Rafael did not contact Jenny in private, which could be considered a small kindness to this little girl who might have been exploited by others. If those people knew that Rafael hadn’t paid attention to Jenny and hadn’t gotten any information from her, the little girl would still have hope of living; otherwise, death would likely await her.

    Whether they thought Rafael was afraid of Franc?ois’ power or had other plans, Jenny would no longer be their pawn.

    After his resurrection, this was the first time Rafael had shown such kindness to a stranger, although no one knew about it and no one ever would.

    Ferrante’s order was to send Jenny out of the Papal Palace openly. The black-haired young guard accepted the order silently and carried it out without any compromise.

    At the entrance of the bustling Papal Palace, the little girl with golden-brown curly hair held the hand of the uniformed boy beside her. As she was about to leave, she couldn’t help but turn her gaze to the unusually silent person beside her.

    “Ferrante? Are you unhappy?”

    Jenny’s voice was timid. That wasn’t really what she wanted to ask, but her intuition told her it was best not to mention that matter now.

    “No,” Ferrante denied concisely, and walked her out without even looking at her.

    Jenny lowered her head, rubbing her skirt with her small hands, and followed Ferrante’s steps uneasily. After a while, she asked hesitantly, “Is it... did I do something wrong? The Holy Father didn’t want to see me.”

    Ferrante was silent for a moment: “It’s not your fault. I... I’ll try again.”

    The young man’s deep blue eyes were devoid of any emotion, as dark and deep as an underwater cave. No one could see what was really inside. He repeated to himself, as if trying to convince himself: “I’ll try and try again.”

    Meanwhile, Rafael was also talking to Julius.

    They were strolling through the Grand Gallery of the Papal Palace. This magnificent corridor housed the classic works of all the masters of the Church for a thousand years. Slender Roman columns supported the arch, and stained glass windows, finely crafted, were arranged in a variety of patterns in colorful compositions. with a pilgrimage picture that was painted by a master artist who spent thirty years of painstaking effort. On both sides hung art masterpieces of various sizes, including portraits of popes from past dynasties, coronation portraits and various religious paintings.

    This Grand Gallery was the Holy Church’s proudest artistic achievement. Many famous masters were proud to be able to have their works displayed inside the gallery, but entering the Papal Palace’s Grand Gallery required the Pope’s personal permission, and very few people had received this honor so far.

    As for the Pope, such a masterpiece of art was just a place for him to stroll in his spare time. Dr. Polly had set a schedule for him that was accurate to the minute. Rafael certainly couldn’t follow it completely – if he did, he wouldn’t be able to finish most of his work. But within his ability, he didn’t mind making the dedicated old man happy.

    Having followed the doctor’s advice and taken a half-hour stroll after dinner, the Pope and Julius met in the grand gallery. Perhaps the Secretary had been waiting for a chance encounter here, but Rafael didn’t care about that.

    “What has Franc?ois been up to lately?” The young Pope paused in front of a life-sized oil painting, looking up at the depiction of a saint being born from God’s palm and descending to earth, as if asking casually.

    Julius hadn’t expected the Pope to mention that name and paused for a moment before replying, “He’s been quite peaceful these past few days. There’s been no major movement since the celebration, but he’s been in contact with several cardinals.”

    He casually mentioned the names of several cardinals.

    Rafael fell into his own thoughts again, and Julius didn’t wonder why he asked this question. If he was curious, he could always find out the answer.

    “Does Franc?ois often stay in his manor?” Rafael suddenly asked again.

    Julius silently frowned.

    This was the second question centered around Franc?ois. Why was Rafa paying so much attention to him?

    “Yes,” Julius said quickly, “He seems... not very fond of going out.” As he said this, even the unruffled Julius couldn’t help but feel the logic in this statement was odd. R?

    From any perspective, Franc?ois was not a low-key person. From their few meetings, it can be seen that the Duke has a flamboyant style, likes to show off, and was arrogant and self-centered. How could such a person refuse to socialize?

    Julius quickly realized that there was a problem.

    “What have you heard?” Compared to Franc?ois, the head of the Portia family was more concerned about something else. How had Rafael discovered the anomaly that even he hadn’t noticed?

    ‘The fidelity of marriage and love is trampled upon, and they also violate God’s teaching against same-sex love – of course, their reason is that there is no love in it, but merely the venting of primitive desires... I’m sorry, this dirty content may disgust you, I hope it hasn’t disturbed your precious sleep.’

    ‘...I have also witnessed many more evil deeds that have claimed innocent lives. Will you save these poor people? They are trapped in the swamp of sin, but still yearn for salvation.’

    ‘Yours faithfully, Ferrante.’

    These words were written on a piece of thin, poor-quality paper, carefully folded several times, and sewn between two pieces of leather before being delivered to him. The handwriting was crooked and there were a few spelling mistakes, but it did not hinder reading.

    Based on this content alone, Rafael already had a rough guess about what Franc?ois was doing. A violent rage swept through his mind, and the anger made him unable to control his strength for a moment, almost crushing the paper.

    But he quickly came to his senses and put the paper down.

    Now is not the time. Even if Franc?ois did something more excessive, he could not take action against the Duke of Calais.

    Otherwise, he would face the revenge of an empire.

    This was not about whether Duke Franc?ois himself was popular, but rather with the act of challenging the Empire’s imperial authority.

    After thinking about it, this matter can only be regarded as a personal moral failing of Franc?ois himself.

    In this era where the poor have no human rights, it’s such a charitable act for a great nobleman to pay money to buy people who can’t survive. Even if he doesn’t treat them as servants but uses them for personal pleasure, it’s not a big problem in the eyes of many people.

    —Aren’t the prostitutes in the rose garden and the glass workshop doing the same thing? One pays money, the other pays with their bodies, what a fair trade!

    Even if they die, it can only be said to be a small error in the transaction process.

    At most... Franc?ois just plays bigger.

    But that’s not right.

    Rafael crossed his hands, his fingers gently pressing against his bony knuckles, and thought silently.

    They are all just young children and should have the chance to live a decent life, instead of learning to take shortcuts early before the frivolous temptation of fate.

    What’s more, they are the people of Florence, the children under his wings who pray for his protection every day.

    What should he do? How will he do it?

    Rafael was in a dilemma.

    On the one hand, there was the Duke of Calais, and on the other hand, there were the lowly commoners of Florence. These were not equal weights on the scale, and he had to choose one.

    And perhaps, there were others watching beside this scale, waiting for him to make a choice, and then pull him, or even Florence, into the abyss.

    He had no doubt about this. There were countless people coveting the position of Pope, and every cardinal had a dream of wearing a golden vestment. As long as he showed any flaws, they would not hesitate to spend all their fortune to expel him from the papal throne. Even Julius could not be trusted, and Florence...

    He loved this holy and magnificent ‘City of Cities’, this filthy and decadent city of doom. Would they also love it like this? They only loved the upper city with its elegant clothes and beautiful women, the magnificent Papal Palace and the Grand Gallery; and they wanted to cut off the lower city like a malignant tumor – if they could, Rafael was sure they would do so without hesitation.

    Rafael flicked the small, exquisite clock on the table, listening to the pleasant sound of the gear shafts meshing. His face, reflected on the brass surface, was pale and stiff, and his pale purple eyes showed no emotion.

    ‘Find a chance to leave and don’t do anything unnecessary.’

    In the end, the young Pope wrote these words on a paper.