Don't Pick That Flower (2 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 15
Carlos Duen Esper.
The head of the Esper family and the Empire’s sole Grand Duke, wielding power second only to the Emperor.
Given that he had once served as the Crown Prince’s tutor, he seemed on good terms with the Imperial Family, but unfortunately, he had long been at odds with the Temple.
No one knew exactly when or why the Temple and the Esper family became enemies.
It was only known that long ago, when the Temple faced danger, the Pope had requested the Esper family’s assistance several times, but the head of the Esper family had firmly refused, causing their relationship to sour—and after repeated clashes since then, they had become bitter enemies.
In any case, facing Carlos—who was infamous for his cruelty—was something every priest dreaded. They were afraid, too.
Yet when ordered to go directly to the Esper Territory and retrieve the witch Carlos was harboring, the priests unanimously gasped and shook their heads.
But someone had to take on the task, and Trope was chosen precisely because he had met Carlos a couple of times in the past.
Because he had met Carlos before, he wanted to go even less. But since the High Priest himself had personally assigned him to go, Trope had no choice but to come here.
“The principle is to burn witches at the stake as soon as they are found. Therefore, I humbly request that you hand over the witch in your custody to us.”
Since things had come to this, he would complete his mission at all costs. Trope declared firmly as he spoke to Carlos.
However, Carlos merely looked elsewhere with an indifferent expression, as if wondering where a dog was barking.
“Your Serene Highness the Grand Duke.”
“…….”
“Your Serene Highness Grand Duke Carlos Duen Esper.”
Only when Trope called his full name did those violet eyes finally turn toward him. Yet his expression remained utterly indifferent, as though he had no intention whatsoever of listening to Trope’s words.
As expected, this wouldn’t be easy. Though he’d anticipated it, actually facing Carlos made cold sweat trickle down Trope’s back. Inwardly sighing deeply, he outwardly continued calmly.
“Witches are wicked beings who seduce people, control them like puppets, and ultimately devour them.”
Tap, tap. The rhythmic sound of fingers tapping a handle echoed steadily.
“Yet it’s said that Your Serene Highness is harboring a witch, so everyone is worried you might have fallen under her spell….”
Thud. A dull sound abruptly cut off Trope’s words. Carlos tilted his head slightly.
“Who exactly is worried about me?”
“Why, naturally the citizens of the Empire…”
“Name them precisely.”
Prompted by Carlos’s demand, Trope thought of several individuals.
“Well… First of all, His Holiness the Pope is concerned.”
He named the one powerful figure Carlos would never dare challenge.
At that, Carlos’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Relieved that his ploy had worked, Trope’s moment of reassurance was shattered when Carlos asked,
“You’re absolutely certain there isn’t a single lie in claiming the Pope worries about me?”
Even a Grand Duke couldn’t speak carelessly of the Pope, a supremely sacred being.
“How dare you…!”
“How can you speak so disrespectfully of His Holiness the Pope…!”
The priests stirred in quiet outrage at Carlos’s casual mention of the Pope.
Though deeply flustered, Trope forced himself to stay composed as he replied,
“Of course, it’s true.”
“Hmph.”
Carlos burst into laughter as if hearing something immensely amusing. It was clearly mockery.
‘I thought I’d caught him, but I’ve walked right into his trap.’
Realizing this too late, Trope bit his lip but ultimately bowed his head without uttering another word—unsure what to say and convinced no excuse would sway Carlos.
“Your name is Trope, wasn’t it?”
A cold voice sounded above him. Trope, still bowing, simply nodded in reply.
“You claim the woman I brought with me is a witch?”
“Yes. She is a witch.”
“What proof do you have that she’s a witch?”
“She’s the culprit behind the arson incident in Silas Territory…”
“Does that mean every arsonist is automatically a witch?”
Before Trope could finish, the question hit him, making him hesitate briefly before forcing out a reply.
“That… isn’t the case.”
“Then why do you insist she’s a witch? Or rather, are you even certain she’s the one who set fire to Silas Territory? You seem so confident—surely you must have evidence.”
