The Shadow of Great Britain

438: Chapter 245: Unparalleled Qin and Sword (5K8)_2 438: Chapter 245: Unparalleled Qin and Sword (5K8)_2 The events that followed have become somewhat blurred in my memory.

I only remember spending those days in a daze; I walked many miles with them, passed through a few villages and towns, and eventually followed them aboard a ship to London.

Once here, I didn’t want to see anyone for several weeks.

I felt like a foolish clown, full of passion but ultimately achieving nothing.

I once had a dream to become the greatest pianist in the world.

Later, I desired to share my fate with my homeland.

But in the end, I could only curl up on a small bed in a cheap apartment in London, covering my head with a damp, cold blanket.

I felt utterly useless, and that was what I thought at the time.

But one day, Mr.

Mitskevich knocked on my door.

He sat by my bed and shared his experiences with me.

That was when I realized that he was just like me; we both had wanted to return to Warsaw to support our homeland, but ultimately, neither of us had succeeded.

Perhaps Mr.

Mitskevich’s situation was even more tragic than mine, as he had been closer to Warsaw than I was when we were forcibly evacuated.

Perhaps due to our shared experiences, we quickly became friends.

Mr.

Mitskevich told me that many Polish people, like us, who refused to live under Russian rule, had also retreated to London.

Among them were adults and children, men and women.

However, many of them did not speak English, so even the jobs with the least pay and the lowest status, were not available to them.

Now, many of them were living in extremely difficult circumstances.

In such times, those of us with a specific skill should step forward to help them.

Or at least, help them navigate this challenging period before they could learn English.

Mr.

Mitskevich said that he was currently writing articles for “The British” to make money, and as a pianist like me, I could also inquire at various theatres in London about performance opportunities.

Mr.

Mitskevich’s words inspired me, and for the first time, someone as socially inept as me desperately sought performance opportunities everywhere.

However, perhaps due to my poor language skills or their distrust of foreigners, they wouldn’t even give me a chance to try out on stage.

Just when I thought everything was over, Prince Chartoryski heard about me through Mr.

Mitskevich.

He invited me over to his mansion, where I also met Britain’s Foreign Secretary.

He kindly told me that he knew an outstanding pianist, a young man with dazzling talent.

Most importantly, he possessed a heart that sympathized with the suffering Polish people.

If I could find him, he would definitely reach out to help me.

At this point, Chopin’s eyes lowered, his forehead beaded with sweat, and his speech not very coherent, revealing that he must have prepared these words for a long time.

For a young man who was naturally introverted and had a small social circle, preparing such a long monologue about himself was definitely more difficult than spontaneously composing a timeless symphony.

But even though he was nervous and somewhat embarrassed, he still spoke these words in front of Arthur.

Chopin clenched his fists, his shoulders shaking, and he remained silent for a long time.

After a long silence, he finally looked up and mustered the courage to say, “Mr.

Hastings, please forgive my bluntness and rudeness, but I really need money now.”

Arthur was holding a porcelain cup, staring at the calm coffee within, when he suddenly laughed.

Great Dumas and Disraeli exchanged glances, and they too displayed an understanding smile.

Confused by their smiles, Chopin looked somewhat embarrassed: “Why…

why are you laughing?”

Arthur set down his teacup, looked up at Chopin across from him, and asked, “Frederick, are we friends?”

Confused by the question, Chopin responded, “Mr.

Hastings, I… I don’t understand what you mean…”

Arthur simply extended his hand to Chopin and nodded slightly.

Seeing this, Chopin hesitated at first, but eventually, he slowly lifted his arm and leaned forward to shake Arthur’s hand.

Arthur smiled warmly: “Frederick, we are friends now.

Remember, call me Arthur, not Mr.

Hastings; Mr.

Hastings is just too formal.”

Great Dumas also nodded, “That’s right, Frederick, I am your friend now.

Let me reintroduce myself.

I am Alexander Dumas, a righteous French Republican and also a novelist.

Your story has moved me, and I truly hope to do something for your compatriots.

Allow me to introduce, the gentleman sitting to my left is the Prime Minister of Britain.”

Upon hearing this, Disraeli gave Dumas a look and said to Chopin, “Don’t listen to this overweight man’s nonsense.

I am Benjamin Disraeli.

The publication that Mr.

Mitskevich writes for, ‘The British’, is actually my business, or our business.

Let me properly introduce him.

Sitting on my left is the head of the Criminal Investigation Department of the Greater London Police Department, the heroic combatant against slave ships on the high seas, a bestselling novelist and shareholder of ‘The British’, an audit editor of ‘The Economist’, a researcher in the field of electromagnetism under natural philosophy, and the pianist for the second symphony orchestra of the London Philharmonic Association, Mr.

Arthur Hastings.”