“A list of possibly poisonous items?” Ashborne raised a brow as he scanned through the document. Most of the items listed were, disturbingly, among the bestsellers in the market.

  Whitening powders and creams, mercury tonics - promoted as cures for vitality and complexion.

  Bright colours in paints and fabrics, adored for their striking hue, luxuries only the wealthy could afford.

  And most importantly, the match factories - gold mines in their own right, indispensable to daily life wherever fire was needed.

  Did this young woman truly understand what she was doing?

  If she had dared to teach children about any of this without proper justification, she could have gotten her reputation ruined.

  His gaze shifted back to the letter attached to the list:

  [Miss Jade accepted my advice not to teach these topics in class. She is clearly aware of the commercial interests behind these products once they were pointed out to her. However, her concern was so genuine that I began to question my own assumptions - whether these items truly existed only to deliver beauty and convenience, and whether many have been ignorantly consuming poison simply to look attractive, all while dying young.]

  [She has no concrete evidence to support her claims, but she strongly suggests testing the products on rats, rabbits, or other small mammals with proper procedures and precautions. She is confident the results would be evident within a month. Naturally, our domus lacks the resources and manpower to conduct such tests. However, I believe, my lord, that you may find this proposal intriguing, given your private laboratory and your interest in experimental research.]

  “A sly old man,” Ashborne chuckled.

  Nevertheless, he agreed. He instructed his private secretary to arrange a visit to his laboratory the following day.

  The laboratory housed multiple ongoing projects - some commissioned at his personal whim, others conducted independently by the scientists he employed. To date, it had yielded no financial return. The laboratory director was perpetually apologetic during their meetings, likely fearing that Ashborne would one day dissolve the operation altogether. After all, this “hobby” had consumed considerable funding and produced little beyond a handful of papers published in obscure scientific journals.

  When the laboratory director eagerly accepted the new assignment - testing perfumery, paint products and medicines available on the market using rats and rabbits - Ashborne promptly forgot about the matter.

  That was, until his next visit to the domus.

  It was a bright, sunlit afternoon.

  The young schoolteacher who had first caught his attention sat in a corner of the courtyard, carefully grinding a white substance with a mortar and pestle.

  He did not approach her. Instead, he continued on to Father Rochester’s study, intending - as usual - to review the bills and documents.

  In addition to the expected expenses for classroom necessities - blackboards, paper, pens, and ink - Ashborne noticed several charges unrelated to the school’s original construction plan.

  “A brick oven? Possibly upgraded to a large-scale iron oven if funds are sufficient?” Ashborne pointed to the note. “Father Rochester, I do not object to funding an iron oven, but this was not part of the initial plan, was it?”

  “No, it was not,” Father Rochester admitted with a chuckle, shaking his head, “The suggestion came at Miss Jade’s request. She asked whether it might be possible to build a brick oven using discarded materials - broken bricks left over at the construction site. She had been mindful of our financial constraints since the beginning. The head contractor kindly built it for her at minimal cost, using only the scraps available.”

  Ashborne paused for a moment before asking, one brow raised. “She knows how to bake? That is not a skill commoners or peasants typically possess. And yet no one has come looking for her?”

  “Nay,” Rochester sighed briefly before his tone shifted with renewed enthusiasm. “My lord, you have no clue how delighted I was when I heard her proposal for the oven. She said - and I quote - ‘We must have our own source of income if we wish to keep the school running. It may be a simple brick oven now, but since I have been given the chance to guide these children, I shall teach them how to bake and sell the goods. In time, we will upgrade this oven to an iron one, all while teaching them how to survive.’”

  Ashborne lifted his brows again. “In other words, she does not intend to build an iron oven with my funds, but rather through a small trade of her own design?”

  “I quote her once more,” Father Rochester said, smoothing his moustache. “‘If we want these children to live better lives, we must teach them how to fish instead of simply giving them the fish. Hands-on practice will prepare them to stand on their own in the future.’”

  He chuckled softly. “When we first decided to organise a ragged school, all I envisioned was teaching them how to read, write, and count. But Miss Jade - she is far more thoughtful that I expected. I’m genuinely impressed by her syllabus.”

