Chapter 313: Festival of a Hundred Flowers, New Birthday

“This is this year’s fresh harvest of spice, passionfruit seeds…” A local spice merchant proudly showed Lynch his prized product.

He lifted a fist-sized bag and poured out some hexagonal, pale green-yellow seeds. A peculiar fragrance spread as the seeds scattered in his hand—one Lynch seemed to recognize from somewhere.

Not here, but in the Federation.

Passionfruit seeds weren’t especially rare, but not common either. They required very specific growing conditions, and only a few countries in the world produced them.

They were mainly used in preparing meats, like barbecue or roasted dishes. Lynch found the scent familiar because he’d eaten grilled fish seasoned with this spice. Chefs often used it to enhance fish flavor.

Lynch fiddled with the seeds until the scent became somewhat distorted from being too strong. He stepped back, his nose itching, and asked, “Do you have a price list?”

His question hit the local merchant’s weak spot. The merchant blinked, confused, then asked suspiciously, “What’s that?”

These native merchants had long been exploited by others, partly because of their lack of exposure to fierce competition. Many basics that merchants elsewhere understood were foreign to them.

Lynch rephrased, “A price list. A sheet of paper listing the prices of every item. Understand?” He looked to Asel, who explained in the local language. Seeing the merchant’s sudden understanding, Lynch relaxed slightly.

The merchant quickly wrote a price list. Lynch examined it silently, then said, “I’ve never done spice trading before, but I’m willing to try.”

“I don’t know if these prices are fair. I’ll return to the Baylor Federation next week. Once I understand prices better, we can discuss purchases.”

“But before that…” Lynch pinched a small handful of passionfruit seeds from the merchant’s palm and crushed them. “They’re too damp. If you want to do business with me, dry them out more.”

When Lynch released them, the dry shells were crushed, but the centers remained moist. This hidden moisture could weigh up to 60 or 70 percent of the seed’s weight.

These spice merchants did poor business. Their tricks came naturally, showing that most merchants’ true nature was the same: ruthless in pursuit of profit.

The merchant showed no embarrassment over the damp seeds and smiled broadly, “Of course, Mr. Lynch. I’ll have those lazy peasants dry them properly immediately.”

“You better do that…” Lynch nodded. “Label these spices with your name and leave them. I’ll take samples when I leave.”

After exchanging contacts and labeling the spices, the merchant left. Another merchant entered with his goods.

An ivory trader.

In this world, elephants and ivory weren’t rare or luxury items. In places like Nagaryll and regions near the equator, elephant herds were abundant.

Elephants here were larger, with longer tusks, and more dangerous. They had few natural predators in grasslands or jungles, so their populations grew, sometimes threatening human habitats.

Nagaryll’s grasslands and jungles also had many herds. Ivory traders mainly sold tusks from grassland elephants: longer, thicker, sturdier, and slightly yellowish but not noticeably so.

The trader presented a pair of massive tusks, nearly 2.7 to 2.8 meters long and about 16 inches thick at the base.

If sold in the Federation, these would fetch 100,000 to 200,000 Federation Sols—tens of millions in Valier currency.

Here, they were an expensive and sincere gift.

“This is my gift to you, Mr. Lynch!” The man was in his thirties, with a small mustache, looking sly and sharp, his eyes cold and ruthless.

Most hunters were tough; from their first kill onward, they developed a dismissive attitude toward life, losing respect for it.

This attitude extended to human life as well, leading to indifference toward people, as they treated humans like animals.

Lynch thanked the trader while watching the tusks unloaded from an old truck. They entered a room to discuss business.

The trader also had rare rhino horns and bones, sourced from deeper, harsher parts of the grasslands—places even hunters like Hassan’s fur traders avoided.

Lynch requested a price list, deciding to finalize prices after returning to the Federation.

Local merchants kept coming—native traders long exploited by big firms. They hoped Lynch would buy their goods at higher prices.

This was a mistaken belief. Even if Lynch could afford it, he wouldn’t, because it would anger all foreign merchants in Nagaryll and harm everyone’s interests.

He would become everyone’s enemy. Without any effective central government, no one could stop Lynch from being targeted or attacked.

But he could interact with merchants without harming most interests or inventing imaginary prices.

Many merchants arrived, including intermediaries hoping to help girls obtain genetic material from Lynch for population improvement—a business worth two billion.

But the slave traders Lynch wanted to see never came.

This was normal. Nagaryll’s isolation bred a belief that the outside world was harsher than their own, sometimes simply naïve or foolish.

Few wanted to work abroad. Religious indoctrination painted foreign lands as hellish, and people dreamed of rising to power after the great cataclysm—they wouldn’t sacrifice that chance to suffer abroad.

Lynch spent several days in this atmosphere. The provincial governor’s sons had yet to reach agreement, giving Lynch some breathing room.

Seizing the opportunity, he toured the city carefully, gaining deeper understanding of the city, Magulana Province, and Nagaryll as a whole.

On the Tuesday of the second week, the High Priest’s envoy came to escort Lynch to a ceremony.

The third Tuesday of April marked a native religious festival. Legend said that on this day, a drop of godly blood, like flowing gold, fell on the barren land, causing a hundred flowers to bloom and life to flourish. This day was called the Festival of a Hundred Flowers, or the Day of Rebirth.

The festival atmosphere had been building for days, growing stronger yesterday, reaching its peak today.

It was hard to imagine, but people actually cleaned the streets. During Lynch’s recent wanderings, he had seen men and many women openly relieving themselves anywhere—odd, but true.

Especially the lower-class middle-aged women, who showed no concern for others’ eyes, finding quiet alleys to do their business, a surprising sight.

The streets were usually chaotic and dirty, but today everything was spotless.

Every door displayed wreaths woven from flowers; flower petals covered the ground. Men and women wore red dots on their foreheads, surrounded by a circle of white petals to signify the occasion.

Fresh flowers adorned their temples, behind ears, collars, chests, and wrists. The pervasive stench in the city had lessened considerably, almost gone from the city center.

Lynch was invited to the religious event, a great honor. He was assigned to the second wagon, just behind the High Priest’s.

The so-called wagon was actually just an old bus refurbished and decorated. There were already seven or eight people on board, about half of whom Lynch recognized—they were merchants he had met before.

The other half were unfamiliar to him, but through introductions, he learned they were representatives of local prominent families.

Noticing Lynch was young and this was his first Festival of a Hundred Flowers, a merchant familiar with him quietly explained the proceedings.

The event’s purpose was to thank the gods for their blood that nourished all life, expressed through various rituals, while the gods’ representatives would offer blessings or feedback to the people.

Such gratitude toward deities and their blessings was a common theme in most religions, Lynch understood that much.