Chapter 121: The "Disgrace" of the French Guard

Chapter 121: The "Disgrace" of the French Guard

After all the vineyard owners signed the contracts to plant potatoes, Joseph smiled warmly and informed them that specialists would soon arrive to handle their membership in the French Brewing Technology Association and teach their brewers the necessary techniques.

Finally, he kindly reminded everyone to be vigilant against any unauthorized wineries using the new brewing techniques without permission.

The pasteurization method is straightforward—just control the temperature and heating time. Anyone who has seen it can easily spread the word. But now that France has a patent law and a patent office, anyone who dares to use patented technology without authorization will be sued into bankruptcy.

The vineyard owners present immediately expressed their determination to monitor this closely. Competitors are enemies, and the fewer competitors, the better their own sales. After all, they had paid membership fees and patent usage fees, so there was no way they would let others "freeload."

Some were already plotting how to buy out the businesses of Count Ledney and others at a low price once they went bankrupt.

Joseph praised the vineyard owners for their loyalty to the King, then left the Arsen Wine Cellar.

As they reached the gates of the Arsen estate, Joseph suddenly realized he had forgotten something and tapped his forehead. He turned to Emond and said, "Count Emond, please invite Mr. Vernio over."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Soon, the Prince's convoy set off, leaving the vineyard.

In the carriage, Joseph smiled at Vernio and said, "Mr. Vernio, just as I predicted, everyone is now eager to plant potatoes."

Vernio remembered their bet and spoke with admiration, "Your Highness, your actions are truly impressive. Please, tell me what you need me to do. I will do everything in my power to fulfill it."

Joseph nodded with satisfaction. "Then, let me thank you in advance for your efforts. We've made good progress in promoting potato planting here in Bordeaux, so I think we can use the same approach in similar places, like Burgundy and Provence."

Vernio immediately understood the Prince's intentions and his eyes lit up—both Burgundy and Provence are wine-producing regions. Although they don't produce as much as Bordeaux, the wine industry is still significant in those areas.

Using the new wine-making technology as bait and replicating the Bordeaux strategy, it's likely that many vineyard owners would agree to plant potatoes.

Joseph continued, "Oh, and Brittany and Normandy too—you can use this method to promote potato planting there as well."

"Huh?" Vernio was puzzled. "But those places don't produce wine..."

Joseph smiled slightly. "But they do have a beer industry. My brewing technique works not only for wine but also for beer and spirits."

Vernio's eyes widened. "This technology is incredible!"

"It can even be used to preserve milk," Joseph added casually, looking at Vernio with a smile. "I hope you can go to these places for me and promote potato planting using the brewing technology. Of course, I'll assign you the necessary manpower."

Vernio, with his excellent oratory skills and strong enthusiasm for potato planting, was the perfect person for this task. With him traveling and handling these matters, Joseph could save a lot of energy.

Vernio immediately bowed deeply and said, "Your Highness, I am honored to serve you, and I will ensure that you are satisfied!"

He then discussed with Joseph some important details about "trading potatoes for technology" before finally asking the question that had been on his mind recently: "Your Highness, can you tell me how you managed to drastically improve both the success rate and quality of brewing, even though you didn't personally oversee the process?"

Joseph didn't hide the truth, confident that the patent law would protect him. "Mr. Vernio, brewing failures and poor quality are both related to the souring of the wine. Do you know what causes that sour taste?"

Vernio, who ran a winery, had some knowledge of the industry and immediately replied, "There are several possibilities, like poor-quality grapes or incorrect timing in the brewing process..."

Joseph let him finish before shaking his head with a smile. "The factors you mentioned might have an impact, but they're not the root cause."

Vernio's eyes widened. "The root cause? What is it?"

"Lactic acid bacteria."

"Lactic acid bacteria?" Vernio was confused. "Isn't that a kind of bacteria?"

Joseph nodded. "Yes, the same bacteria used to make yogurt."

"But that's yeast," Vernio blurted out.

"That's a common misconception," Joseph corrected. "It's actually something entirely different from yeast. It breaks down proteins or sugars, releasing lactic acid—the source of the sour taste in wine.

"This bacteria is everywhere in nature, so during the brewing process, it easily gets into the grape mash or water, causing the wine to sour."

"Fortunately, it's very fragile. Just 30 minutes at 60 degrees will kill it completely."

Vernio pondered for a moment. "So according to you, just heating the brewing materials to 60 degrees for half an hour can solve all the problems?"

"Exactly."

Vernio's face showed disbelief. "It's that simple?!"

"Science often seems simple when you ignore the process of discovery," Joseph smiled and nodded.

The next morning, as Joseph was preparing to return to Paris, Governor Monslow and Vernio suddenly arrived at his room.

Joseph was a bit surprised. There were still two hours until his scheduled departure—why had they come so early to see him off?

After exchanging pleasantries, Monslow hesitated for a moment before saying, "Your Highness, please forgive me, but after discussing with Mr. Vernio, we decided it would be best to inform you of something."

"What is it? Please go ahead."

"Well, Viscount Joubert, Viscount Vienna, and Baron Chapulier hope to have a chance to prove their loyalty to the King. I mean, they wish to plant some potatoes."

Seeing that the Prince had no recollection of these names, Vernio quickly added, "Your Highness, they were the ones who didn't attend the second day of the meeting."

Monslow continued, "Your Highness, they have expressed their willingness to plant potatoes on half of their vineyard land."

Joseph frowned. Vernio quickly interjected, "Your Highness, they know they were wrong and beg for your forgiveness..."

Joseph knew these three had paid dearly just to get the governor to plead on their behalf.

