As the words fell, a figure walked in from behind Rorge.
He was about fifty years old, with gray hair combed meticulously, wearing a dark blue velvet coat with a Cross-Warhammer Badge pinned to his chest.
He didn't bring many attendants, only a young squire, but his composed demeanor immediately changed the atmosphere in the hall.
The commoners automatically made way; they might not have recognized Earl Leyke's face, but they recognized those clothes and that gait.
The smile on Petyr's face stiffened slightly.
Though it was only for a split second before he recovered, Corleone saw it.
Under [Insight Lv3], this was easy.
With the corners of his mouth curling up slightly, Corleone took the initiative to greet him: "Welcome, Lord Leyke."
"Greetings, Sir Corleone."
Earl Leyke sized him up for a moment, his gaze lingering on the family crest on his black palm, and nodded: "Thank you for the invitation. To be honest, I hadn't planned on coming."
"You know, a place like Flea Bottom is not usually a place where nobles set foot."
"Indeed, Lord Leyke..."
At this moment, Petyr also followed up, smoothly picking up the conversation: "I truly didn't expect you to come to Flea Bottom as well."
""
"I remember the last time I ran into you on Silk Street, you even said'such a place would dirty my boots'."
His tone was somewhat exaggerated, yet Earl Leyke didn't take the bait; he simply took a glass of wine from his squire's tray and swirled it gently.
"People change, Lord Baelish."
After a while, he finally looked up at Corleone: "Just like my son Herber. Two months ago, he was still a brat who would draw his sword on Silk Street over a prostitute."
"But now, that boy practices his sword every morning, looks over the ledgers in the afternoon, and reads 'The Lineages of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms' at night."
"I asked him why he suddenly wised up. He said, 'Father, I met someone in the dungeons. That man told me a man can mess around until he's twenty-five, but if he's still messing around after that, it's not youthful folly, it's stupidity.'"
""
Saying this, he actually bowed slightly to Corleone: "Thank you for your guidance, Sir Corleone."
Hearing this, Corleone nodded slightly and said modestly: "Ser Herber was already intelligent; he just needed a bit of direction."
"I can see that he will surely accomplish great things in the future and uphold the honor of the Lake Family."
"Hahaha..." These words clearly struck a chord with Earl Leyke, and he laughed very happily.
"The direction you gave was very useful. At least now, he won't duel someone over a whore. Great progress!"
This warm attitude surprised Petyr greatly. Although the Lake Family wasn't as prominent as the Lannisters or Tyrells, they had deep connections and many industries.
Most importantly, they had always been neutral, never participating in factional struggles or easily taking sides.
Yet now, he was publicly acknowledging a knight of commoner birth; it was truly baffling.
"Sir Corleone is indeed good at... guiding."
Petyr spoke up again, smiling as he said: "I remember when I was master of coin, I also frequently gave advice to young nobles."
"For example, the eldest son of Ser Thorne. I suggested he go to the The Citadel for further study, and he is already an assistant maester now."
He spoke casually, but in reality, he was reminding everyone that he, Petyr Baelish, was the one who had always been mentoring the younger generation.
However, this didn't gain much recognition. After all, House Thorne was not prominent in the Crownlands, and few people knew of them, especially since the crowd was mostly commoners who knew even less.
But with no one to support him, Petyr didn't feel embarrassed; he just kept smiling to himself.
"Speaking of advice."
At that moment, Earl Leyke finally turned his head and looked Petyr straight in the eye: "Do you remember that business deal three years ago, Lord Baelish?"
"That shipment of Myrish lace."
As soon as these words were spoken, the hall fell a bit quieter.
Most of those present were merchants and were well aware of Myrish lace, a high-end silk produced in Myr.
It was as thin as a cicada's wing, vibrantly dyed, and didn't fade; it was one of the most sought-after goods in The Seven Kingdoms.
"Of course I remember."
Petyr's expression didn't change at all, his voice remaining steady: "That was a tragedy. I invested five hundred gold dragons, and it was all lost."
O
"Is that so?" Earl Leyke took a sip of wine and said, enunciating each word: "But I heard that shipment never even made it onto a ship."
"Lord Leyke truly enjoys joking."
Petyr's smile remained as pleasant as a spring breeze: "The merchant ship was attacked near the Stepstones. The bodies of the captain and sailors were later washed up on Driftmark; there are records of this."
"You should still put your mind at ease. After all, in maritime trade, heavy winds and waves are common occurrences."
"A ship sinks today, a cargo capsizes tomorrow—who can say for sure?"
"Heh..." Listening to his explanation, Earl Leyke gave a cold laugh and set down his wine glass. The motion wasn't gentle, and the bottom of the glass made a crisp clinking sound against the bar.
"At least my five thousand gold dragons sank very accurately, Baelish."
"And your five hundred gold dragons—I'm curious, how did they 'miraculously' earn themselves back later, and even multiply several times over?"
""
These words were too blunt.
So blunt it was almost a public accusation that Petyr had set a trap to swindle his money.
Petyr took a deep breath and looked at the people around him watching him.
He couldn't lose his temper here, couldn't argue here; the more he argued, the worse it would look.
"In the world of business, who can say anything for certain?"
He finally squeezed out a forced smile: "Perhaps it was my good luck, or perhaps... the favor of the Seven."
"The Seven indeed favor certain people."
Earl Leyke snorted disdainfully, then turned to Corleone and warned him seriously: "So, Sir Corleone, when doing business in the future, you must choose your partners well. Make sure you don't run into... thieves and liars!"
Hearing this, Corleone nodded repeatedly, his expression very solemn: "There are indeed many thieves and liars in King's Landing lately. I will be careful, My Lord. Thank you for the reminder."
Watching them chat so happily, Petyr felt his face burning.