  That very syllabus now rested in Ashborne’s hands.

  It was not the simple outline he had anticipated.

  Instead, it was a detailed teaching schedule - weekly objectives, expected student outcomes, and a clear division of three months as a semester, complete with homework, holidays, and examinations.

  By the third week, students were expected to recognise all letters of the alphabet, read simple words, construct basic sentences, and perform addition and subtraction using pennies and everyday objects. The following week, she planned to introduce basic sewing and simple cooking, using nothing more than water and flour.

  “She intended to teach them how to identify harmful substances in their daily lives,” Father Rochester explained as Ashborne scanned the pages. “She is particularly concerned about the hazards the children face at work and at home. As I mentioned in my letter to you, my lord, I stopped her from doing so.”

  “Trent, I would like a copy of this,” Ashborne said, handing the syllabus to his private secretary before turning back to Father Rochester. “And how did she react when you declined her request?”

  The secretary immediately retrieved his quill and began scribbling furiously in his notebook, listening closely as the conversation continued.

  The White Robe took a moment to recall. His expression settled into a mix of confusion and resignation. “She appeared surprised at first - perhaps even provoked. She looked as though she wished to argue. But before she could speak, her eyes widened, clenching her teeth and muttering something along the lines of ‘ethic-less tycoon’ or ‘stupid era’. I cannot be certain; my hearing is not what it once was. Regardless, she accepted my decision. Since then, she has occupied herself with grinding wheat, barley, and other grains into powder.”

  “And you do not believe this to be a hobby?” Ashborne asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.

  “I had assumed her hobby was collecting old newspapers and reading serialised stories,” Father Rochester replied, uncertainty colouring his tone. “Though it is possible she intends to use those stories as teaching material. In any case, I do not believe grinding grains brings her any joy. She certainly does not look as though she enjoys it.”

  “You did not ask her for the reasoning behind it?” Ashborne asked, continuing to flip through the bills and documents.

  “Oh, I most certainly did not wish to become the sort of nosy old man who irritates the young,” Father Rochester replied with a chuckle.

  The two men responsible for the ragged school remained in the study for nearly an hour, occasionally exchanging information on recent policies and local news. Their conversation drifted easily from one topic to another, accompanied by tea and light remarks. Truthfully, Ashborne found this atmosphere far more agreeable than the social gatherings she was obligated to attend at his club - events he privately considered a waste of time, though circumstances left him little choice but to endure them.

  By the time Mr. Trent finished copying the necessary documents - not only the syllabus, but several others as well - the discussion finally drew to a close. Just as he assumed they would proceed directly to the carriage and return to the townhouse, his employer addressed the kind-looking clergyman instead.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  “Would it displease Miss Jade if I were to meet her in person?” he asked. “I must admit, I am rather curious about her reason for grinding grains in a corner.”

  “Miss Jade would not mind at all,” Father Rochester replied, though his brows drew closer slightly, as if searching for the right words. “Miss Jade is… she appears quite unfamiliar with the distance most people prefer to keep from one another. And she is rather - how shall I say - lovingly expressive in her gestures.”

  Noticing the curiosity on Ashborne’s face, Father Rochester gestured toward the corridor. “My lord, you will understand once you speak with her.”

  “Well then,” Ashborne said, one brow lifting with interest, “this promises to be an intriguing meeting.” He turned slightly and added in a low voice, “Trent, please take notes during our conversation.”

  Mr. Trent nodded. He was not a man given to visible expression - his acquaintances often teased him for having a face as unmoving as a card table. Still, this was the first time his employer had asked him to record a conversation with a woman. A commoner, with no known background, and described in such unusual terms.

  “My lord,” he asked carefully, “what, precisely, would you like me to note?”

  “Anything you deem worth recording,” Ashborne replied lightly. “Nothing formal. Simply observe and write as you see fit. I do not expect anything extraordinary to come of this.” He paused, then added with a faint smile, “Though I must say - do you not find her rather unique, Trent?”