Faced with this barrage of accusatory questions, Trope found himself speechless.
All he’d heard was that a woman named Irene was both the arsonist in Silas Territory and a witch. He’d received no evidence or further details.
Indeed, Carlos was the first person he’d ever encountered who demanded evidence in such matters.
Whether commoner or noble, everyone had always handed over suspected witches without question whenever the Temple came to conduct witch trials.
“To threaten me into surrendering the woman I brought, accusing her of witchcraft without any proper evidence…”
The icy voice struck Trope’s eardrums harshly. Waving his hands frantically, he hurriedly denied it.
“N-no! That’s absurd! How could I possibly dare threaten Your Serene Highness? I merely heard rumors that she might be a witch…”
“She is not a witch.”
Carlos declared firmly and stood up.
“So don’t waste my time any further—just leave.”
As Carlos turned to walk away, Trope cried out desperately,
“I cannot leave until I’ve confirmed for myself that she isn’t a witch!”
Thud. Carlos stopped abruptly and turned his head slightly to look back at Trope. Unable to withstand that piercing glare—sharp enough to stab someone dozens of times—Trope lowered his head.
“Since Baron Silas has formally accused her of witchcraft, we have a duty to verify whether or not she truly is one!”
Even in this moment, Trope remained steadfast in fulfilling his duty.
Carlos’s lips curled into a slight, crooked smile.
“So you don’t trust my word?”
Trembling violently, Trope bowed his head again.
“It’s not that, Your Serene Highness—it’s simply that, in my position, I must render a fair judgment, and without definitive proof that she isn’t a witch…”
“And yet you have no proof that she is one either.”
“…….”
He was right. Struck speechless, Trope fell silent.
“If you wish to investigate her, bring evidence first—evidence that I can accept.”
After delivering this unilateral ultimatum, Carlos left the audience chamber.
Dewey, trailing closely behind, spoke in a tone of disbelief.
“I thought his grand entrance meant he had some brilliant scheme, but such a shallow tactic? Just how much do the Temple side look down on us to approach us like this?”
“They’re not looking down on us—they must have some other motive.”
Carlos replied indifferently, though his mind was churning.
The priests’ reaction had been completely different from what he’d expected.
He’d anticipated they’d weave a tight, intricate web to ensnare him as they always did—but this was far too sloppy.
“Of course that’s likely… but still, it’s suspiciously careless.”
Dewey, sharing the same thought, tilted his head in confusion.
“It almost feels foolish that we were so tense and cautious. I can’t fathom what they’re thinking.”
“Don’t let your guard down regardless. They’re the kind who might strike anywhere, anytime.”
“Understood. Until they leave this land, I won’t loosen my vigilance for a single moment.”
Satisfied with Dewey’s dependable reply, Carlos nodded—then suddenly stopped.
Dewey halted as well and let out a soft gasp upon spotting Irene approaching from the opposite direction.
“She looks like a fairy.”
True to Dewey’s words, Irene, dressed in a pale blue-tinged gown, appeared as mystical and beautiful as a water nymph hovering by a lakeside.
Yet her face was slightly pale, even fearful.
Spotting Carlos, Irene hurried toward him, her blue dress rippling softly with each step.
Finally standing before Carlos, she looked up at him—over a head taller than herself—and panted slightly.
“Haah… Am I late?”
Carlos said nothing, simply gazing down at her. Up close, she was even more beautiful—especially her crimson lips, livelier than usual, which captured his attention.
“Your Serene Highness?”
“…….”
What am I doing?
Shaking himself back to his senses, Carlos frowned and ran a hand through his hair.
Misinterpreting this as anger, Irene grew visibly anxious—prompting him to sigh briefly and say,
“You’re not late.”
Thanks to the priests acting even more foolishly than he’d anticipated, there was no longer any need to present Irene to them.
Carlos almost told her she could return now—but held back. She’d dressed so beautifully; it felt a shame to send her away so soon.
So what should they do instead?
