Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Ball of the Great Nobles

Although Mulan had spent almost the entire afternoon helping Irwin with his work, he didn’t feel the least bit tired; on the contrary, he was in excellent spirits. The journey to Estate No. 6 in the Laurel District was, geographically speaking, already near the outskirts of the city. Without making a run for it, a simple walk would take a considerable amount of time. Besides, this was the birthday ball of a count’s daughter—a rare extravagance seemed only appropriate.

So, for once, Mulan indulged himself and hired a carriage. Its function was not unlike a hired cab in his previous life, except in order to conserve the horses’ strength, coachmen typically parked their carriages at a designated spot and chatted among themselves while waiting for customers.

By evening, Mulan’s carriage had arrived at Estate No. 6. The buildings outside the window were still relatively dense, but here the view suddenly opened up. It truly lived up to the reputation of a powerful and wealthy count—he had managed to carve out an oasis of tranquility amidst the bustle.

Peering through the carriage window, Mulan saw all manner of carriages making their way toward the estate. The designs ranged from austere to ornate, but most bore crests on their doors—coats of arms denoting noble families. By contrast, the hired carriages were easily distinguished.

“So many noble carriages... Have all the nobles of Valentine gathered here? Or are there guests from farther afield?”

Mulan murmured to himself, feeling a trace of nervousness. But then he reminded himself of the battlefield and immediately felt calmer—he had been invited, after all, not shamelessly barged in. What was there to fear?

At the estate gates, invitations were checked—mainly those arriving by hired carriage, since the noble crests were conspicuous enough.

Of course, Mulan’s invitation was genuine, so his carriage was smoothly admitted.

“Sir, we’ve arrived.”

The coachman drove into the estate and, like the others, parked along the edge of the drive before promptly getting down to open the door for Mulan.

Mulan took a deep breath inside, gripped his cane, and stepped out with a calm expression. He handed the coachman the exact fare he’d prepared in advance: two dainty silver Deyens, plus three shillings and sixteen pence—neither a coin more nor less.

Looking ahead, Mulan couldn’t help thinking, Is this really an estate? He’d believe it if someone called it a castle.

The estate was vast—larger even than the entire Valentine Police Station. Countless windows blazed with light, unmistakably the home of immense wealth.

The coachman thanked him and began counting the fare, but Mulan was already making his way toward the main building.

“Sir, shall I wait here for you? Just two more Deyens for the return.”

Mulan turned and smiled, declining politely.

“No need—I’ll manage getting back.”

The coachman had no choice but to leave, while Mulan inwardly grumbled about the high cost of taxis here. Still, such thoughts were quickly forgotten.

Carriages continued to arrive, and noble sons and daughters, as well as older family members, alighted. Mulan did his best to blend in, adopting the attitude of an observer eager to broaden his horizons, and entered the ballroom along with some other recent arrivals.

Exquisite, abundant, dazzling, luxurious...

The floor was seamless in its fine grain, while the walls bore embossed murals and paintings. Enormous crystal chandeliers and spiral staircases gave Mulan the impression of stepping into a monument to culture.

Male and female servants in livery and maid uniforms were everywhere. At the center of the hall stood a massive table laden with delicate pastries and various culinary masterpieces. Clean porcelain was stacked at the edges, silver cutlery arranged in neat rows, and the trays carried by the attendants always bore goblets, desserts, and fruit.

The ball had yet to officially begin, and not everyone had arrived, but the atmosphere was already lively.

Mulan felt like Granny Liu entering the Grand View Garden for the first time—even though he’d seen plenty of films and animation, and now lived in this era, clearly he still hadn’t “seen the world.”

Utterly extravagant, utterly decadent, these people really knew how to enjoy themselves!

Mulan felt a slight unease, not unlike his first time on the battlefield, but none of it showed on his face. He moved forward naturally, observing the seats in the corners, the people enjoying pastries, and the men and women receiving wine from the attendants.

“Hello, could I have a glass of wine?”

Masking his nerves, Mulan addressed a passing attendant, who stopped, lowered the tray for Mulan to take a glass, and politely inquired,

“Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“No, thank you.”

The attendant gave a slight bow and moved on.

Piece of cake, Mulan thought. Nothing to it—just treat it like a buffet.

With this reassuring thought, Mulan brightened considerably. It really was rather like a buffet, after all. Dropping all pretense, he strode over to one of the tables piled high with food, picked up a plate and cutlery, and began to serve himself.

He couldn’t dance, so eating was the main event. After all, cleaning the sanctuary earlier had taken a lot out of him, and besides, the festivities hadn’t even started yet.

No pure sweets—some fruit, yes, but above all: meat, meat, meat!

Mulan had already set his sights on the centerpiece as he approached: a whole roasted suckling pig, rows of roast squab, and what looked like venison kebabs.

He needed no help carving—his knife skills were leagues above the attendants’, and he could slice meat and serve himself without disturbing the presentation.

Plate heaped, Mulan quickly retreated, looking for a quiet corner in which to eat.

This wasn’t a real buffet, after all—he couldn’t juggle multiple plates loaded with food, so he settled for just one, and of course, he didn’t forget his wine.

Seated at the edge of the grand hall, Mulan was devouring his meal with elegant gusto—he ate gracefully, though not slowly.

Delicious... truly delicious... They can already roast meat this well? Did they drizzle it with honey?

Mulan mentally praised the count’s chef to the skies, and the wine was the finest he’d ever tasted. He was already considering going back for seconds.

Mulan’s powers of observation were sharp—he’d spotted some of the gifts brought by other nobles, some carried by servants. The little biscuits he’d brought, though nice, were clearly outclassed—he’d best remain invisible, or else he, or the whole Jonest family, would die of embarrassment.

At some point, a group of musicians emerged from a side corridor, dressed in immaculate formalwear, instruments in hand. They gathered in an unobtrusive corner of the hall.

Melodious music began to fill the air, heralding the imminent start of the ball.

Ah, the life of the rich...

Mulan sighed, unable to resist imagining—if he rose to the heights of power, would he live in such garish luxury?

“Hello, may I sit here?”

A girl approached, smiling as she asked. Mulan slowed his chewing and turned to nod.

“Please, go ahead.”

The girl sized him up—his attire was less ornate than the others’, but had a certain striking quality. Her gaze fell on his plate, where only traces of a hearty meal remained.

“My name is Vina. I’ve noticed you’ve been eating all this time—seems you’re not interested in the ball. Everyone else is hunting for dance partners, you know~”

Her meaning was clear. Mulan replied with an honest smile.

“I can’t dance. To be honest, good food is more my style. Oh, and my name is Mulan.”

“Mulan... Mulan?”

She was briefly taken aback, then pressed further.

“Mulan Jonest?”

“That’s me.”

The girl covered her mouth in surprise—no wonder he’d seemed familiar. So this was Mulan Jonest—in person, even more handsome than in the photographs!

She was instantly excited.

“Mr. Jonest, may I be your dance partner?”

“Sorry, I don’t know how to dance. Um, I think I’ll go grab some more food.”

Mulan apologized, rose with his plate, and strode toward the buffet table—the girl’s perfume was simply too much for him to handle.