  “Yes. Indeed,” Mr. Trent answered. It was, after all, the first time he had seen a woman provoke such interest from his employer. That alone made her exceptional. He withdrew a palm-sized notebook and pencil, sharpening his attention.

  When Jade finally finished her prototype, she lifted her head - only to freeze.

  The principal stood nearby, accompanied by a man who was very obviously rich. Fine tailoring, polished shoes, gold decorative trinkets that caught the light with every movement. The full package.

  He looks like the classy kind, Jade thought. Good posture, proper manners, good-looking, and… weirdly, kind of harmless?

  And of course, the rich guy had an assistant with him. Of course he did.

  Realisation struck her all at once.

  OMG.

  He’s the Mr. Rich Sponsor!

  So this must be the patron behind the charity school. Some kind of CEO-type, complete with the know-it-all aide!

  Then why was the principal bringing him here? Jade thoughts spiralled. Do we need more donations? But Father Rochester said the budget for Phase 1 was more than enough.

  Is this a demonstration? Like, “look, sir, we are definitely not wasting your money?”

  But why me? Shouldn’t he be meeting Mr. Anderson - the proper teacher in the large classroom?

  Wait.

  Did he come because of my proposal? The oven thing?

  Um… do rich guys in this era actually care about projects this small?

  “Good afternoon, Miss Jade. I hope we are not interrupting your work,” Father Rochester said, smiling gently.

  “Oh - no, not at all. I’ve just finished,” Jade replied, attempting to rise. She was immediately motioned back to her seat as Father Rochester took one beside her, accompanied by the well-dressed gentleman.

  An elderly clergyman, a wealthy noble, and a poorly dressed young woman sat together on stools and benches along the corridor of a church-like building, while a stern-looking man stood nearby with a notebook in hand, quietly recording something.

  The scene struck Jade as oddly surreal.

  They could have gone into one of the rooms - somewhere shaded and proper - but she was hardly in a position to question the arrangement. Instead, she listened as Father Rochester began the introductions.

  “This gentleman is our principal patron,” he said. “Lord Theodore Ashborne, eldest son of the Earl of Wexleigh. And the gentleman standing there is Mr. Alric Trent, his private secretary. My lord would like a word with you regarding your syllabus, Miss Jade.”

  A Lord?

  An Earl?

  OMG.

  Jade blinked, her brows shooting upward as she struggled to suppress her reaction. She clenched her fists at her sides - far too animated by local standards. She had already noticed that women here, especially, were expected to speak and move with restraint, nothing like the casual familiarity she had shared with neighbours in her previous life.

  And absolutely nothing that might invite suspicion.

  She remembered with a chill that this world’s history did, in fact, include witch trials; she’d read it in one of the books she swiped from the domus a few days ago. They didn’t burn people here - they beheaded them. While not quite as torturous as being burned alive, beheading still didn’t sound pleasant at all.

  Still, restraint only went so far.

  Her expression must have given everything away, because a faint chuckle escaped Ashborne before he quickly masked it with a polite cough.

  “Miss Jade,” he said, offering a slight nod, “it is a pleasure to finally meet you”

  Jade caught on a single word. “Finally?”

  Ashborne cleared his throat again, a touch of embarrassment creeping in; it wasn’t exactly proper for a gentleman to pry into a lady’s business, “Father Rochester and I correspond frequently. He speaks very highly of you.”

  “Really?” Jade turned to Father Rochester, eyes wide with a broad smile - just in time to catch the faint colour rising on the White Robe’s face, “Aww, thank you, Father!”

  Father Rochester coughed lightly. He smiled, pleased, though he concealed it behind his closed fist.

  So this was what Father Rochester meant by “lovingly expressive”.

  The young woman spoke as her thoughts came, openly and warmly, with no apparent concern for whether her enthusiasm might embarrass others. A rare trait - especially here.

  “So,” Jade said, turning back to Ashborne, “about my syllabus. Is there anything you’d like me to add? Or remove? Um… Sir?”

  Mr. Trent frowned. Her tone was far too casual for a nobleman.

  Before he could intervene, Ashborne lifted a hand for a brief moment before dropping it back onto the handle of his walking stick.

