LIFE OF BEING A CROWN PRINCE IN FRANCE

“No! Marian won’t leave me!”

Despite Baki’s efforts to dissuade him, Achard, as if mad, rushed back to the old Eden Hotel, only to discover that Mr. Schumann, Marian’s brother, had already left.

He retrieved an invitation from the gap under the door, then noticed there was a letter behind it.

The letter was written by Miss Marian, and its main content was that she had decided to prioritize her family and had accepted Mr. Bourget’s marriage proposal, as well as wishing Achard happiness and so on.

It was a very pragmatic choice. Although she was once captivated by Achard’s charm and erudition, he was, after all, just a “poor vegetable farmer.” Coupled with her brother’s statement that he would not provide a dowry if she married him, in the end, she chose the wealthy merchant Bourget.

Achard cried bitterly, but he did not, as before, drown his sorrows in a tavern until he passed out. Instead, he moved all his luggage to the French Academy of Sciences, where he busied himself with work all night long to forget everything else.

The next day, because the Crown Prince was attending the opening ceremony and demonstration exercises of the France Royal Military University, genetics classes were suspended for three days.

“Ah, finding you really wasn’t easy.”

Baki pushed through the large doors of Achard’s temporary workspace at the Academy of Sciences and gestured to the servants following him, “He is indeed here.”

The latter stepped forward to salute Achard, then handed over an invitation with respect, saying, “Honored Dr. Achard, on behalf of my master, Edgar Paul de Viscount Dico, I invite you to attend the ball held tomorrow night at the Palace of Versailles.”

Achard kept looking up at the pollen, “Thank you, Viscount, but please allow me to decline…”

Baki hurriedly whispered in his ear, “This is a rare opportunity. Many scholars will attend, such as Mr. Le Roy, Count Lamark, Mr. Le Roy…

“And besides, have you forgotten what Magrav said—that socializing is also an essential part of research.

“Please go, I’m begging you.”

He was genuinely concerned about his friend’s mental state, so he urged Achard to change his mood at the ball.

In the end, Achard agreed after Baki’s relentless persuasion.

The next evening, Achard’s carriage stopped in front of the Palace of Versailles.

Baki was still caressing the exquisite “gemstone” carriage, his face incredulous, “Is this really your carriage? Oh, God, you lucky fellow, to be directly rated as a Class D talent!”

The day Achard was struck by the blow of lost love, he barely exchanged words with him, and only now did he learn that Achard had received an invitation from the talent committee.

And he, as a Class E talent, was only assigned an ordinary carriage, nowhere near as comfortable and luxurious as this “Gemstone 2.”

Achard, lost in thought, was dragged by his countryman into the grand ballroom, and he was immediately astonished by the luxurious and grand atmosphere.

Soon, the music started, and the ball began.

Achard mingled with the guests listlessly, when he suddenly saw Brison approaching with a forty-something, richly dressed nobleman.

“Viscount Dico, this is Dr. Achard, the finest expert in the field of vegetables from Germany.”

Viscount Dico immediately stepped forward, bowed to Achard, then introduced himself with warmth.

For the next hour, he left all other guests behind, simply talking with Achard.

Yes, the most important target for Viscount Dico that night was this young biologist; one could even say the ball was held for him.

Viscount Dico, as Brison’s good friend and a major patron of the French Academy of Sciences, had already learned that the Crown Prince was preparing to strongly promote sugar beet production.

As an excellent investor, he immediately smelled a huge business opportunity—the last time he invested in the Crown Prince’s paper factory, his fortune had doubled within two years.

He naturally intended to firmly grasp this opportunity as well!

Later, he heard about Dr. Achard’s work, including the fact that the latter was the inventor of the sugar beet sugar-making technique, a senior talent recognized by the talent committee, and that the Crown Prince had personally explained to him the knowledge of “genetics” for an entire week.

Although he didn’t know what genetics was, the Crown Prince’s evident regard for Achard was obvious.

“Ha ha, I feel as if we’ve known each other forever!” Viscount Dico said, quite affectionately placing his hand on Achard’s back and raising his glass, “To our friendship!”

Just then, a girl about seventeen or eighteen years old, beautiful with a fair complexion, wearing a light purple dress in the latest fashion came over and took Viscount Dico’s arm, saying in a sweet voice, “Father, why aren’t you dancing? Everyone is looking for you.”

Viscount Dico immediately smiled and introduced her to Achard, “Franz, this is my daughter, Ariel.”

“Ariel, this is Dr. Achard…”

At 1 a.m., when the party was over, Ariel sent Achard off in his carriage, blessing him with a sweet smile, and bid him farewell with a curtsy.

Half a month later.

Miss Marian Schumann, arm in arm with her fiancé, an unremarkable paper merchant, chattered joyously to her brother about the little villa they would use for their marriage.

She was now very glad that she hadn’t let love overpower her senses to choose that poor biologist—he could never have afforded such a beautiful house.

The butler knocked lightly and entered the room, handing a card to Bourget, “Sir, this was sent from your house. It seems to be an engagement announcement for Viscount Dico’s third daughter, Miss Ariel, next week, inviting you to attend.”

“Viscount Dico?” He took the card eagerly, giving his uncle a proud glance, “A generous gift will definitely be in order.”

Viscount Dico was a well-known paper industry magnate, a top factory owner with vast wealth.

Bourget had earned his fortune by transporting the paper produced in his factories to Italy. Naturally, he was very pleased to be invited.

“I wonder which lucky gentleman has captured Miss Ariel’s favor.”

He said this as he opened the card and then looked at his fiancée, laughing, “Franz Achard? That’s the same name as that Bavarian who used to pester you, haha.”

“Hmm?” Schumann on the other side, however, was taken aback, snatched the invitation to scan it, and a sinister premonition suddenly welled up inside him.

He made an excuse to leave, muttering under his breath, “It can’t be that guy…”

In the following days, the Schumann household felt overshadowed by a dense gloom.

Marian Schumann stepped out of her carriage and looked at the opulent “Great Scholar Palace” villa in front of her, feeling it was on par with the “Star Garden’s” top-tier villa.

The small house of her fiancé, compared with this place, was nothing more than a pigsty!

Her heart screamed and raged.

She too had had the chance to live here if not for her foolish brother’s meddling!

It was said that Achard had been rated as a ‘D-level’ talent by the talent committee, receiving just government allowances amounted to 7,000 francs a year!

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