Chapter 9

New book uploaded, desperately seeking collections and recommendations.

The carriage passed through several intersections and came to a stop by the roadside after a turn. Isabel asked Zhuzhishi to get off the carriage. After getting off, Zhuzhishi found that the entire street was lined with shops, all of which were beautifully decorated small stores. Zhuzhishi turned to look at Isabel: "Isabel, this is..."

"This is Dover Street. My sister has a small shop here." Isabel pointed to a small clothing store with a sign that read "Durand Fashion Shop." "Durand is the surname of her deceased husband. The third floor of the shop is currently vacant, so you can stay there without paying rent. However, if you want to eat with my sister and have her help with some housework, you can give her half to one pound per month."

Zhuzhishi was completely unfamiliar with London in 1842. Seeing that the surroundings were very nice and the transportation seemed convenient, and that he didn't have to pay rent, he gratefully said to the countess: "Isabel, thank you so much. I am very satisfied with this place."

The countess smiled: "Jason, I'm glad you like it. You can stay as long as you want."

"Isabel, darling, a gust of wind has blown you here." A seductive voice sounded, and the door of the Durand Fashion Shop was suddenly pushed open. A woman in her early thirties walked out, wearing a white headscarf and a black dress with a white apron. She had a charming oval face, fair skin, and wavy blonde hair. Her figure was more voluptuous than the countess's, with a high, prominent chest, exuding a mature woman's allure. If she were ten years younger, she would likely be a beauty that could make men duel for her.

"Romane," the countess kissed the woman's cheek and introduced Zhuzhishi: "This is my sister, Mrs. Durand—this is Jason Zhu (at breakfast, Zhuzhishi had already told the countess about his 'unusual' Tartar surname). He is an exceptionally talented surgeon who has just arrived from Germany."

"It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Zhu." The woman blinked her eyes and curiously examined Zhuzhishi. "You are... from the East?"

"He is a Tartar," the countess said with a smile to the woman. "Clean up the third floor. Jason will be staying there for a while."

The woman gave Zhuzhishi another curious look and then loudly called for Henry Labigone, a quiet young man of about 20, to take Zhuzhishi up to the third floor.

The third floor of the shop was not empty but was used as a warehouse for fabrics, with various colored wool and silk fabrics piled up on the stairs and corridors. The young man opened the door to a room facing Dover Street, which also had some fabrics but not too many. The two of them quickly cleared out the room. The young man then brought in a folding bed from somewhere and set it up in the small room. The room also had a wooden table, two chairs, and a wardrobe, but no other furniture. Fortunately, Zhuzhishi had no luggage, so this small room was just right for him. The young man, Henry Labigone, seemed to have just arrived from France and did not speak English or German, while Zhuzhishi did not understand French, so they communicated with simple gestures.

While Zhuzhishi and Henry were busy upstairs, the countess was chatting with her sister in French downstairs.

"Is there anything special about this Tartar?" Mrs. Durand handed the countess a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

"Perhaps," the countess gently turned the small coffee cup in her hand, a faint smile on her lips. "Perhaps it will be a highly profitable investment."

"How does he compare to Will?"

The countess's delicate brows furrowed, her face full of disgust. "Will is finished. He actually went to duel with Winston, and no matter how I tried to persuade him, he wouldn't listen! In the end, he shot a hole in Robert's stomach with a musket."

"Good heavens, he killed Mr. Churchill?" Mrs. Durand exclaimed in shock.

"The fat man didn't die. He was saved by the Tartar upstairs!" The countess sipped her coffee and huffed. "But the Duke of Marlborough won't let it go. Will will definitely be dismissed from the army, and he will have no future. And the duke won't allow Robert to pursue me anymore. This time, I've really lost out, but at least I found this Tartar..."

"A Tartar? Good heavens, Isabel, you can't be falling for this Tartar, can you?" Mrs. Durand's mouth gaped open in surprise.

"Romane! How could I fall for a Tartar..." She paused, then sighed. "Romane, don't you understand my heart? I won't marry again."

"Are you still thinking about those men from the British upper class?" Mrs. Durand shook her head and sighed. "But will they marry you? Isabel, don't forget that you are just a commoner, and your title as a countess means nothing to them!"

Isabel smiled and looked at Mrs. Durand. "Romane, didn't I tell you I won't consider marriage again?"

"Are you going to spend the rest of your life as a socialite at Almack's?" Mrs. Durand smiled bitterly. "Isabel, you are still young. Why not find someone who loves you and get married?"

"Someone who loves me? Finding a poor boy like Will Heming isn't hard, but do you think I can live a hard life like that again?" Isabel bit her red lip lightly and fell silent for a moment before changing the subject. "Dr. Blumstein thinks this Tartar is a very skilled doctor and will surely become a famous physician in the future. Romane, consider him. At least keep an eye on him. Which famous doctor in London doesn't earn a few hundred pounds a year?"

"Me? A... Tartar?" Mrs. Durand pouted, seemingly unsatisfied. After a while, she sighed. "Alright, I'll keep an eye on him. If he really becomes a famous doctor, I'll consider it. And he is quite handsome."

At this moment, the sound of footsteps on the stairs could be heard. Zhuzhishi, who had no idea he had been "given" to Mrs. Durand by the countess, had settled into his new home in 1842 and came downstairs with gratitude.

"Romane, help Jason pick out a decent outfit. His current attire doesn't look like a gentleman's. The people at the customs and the medical association are all snobs who judge by appearance."

The countess smiled charmingly at Zhuzhishi. "My sister and Henry are both excellent tailors. All the clothes here are handmade by them. I hope you don't mind supporting their business?"

For less than three pounds, Zhuzhishi exchanged his casual suit and jeans for a heavy, well-tailored suit. Mrs. Durand also gave him a top hat large enough to fit a rabbit and a half-used wooden cane. Then, Zhuzhishi and Isabel got back into the carriage and headed straight for the customs at the London port.

The passport application process was quicker and simpler than expected. The British customs official only asked Zhuzhishi where he was from and where he was going, then issued a passport that looked like a notebook. He noted Zhuzhishi's appearance on the second page of the passport and that was it. It seemed they didn't care how long the 21st-century illegal immigrant planned to stay in Britain, whether he intended to work, study, do business, or engage in terrorist activities. Thus, on the second day of his arrival in 1842, Zhuzhishi smoothly resolved the issue of lacking identification.

After obtaining the passport, Isabel took Zhuzhishi to the Royal College of Physicians, where the medical license exams were not held every day. Zhuzhishi registered for the exam with a clerk who looked incredulous, preparing to take the physician's qualification exam in three weeks. He then bought several large medical books from a bookstore near the Royal College of Physicians. Although Zhuzhishi found the content to be mostly nonsense and errors, almost a guide for killing patients, he still had to study hard for a few nights to prepare for the exam. The final exam went smoothly. After all, Zhuzhishi's medical knowledge was extensive, and he had years of exam-taking experience. Passing a 19th-century "killing doctor" license exam was a piece of cake.