  “That will not be necessary,” Ashborne said mildly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You may proceed with your current syllabus. I find it… quite promising.”

  Jade let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.

  “However,” Ashborne continued, his gaze sharpening just a little, “I am particularly interested in your iron oven project. It was not detailed in your document, so I would like to hear it - from you.”

  “Well… this is going to be a long process,” Jade began, counting on her fingers as she spoke. “And I’m not even sure it’ll work. But at least it’s something I can actually manage with what we have right now.”

  She barely paused for a breath.

  “The iron oven itself won’t be cheap. So, for now, I’ll start by getting a sack of barley from the domus storeroom and see if I can make malt sugar. That way we won’t need to buy sugar - sugar and honey are both way too expensive. Then, I’ll source other ingredients apart from what the domus can supply, like rejected fruit, and eggs from nearby farms, so we can have more variety in what we bake.”

  She continued, momentum carrying her forward, as if she had completely forgotten that a nobleman was sitting in front of her.

  “After that, I’ll experiment with recipes using whatever I can get my hands on. At the same time, I need to do some market research - figure out what people actually like… I’m thinking middle to lower classes, mostly working class. They have a bit of spare money for treats and probably won’t mind buying from the domus. Then there’s packaging, where to sell, when to sell, pricing… oh, and since the students are involved, I’ll need to pay them, so that goes into the cost too…”

  Her voice trailed off.

  Only then did she notice the expressions on the three men in front of her.

  “...Um,” she said cautiously, “did I say something wrong? I mean, I’m not really familiar with the market here, so…?”

  “There is nothing wrong at all, Miss Jade,” Ashborne said, eyes wide with unmistakable excitement. “On the contrary - that is an impressively detailed plan.”

  He leaned forward slightly. “You should have written it all down. And as for the cost, do not trouble yourself over that. What you require would barely register against my funds. I fully support your iron oven project.”

  Instead of lighting up, Jade frowned.

  She looked him over from head to toe, brows knitting together. “Sir… you’re buying my idea just based on what I said just now?”

  Ashborne crossed his arms and tilted his head, “Why wouldn’t I? You sounded far more convincing than most men who came seeking my sponsorship.”

  Jade’s frown deepened.

  “So… those people just said it? Like, verbally?” she asked flatly. “No charts? No numbers? No data to back up their proposals?”

  “Yes?” Ashborne replied, now genuinely confused. His secretary and Father Rochester looked equally lost. “Miss Jade, why would one require charts or data for an investment proposal?”

  Such things, in his mind, belonged to scientific journals - and even there, they were rare. He doubted many people even knew what a graph was.

  Jade pressed her fingers to her knotted brows.

  “Sir,” she said carefully, “I hope you don’t mind if I ask something a bit personal.”

  At his nod, she took a breath, and continued, “Have… most of your previous investments failed?”

  Ashborne froze.

  So did his secretary.

  “How did you know that?” Ashborne blurted out. He stared at her, searching her eyes as if trying to read her mind.

  Jade covered her face with her palm.

  Dang it.

  So, he isn’t the sharp, battle-hardened CEO type. The elegant, capable image she had built in her head shattered completely, reforming into something else entirely.

  A fluffy creature with round, innocent eyes.

  Young. Wealthy, Earnest.

  And painfully inexperienced.

  A babe in the woods with zero survival instincts, she thought grimly. This is going to be interesting.

  Yes, Ashborne is the male MC, in case any of you are wondering. And yes, there will be no magic or supernatural power in this story, though I initially intended to adapt the low-magic setting with ritual magic and some sort. However, as the story goes on, I see no point in adding in the magic elements into this story, so probably in my next story (that’ll be next year’s project, provided that this story ends by then) where I will write about some supernatural power.

  Oh yeah, this story would probably last about 200+ chapters, in case any of you are wondering, and it’s a Chinese webnovel kinda slice of life story (since I’m clearly more used to how Chinese circles handle this genre), just so you know before you start wondering why my story feels weird and doesn’t fit your understanding of slice of life story. Heh.