After a moment’s thought, Carlos recalled Irene enjoyed strolling and asked,
“Have you ever visited the northern greenhouse garden?”
Irene shook her head. Though she’d seen it while exploring Esper Castle during her walks, she hadn’t gone inside.
“Then shall we go together?”
When Carlos extended his hand, Irene looked back and forth between it and his face, puzzled—unsure why he’d suddenly suggest visiting the greenhouse garden.
“They might be watching from somewhere, so it’d be wise to give them a convincing display of a proper date.”
“Oh.”
Ah, that was it. Understanding at last, Irene nodded and gently placed her hand in his.
At that instant, Carlos felt an oddly satisfying sensation—as if an itch he hadn’t realized he had was finally being scratched—and smiled contentedly as he closed his fingers around hers.
For her part, Irene found holding hands with him awkward and uncomfortable, but she concealed it and quietly followed where he led.
To any onlooker, they appeared like lovers walking hand in hand—though two particular observers watched them with peculiar expressions.
“…….”
“…….”
Jesse and Dewey.
The two stood speechless, half-dazed as they watched Carlos and Irene depart—until Jesse finally broke the silence.
“…Is it really possible for those pigeons to spy on the master’s private life?”
Dewey finally snapped out of his stupor and chuckled dryly.
“Impossible.”
Perhaps in other cities or territories—but never within Esper Castle.
Knowing this full well, Carlos had still made that odd remark about priests possibly watching and taken Irene with him—leaving them utterly baffled.
Another silence fell, until Dewey spoke first this time.
“Well, if you think about it, the young lady is essentially part of the master. It’s not unreasonable for him to want to spend time with her.”
Jesse murmured softly,
“But the master has never acted like this before.”
“Just because he never has doesn’t mean he never will.”
“I suppose….”
“Try to see it positively, Jesse.”
Dewey patted her shoulder.
“Thanks to the master taking initiative unlike before, things have become much easier. At this rate, the flower will bloom smoothly, and everything will return to how it should be.”
Unlike Dewey’s bright smile, Jesse’s expression dimmed slightly.
She glanced once more down the corridor where Carlos and Irene had vanished, then nodded.
“Yes. I hope the flower blooms soon.”
Male lead is a Divorced Husband
She said to him: “Tell me, what makes you like me? I’ll change it!”
Liu Changning transmigrated into a female cannon fodder character in a female-dominant novel.
After reading the first half of the novel’s plot, the first thing she did upon transmigration was to divorce the Pan Jinlian-style male protagonist she had just married.
She indulged herself, pretending to be ugly and poor.
But as time passed, the way that man looked at her became more and more unusual…
Liu Changning was dumbfounded: Tell me, what makes you like me? I’ll change!
――
This lifetime, Pei Yuanshao was rejected by the same woman twice!
The first time, she drove him away. Forced by the situation, he endured the waves of anger in his heart, yielding and humbling himself.
That person lay slanted on a rocking chair, her sallow face emotionless: “If you don’t want a divorce, go cook!”
Pei Yuanshao’s face was dark and gloomy: “You!”
The second time, after the crisis in Jinling City was resolved, the new emperor sent someone to pick him up. He turned around, stammering: “I… I have to go. If you keep me…”
That person lay on the kang bed, her back to him, as if she had long anticipated this day, crisp and clear: “Goodbye!”
Pei Yuanshao was so angry his fingers trembled: “You… you!”
The mission of family and country made him restrain himself, averting his eyes and turning to leave this broken household.
Two years later, they met again. Seeing her ethereal face, his body shook like a sieve.
“She was originally a ‘she’!”
At the Qionglin Banquet, the top scholar of the imperial examination, a talented person with exceptional speech and conduct, all the unmarried young gentlemen from aristocratic families looked at her with shy and timid eyes.
The peerless imperial official Pei Yuanshao felt the anger in his heart erupt. He pointed at the woman surrounded by the crowd at the Qionglin Banquet, his thin lips slightly curled: “Little sister, I wants that person to be the wife-master of my Mingde Prince Manor.”
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