They had refused his earlier offer, so now they would have to pay more. The more potatoes planted, the better. He coldly replied, "Tell them they must plant potatoes on two-thirds of their vineyard land, and their membership fees will be doubled. That's all."

Monslow relaxed visibly and bowed. "Yes, Your Highness. They will surely be grateful for your mercy and generosity."

As for the few nobles who had yet to hear the news or were still hesitating, they had lost their last chance to join the brewing technology association. What awaited them was a bleak future.

…

Several days later, the Prince's convoy entered Paris.

Joseph looked out of the carriage window and saw that many public toilets had been built along the streets, with citizens coming and going. Occasionally, he even saw carts filled with manure being hauled out of the city as fertilizer.

Posters with "No Public Urination" signs were plastered all over, and police officers kept a watchful eye on passersby. Anyone who seemed about to relieve themselves in public was immediately whistled at and reprimanded.

The results were evident—public defecation had decreased by 70 to 80 percent, though there were still occasional incidents. It's no surprise that changing public hygiene habits wouldn't happen overnight.

At this point, Paris was already one of the cleanest and tidiest cities in Europe.

Joseph took a deep breath, noticing the air in the city was much fresher, no longer giving off the constant smell of a public restroom.

As the carriage passed the Seine River, Joseph even felt, perhaps due to psychological suggestion, that the river water seemed clearer.

In fact, with less waste on the streets being washed into the Seine, the river was indeed less polluted. Even citizens who drew water from the river began to notice the water tasted slightly "cleaner."

This led to even more attention being paid to public urination, with many citizens starting to report offenders to the police.

As the carriage passed a less busy public toilet, Joseph ordered it to stop, then got out and curiously went inside to check it out.

It was a large pit-style latrine, divided into four stalls with wooden partitions, each equipped with a handrail. In front of the stalls was a long row of urinals—overall, it was quite decent.

Joseph used the facility, feeling quite satisfied as he left the toilet. After a few steps, he suddenly sensed something was off.

He turned around to take another look—everything seemed in order...

Then it hit him, and his face darkened—this public toilet had only one door, meaning it was for men only!

Recalling the other public toilets along the way, he called Emond over and confirmed that they all had only one entrance.

After realizing why the Prince was upset, Emond attempted to explain, "Your Highness, perhaps they assumed that ladies would rarely need to relieve themselves on the streets."

Joseph sighed. It seemed nothing could be left unchecked—he couldn't afford to miss even the smallest details...

The convoy resumed its journey. As they neared the city center, posters for the upcoming Fashion Week began to appear along the streets, and additional signs with arrows and multilingual directions had been added at intersections.

According to Joseph's plans, advertising for Fashion Week had begun in various parts of Europe more than a month ago, costing over 100,000 livres in promotional expenses.

But the results were apparent—now, the focus of conversations among nobles across Europe was the Paris Fashion Week, and even the high-end hotels in the Tuileries Palace were over 70% booked.

It was clear that when Fashion Week officially began, a flood of foreign tourists would pour into Paris, spending lavishly and creating a historic event.

…

In a villa on the outskirts of southern Paris, a gathering was taking place.

Most of the attendees were military officers. Unlike salons, which they didn't particularly enjoy, gatherings like these were their preferred form of socializing.

In a quiet corner of the gathering, a major with a mouthful of blackened teeth swirled his wine glass and spoke in a low voice, "Auror, tell me about the activities of those wretched police."

A tall, thin lieutenant immediately nodded respectfully and lowered his voice. "I had someone keep an eye on that police training ground for more than ten days and found that they conduct artillery training every three days..."

The officers around them immediately showed disdainful expressions:

"A bunch of lousy cops playing with cannons!"

"Hmph, they're lucky if they don't fire the shells into their own camp."

"Exactly, cannons aren't something they can handle!"

Auror continued, "On the days they train with artillery, they do it once in the morning and once in the afternoon, with a break in between..."

When he finished speaking, the major with black teeth asked, "Have you scouted the surrounding villages?"

Auror nodded and pulled out a piece of paper, pointing to the center rectangle. "This is the accursed training ground, and these circles represent farmhouses."

The black-toothed major studied the paper for a moment, then pointed to a circle on the north side. "How far is this from the police training ground?"

"Half a league."

"That's a bit far. What about here?"

"Just over a third of a league."

"Good, that's the one. And there's a dense forest nearby," the major said with a cold smile. "Cecilian, you'll take your men and handle security."

He pointed to the north side of the training ground. "Right here. Auror, you're in charge of transporting the cannon and moving it afterward. If anything goes wrong, head into this forest.

"According to your intel, the police will conduct their final training around 4 p.m. Just delay them a little until it gets dark, then you can return to the barracks at your leisure."

"Yes, sir!"

The major then looked at a small, blond-haired man sitting across from him. "Clem, you'll take your men and handle the shooting. You'll only get one shot, so make sure it hits that farmhouse, then retreat into the city."

"Yes, sir. You can count on me."

"Auror, when's their next training session?"

"The day after tomorrow, sir."

"Good. Tomorrow, familiarize yourselves with the terrain, and we'll strike the day after. Cheers! Those wretched police dared to insult our general and the French Guard. This time, we'll leave them with a lasting memory!"

These men were officers of the French Guard.

Last time, when the French Guard's commander, Baron de Bessons, was forced to retreat by the police at the training ground, it was considered a disgrace, and he blamed the entire incident on the police academy's dean and the Paris police commissioner.

Of course, as a high-ranking officer, de Bessons knew he had to use political means to deal with them, but his subordinates just wanted to get revenge.

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