But fortunately, his skin was thick enough that it didn't show.
However... this fellow Corleone actually had such a good relationship with Ryfor Leyke!
By what right?
Just because he spent a few days in a dungeon with that useless son and said a few pieces of nonsense like 'a man must have responsibility'?
Petyr couldn't figure it out.
But just then, there was more movement at the door.
That big brute Rorge squeezed in again. Every time this guy appeared, it was like a bear barging into a beehive, drawing the gaze of the entire hall.
He shouted at the top of his lungs: "Sir Corleone!"
"Lady Falyse Stokeworth and Ser Balman Byrch have arrived!"
As the words fell, two figures appeared at the door.
Walking in front was Ser Balman Byrch. He had been recommended to Tywin by Corleone and was now in charge of the security in Flea Bottom.
He had specifically worn a brand-new dark yellow coat today. Though his build was slightly portly, his steps were light, and his face was covered in smiles.
Following behind was his wife, Falyse Stokeworth.
Petyr was all too familiar with this woman.
The eldest daughter of House Stokeworth, heir to Countess Tanda, known throughout King's Landing for being mean, jealous, and short-tempered.
At the moment, Farris was wearing a dark red velvet gown with a circle of incredibly expensive pearls around the neckline; one could say she was very high-profile.
But Petyr noticed that her gaze locked onto Corleone the moment she entered.
That look... was very off!
"Congratulations, Sir Corleone!"
Ser Balman strode over and warmly shook Corleone's hand, his posture even having a hint of subservience:
You truly are amazing!"
"From commoner to knight—how long has it been? Not even two months. It's simply a miracle!"
"You are too kind, Ser." Corleone smiled and exchanged pleasantries with him: "Your security work in Flea Bottom is what's truly amazing. I heard the crime rate dropped another thirty percent last week."
"That's all because the foundation you laid was so solid!"
", it's clearly because of your outstanding ability!"
The two continued their mutual business flattery until even Petyr began to feel a bit nauseated, then Farris walked over and gave Corleone a standard lady's curtsy.
"Sir Corleone~~~"
Her voice was quite gentle, so gentle it gave Petyr goosebumps.
Petyr blinked, wondering if he had seen wrongly.
Was this really Falyse Stokeworth?
The woman who could scold a maid for an entire afternoon just because she broke a cup?
The woman who could cause such a scene that she'd climb onto the roof threatening to jump just because her husband looked at another woman?
What a joke!
But whether Petyr could accept it or not, this was reality.
After Farris finished her curtsy, she looked at Corleone with affectionate eyes: "My mother is truly unwell and could not come in person to congratulate you. She asked me to apologize to you on her behalf."
"Lady Tanda is too kind."
Corleone bowed slightly in return: "Please tell the Lady that I will certainly visit her another day to treat her."
"I recently happened to research a new prescription that is very effective for joint pain in the elderly."
Hearing this, Farris's eyes instantly lit up.
"Really?" she asked excitedly: "Mother's rheumatism has tormented her for many years, and the maesters are at their wits' end. If... if you can cure her, House Stokeworth will owe you a great favor!"
"I will do my best, My Lady." Corleone nodded.
Brilliant.
Watching them so harmonious, Petyr had to admit it.
Curing the sick and saving lives—this was the most direct and undeniable way to win someone over.
Just then, Farris seemed to notice Petyr's gaze and turned her head. The gentleness on her face vanished instantly, replaced by that mean and cold expression Petyr was familiar with.
"Good evening, Lord Baelish. You're here too. How... coincidental, one runs into you everywhere."
She had wanted to say how unlucky it was, but fortunately, she held it back.
Hearing this, Petyr put on what he thought was a charming smile, a smile that was practically invincible among the noblewomen of King's Landing.
"Good evening, Lady Stockworth. You look wonderful today, your complexion is delicate, rosy, and glowing!"
"Is that so?" Farris touched her cheek and smiled thinly: "That's probably because I haven't done business with you lately, so I've been sleeping soundly."
These words were too venomous.
Petyr's smile froze instantly, but Farris was relentless: "Do you remember that batch of Lysene perfume last year, My Lord?"
"You said it would surely make money and had me invest a thousand gold dragons. And the result? The merchant ship just happened to encounter a storm and all of it sank."
Petyr opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but Farris gave him no chance, her speech incredibly fast.
"In business, one must work with people of high character."
She turned back to Corleone, her face regaining that gentle smile: "Wouldn't you agree, Sir Corleone?"
"Some people are respectful to your face but plan to swindle your family's last copper behind your back!"
"Of course, My Lady."
Corleone suppressed a laugh and nodded solemnly.
He was truly struggling to hold it in; he could even perceive that Jaime was already laughing so hard on the second-floor balcony that he couldn't stand straight.
"I will take your words to heart and never let certain people find an opening!"
Hearing this, Petyr felt his face twitching.
Not metaphorically, it was truly twitching.
Damn it... how did Corleone even know this shrew Stockworth!
When he first arrived in King's Landing, he indeed swindled a few people for startup capital, but by the Seven, he swore it was only a few!
How was it such a coincidence that two of his victims were acquainted with Corleone!
Fortunately, Corleone hadn't been in King's Landing for long; this should be the limit of his connections. Otherwise, if a few more came, this celebration banquet would have to be turned into a damn Petyr Baelish denunciation meeting!
Petyr quickly raised his wine glass, pretending to drink, intending to gloss it over.
But just then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw that noseless fellow coming in again!
Petyr's heart skipped a beat.
He saw Rorge squeezing through the crowd, his hideous face looking even more ghoulish due to excitement.
He opened his mouth, that mouth missing its front teeth: "Ser!"
"The commander of the City Watch, Ser Adam Marbrand, has arrived!"
>
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