The Happy Days of Being a Factory Owner in London – Chapter 26
by MonoThe Trial Run
Who are you?
Hearing “a plan to make money,” Arna’s eyes lit up.
She casually picked up a semi-finished product sitting on the desk and handed it to the perceptive editor-in-chief. “This is the Carriage Shock Absorber I made. The patent is already pending. In addition, I have two other patents pending: the wooden Bunk beds and the Air Freshener.”
Arna looked at the editor expectantly, waiting for his assessment.
Editor Pike took the small mechanical device, both hesitant and curious, and began to toy with it.
This precise semi-finished piece consisted of intricate grooves and springs interlocking with one another. Some parts seemed to have been meticulously polished, yet the whole thing still looked incredibly dilapidated.
A memory of what he had seen upon entering flashed through the editor’s mind: the children’s little hands shifting between several similar components. Very well, he thought, those little ones were probably making this.
His shrewd eyes narrowed. It was as if he believed that if he stared long enough, this messy jumble of parts might suddenly make sense. “Ah… fascinating. What is its exact purpose? To reduce vibrations, improve comfort, or protect the axle?”
Based on her previous experience riding in the carriage, Arna replied without hesitation, “All of the above.”
After all, she had raised the speed to the level of galloping horses, yet Watson’s and Holmes’s teeth had remained perfectly fine in their mouths without clacking against each other! The axle had been completely undamaged as well.
Editor Pike felt a bit disappointed. She might as well have claimed it purely enhanced aesthetics.
He felt the factory owner before him hadn’t spoken a single word of truth. If such an incredible invention were really that effective, how could it have remained entirely unknown until now? Moreover, the origin of these parts was highly suspicious. Looking this battered, they definitely hadn’t been shipped brand-new from a gear factory. Could they really achieve the effects the factory owner claimed? What a shameless boast.1
Not to mention he knew little about mechanics and physics, making it even harder to judge what effect this bizarre combination of parts could produce.
But, like any seasoned performer, Editor Pike cleared his throat, nodded affably, and handed the part back to Arna.
“Mr. Aisas, let me be frank. Your device certainly has technical merits, which I deeply admire,” he said without blinking an eye at the lie. “But I’m afraid you don’t understand the kind of backstory Londoners crave…”
He lowered his voice and leaned in slightly. “A young factory owner bravely defending his family legacy against a cruel society and the violent acts of the underclass—that is what makes a newspaper sell out. More importantly, it can benefit the product as well.”
Arna: …Who is he talking about?
Seeing the factory owner’s blank expression, Editor Pike straightened up, gesturing broadly as if he were writing a headline in the air. “Just imagine it! From a factory owner who single-handedly fought off ten men without losing ground, to a philanthropist sheltering orphans—how novel! We can use your charitable deeds to drum up enough attention. People will buy your device just to show their support for you, even if it’s just a pile of… scrap parts.”
London was full of such easy marks2. Wealthy gentlemen and ladies would open their wallets for this story, buying these useless little trinkets purely out of pity.
Skipping over the beginning, Arna accurately grasped the main point. “Scrap parts?”
She crossed her arms. “This is a Carriage Shock Absorber.”
She had indeed played a little trick when acquiring materials—for example, sourcing a portion from dustbins and nearby scrap heaps… but the vast majority had been bought in bulk from the system!
It definitely wasn’t just because her funds only allowed her to buy old ones.
“Of course, of course,” Editor Pike said quickly, waving a hand. “A revolutionary invention, without a doubt. But frankly speaking, my friend, what truly captures the public’s attention is not imagination, but courage. This story tells of a brave young man reclaiming his birthright from the evil forces of London’s East End—my word, it’s practically legendary!”
Arna stared at him.
This guy was giving her a headache with all his noise. The editor NPC had blathered on and on, but he just wouldn’t tell her the estimated price. They had agreed to sell for a high price; surely it wouldn’t be less than the system price?
Her thoughts took a turn.
How about I take this guy out for a carriage ride, and then… he’ll know exactly what price to offer.
Editor Pike mistook this silence for excessive shyness and humility. He walked around the desk and patted Aisas on the shoulder like a proud uncle. “Rest assured, philanthropists will be lining up to invest in your factory! Plenty of people will buy a dozen of your little gadgets, just to display them at their next charity gala…”
His words broke off. He realized with horror that his feet had suddenly left the ground. He was being hoisted up.
The assistant following behind him widened his eyes. “Mr. Editor—”
Editor Pike, who just moments ago had been self-righteously discussing marketability, was now dangling in mid-air, firmly clamped over Arna’s shoulder. His hat fell to the floor, and his expensive coat flapped wildly like a freshly caught trout flopping on a riverbank.
“I have your Mr. Editor,” Arna said briskly to the assistant clutching a notebook. She strode toward the door without pausing. “Be good and follow along, or I don’t know what might happen next.”
Stepping outside the office, she checked left and right. Seeing no sign of Mrs. Hudson, she hurried downstairs, darting like a wisp of smoke3 over to her carriage, and tossed the editor into the backseat.
The editor’s face was deathly pale. Slumped in the backseat with his tie askew, he looked as if he wanted to scream “Good heavens!” and “By the Queen!” and “Let me go!” all at once. But Arna didn’t give him a chance to keep babbling.
