duke,' a knight known for his volatile temper and extreme gambling addiction, lost everything yesterday."

He had placed all his bets on the "Duke," thinking he had it in the bag, but the "Wanderer" ruined everything.

Michelle and Dickens exchanged a glance; they had witnessed firsthand the Duke's furious outburst after the match.

"So, he tampered with the rider's hands?" Dickens's voice carried a hint of disbelief.

Michael shook his head, a more complex expression on his face.

"No, not the rider, but the horse."

"Jimmy said the jazz was furious last night and demanded the rider give 'The Duke' special medication!"

"Special medication?"

Michel frowned; the word reminded him of a great deal of material about drug abuse in the Victorian era.

It's not just people who use it; even racehorses use it.

Great Britain remains far ahead in terms of inhumane behavior!

In 1837, such methods were not uncommon in the horse racing world.

It's similar to injecting horses with performance-enhancing drugs. Although it's illegal, in the absence of drug testing, it's a common practice for some horse owners who take the risk in pursuit of victory.

However, the consequences of this drug abuse seem to be quite serious.

"Yes, special drugs like tincture of opium and morphine." Michael's tone became heavy.

He paused, his eyes filled with extreme disgust for this behavior.

"These kinds of substances, when used on racehorses, can mask pain, fatigue, and fear, and can even induce intense excitement and agitation in the horses, making them run faster and with more drive!"

"Special drugs?" Michelle frowned. The word reminded him of a lot of information about drug abuse in the Victorian era.

Dickens turned pale upon hearing this.

"What about the side effects? There must be side effects, right?"

"Of course!" Michael's voice rose a few decibels, filled with barely suppressed anger.

"The side effects are extremely obvious! There's a chance the horse's racing performance will improve dramatically, but more likely, the horse's judgment will be greatly impaired, making it unresponsive to reins and commands, and uncontrollable. You could say that a horse given these drugs is, in a sense, a mad horse!"

"So, this kind of behavior is gambling!"

He pointed to the still trembling "Duke" in the distance.

That prized horse with its noble lineage now looked more like a victim.

"Jimmy said that this morning, during the riders' training, 'Duke' suddenly went berserk, completely disobeying commands and running amok."

"It's clear that this rider was secretly drugged by the horse and then unfortunately got injured by the rampaging racehorse."

Hearing this, Michelle felt a heavy weight in her heart.

"What will happen next? Will the horse owner be punished?"

Michael shook his head with a wry smile.

"What can we do? At most, we'll give them a small sum of money and that'll be the end of it."

"Compared to a fine horse, how much is a rider's life worth? In this world, a human life is often worth less than a thoroughbred."

"This is so unfair!"

Dickens let out a low growl; he couldn't accept this reality.

Michelle was equally heavy-hearted.

However, as a writer, Michelle's way of thinking is different from that of ordinary people.

He not only felt grief, but also sought the seeds of a story within that grief.

While the tragedy before him was heartbreaking, the complexities of human nature, social injustice, and the darkness hidden beneath the glamorous racetrack ignited his desire to "create."

Suddenly, a story about horse racing popped into his mind.

A story about horse racing, conspiracy, and the revelation of the truth.

Michael had been observing Michelle.

He knew Michel all too well; the young man's talent often erupted at the most unexpected moments.

He saw Michelle's expression gradually deepen from heavy to profound, and then a unique light began to shine in her eyes.

That's a sign that inspiration strikes...

"Michelle, do you have something on your mind again?" Michael asked softly, his tone filled with anticipation.

Michel did not answer immediately; he simply exhaled softly and gazed into the distance.

Michelle's gaze pierced through the morning mist of Newmark.

He slowly turned around to face Michael and Dickens.

"I did think of a story."

Michel said softly, his voice not loud, but with a magical quality.

Michael's face immediately showed a "I knew it" expression, and he gestured for Michelle to continue.

Dickens also suppressed his grief and indignation, looking at Michel with curiosity, wondering what kind of chapter he could weave from this tragedy.

"This is a new story about Sherlock Holmes."

Michelle continued, her tone calm.

"I've tentatively named the story 'The Silver-browed Horse'."

P.S.: It will be available for purchase tomorrow, and I'll be giving away a free 5-word chapter~ I hope everyone will continue to support Chestnut.

It's almost the end of the month, so I'm asking for one last round of monthly votes!