As soon as the assistant NPC scrambled clumsily into the carriage, she cracked the whip. “Let’s go!”
The horse bolted forward wildly, as if a pack of hounds were snapping at its heels.
The editor clung to the backseat in terror alongside his assistant, utterly convinced he was about to be dumped into the River Thames.
He was already beginning to regret his loose tongue and sudden brainwaves. Christ, he could have been with the other journalists listening to Scotland Yard’s official statement. Instead, he had come here to face this terrifying factory owner who had single-handedly fought ten burly thugs to a standstill—what kind of good temper could such a person possibly possess?
Satan must have bewitched him!
The world on either side dissolved into a dizzying blur of streets. The wind rushed at his face, nearly suffocating him.
However, as the carriage rushed on, Editor Pike gradually realized something was off.
Despite the breakneck speed, the carriage wasn’t rattling and groaning like a cheap public hackney, even though they used the exact same frame and construction.
It didn’t jolt violently when turning onto the cobblestone streets, nor was there any danger of it overturning. Even during a sharp turn, their momentum didn’t send them crashing into a passing fruit cart.
On the contrary, it rode with an eerie smoothness. The wheels glided over the rugged road surface as if the streets themselves had been designed specifically for this carriage.
Editor Pike loosened his grip. His eyebrows shot up as he began to truly feel the uniqueness of the vehicle.
Even the assistant, who had been silently praying for his life, blinked in astonishment. “Sir… we’re… we’re still alive…”
At that moment, the factory owner turned around, offering Editor Pike a calm smile.
“You feel it, don’t you?” Aisas’s voice was perfectly composed, as if this sort of speed was no different from a leisurely stroll to the young gentleman.
The editor’s brain spun rapidly, latching onto keywords.
Stability. Control. This battered-looking suspension device was clearly far from useless.
His mouth opened and closed. Finally, with extreme enthusiasm, he declared, “Aisas, my friend, we must discuss this immediately! This changes everything! The Queen’s carriage could use these! I swear, I have never seen anything work so perfectly! And those railway magnates, the wealthy gentlemen—they would absolutely not want to miss this…”
No wonder he’s the editor-in-chief. He really does have some skill. The praise is so pleasant to hear—how cultured!
Bathed in the editor’s loud, articulate praises, Arna floated on a cloud of smugness as she drove the two men back to the factory at the slow pace they requested.
As soon as they reached the office, Editor Pike’s nerves finally relaxed.
His mind was practically overflowing with new ideas. He paced back and forth across the room like a frog circling a pond.
“‘A Revolution on Wheels: The Ingenious Design Behind London’s Smoothest Ride!’ How does that headline sound?” The moment he said it, he immediately regretted it and rejected the mundane title. “No, we need to link this sensational event with the invention…”
But before he could launch into another speech, the door suddenly opened.
Solicitor Mr. Green hurried in, his wig slightly askew—likely having just come straight from court. In his hand, he clutched a stack of envelopes sealed with deep red wax.
“My dear child—good heavens!” he gasped, out of breath. “The moment I stepped out of court, a kind soul came to inform me that a major incident occurred at the Aisas Textile Factory last night! Thugs, poison, even gunshots?! Why didn’t you—”
Arna quickly cut him off.
“It’s all been handled. I wasn’t hurt, and I had friends with me,” she said. “Besides, Scotland Yard even said they were going to reward me.”
Solicitor Green blinked. He looked as though he wanted to scold her about not being so reckless, but then remembered why he had come to the factory in the first place.
“Ah! Yes, you do have quite a few friends!” He huffed, adjusting his wig before pushing the envelopes toward her. “The patents. All approved—in just over a month. Faster than I’ve ever seen. All thanks to a certain favor and the generous patent fees you provided.”
Arna opened the letters. They were covered in official seals and mountains of legal jargon she couldn’t understand. Scanning up and down, she could only recognize her own name and the beautiful, crown-topped logo on the margins.
The entire document essentially boiled down to one thing: her inventions had been approved by the Queen and were henceforth protected by law.
Editor Pike practically teleported to Arna’s side, peering down over her shoulder through the gap.
“So fast,” he said, his voice tinged with pride and satisfaction. “Excellent. This will clearly benefit our plans.”
Solicitor Green narrowed his eyes, looking at this stranger who had appeared out of nowhere.
His eyebrows knitted together like two caterpillars preparing for battle. “And who might you be…?”
The author has something to say:
That’s all for today’s update~
Tomorrow (Aug 29) the novel will be featured on the promotional roster, so the update will be delayed to 9 PM. It will still be a double update! Remember to come back, darlings~
I need to learn from my friend’s diligence of writing six thousand words a day. 😎 Must work hard!
Footnotes
- 'Bragging without drafting a script' (chuīniú bù dǎ cǎogǎo) is a Chinese idiom meaning to boast shamelessly and wildly without even bothering to prepare a believable lie.
- A slang term (yuāndàtóu) referring to someone who is easily fooled into spending money unnecessarily; a sucker, an easy mark, or a spendthrift.
- A Chinese idiom (yī liù yān) translating to 'like a wisp of smoke,' used to describe someone moving incredibly fast and disappearing in an instant.
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