I Became a Plutocrat in World War I: Starting with Saving France-Chapter 746: The Yellow Rose

The spring rain is continuous, soft as silk.

The early morning in the 16th district of Paris is silent; the wealthy area usually doesn’t wake up this early.

Because those who live here don’t need to prepare for work before sunrise like the common people, or busy themselves with their children’s school, or line up early to claim rationed supplies.

If there is any movement here, it would certainly be the servants in the kitchen preparing breakfast for their masters.

Clemenceau, dressed in pajamas, holding a lit cigar, stared blankly at the fine rain outside the window, his gaze longing, seemingly trying to leap beyond the series of luxurious villas before him to see the distant horizon.

He had tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep, pondering Charles’ words.

Charles had made him realize a harsh reality: he, Briand, and many other politicians were mere pawns.

The true contenders were Charles and the capitalists standing against him.

In fact, Clemenceau had known this since his days as a doctor before entering politics, but he had gradually lost himself in the stormy days that followed, mistakenly believing that everything was under his control.

A trace of helplessness hung on Clemenceau’s face.

This is the advantage of a republican system: it makes everyone believe that they are using their votes to decide the fate of the country.

"If you are dissatisfied with the current government, use your votes to vote them out!"

This was the rhetoric crafted by capitalists.

The people found it reasonable, thus falling into the capitalists’ trap, running circles within the rules set by them time and again.

Citizens believed that their efforts could make a difference to the country, yet they didn’t realize they were merely hamsters running in place on a wheel.

Clemenceau knew this, but couldn’t escape the wheel.

Now, two choices lay before Clemenceau.

Charles or the traditional capitalists?

Which side would win?

The power of traditional capitalists is deeply entrenched; they have long infiltrated all facets of the nation, including the military.

Charles represents a rising force, his emergence unstoppable, gaining control over several sectors within just over a year, including the military and the critical arms industries.

Clemenceau hesitated.

This is the importance of choice; a wrong stance could lead to utter ruin, all efforts turning to dust.

His wife on the bed slowly woke up, startled to see Clemenceau standing by the window: "Darling, what’s wrong? What happened?"

"No, nothing," Clemenceau masked his thoughts: "I just need to go to work. Yes, there’s a parliamentary topic today."

It was a reconsideration initiated by Steed for the position of "Commander of the Reserve Army Group".

The parliamentarians knew that the real initiator of this topic was Charles.

But Clemenceau understood that Charles was applying pressure on him, needing him to declare a stance at the assembly, distancing himself from Briand.

Otherwise, everything discussed at the Ritz Hotel would be nullified.

Was it an opportunity or a crisis?

Clemenceau was uncertain; he cursed himself for not being able to foresee the future and see if Charles would be the future ruler of this world.

After hurriedly freshening up, Clemenceau changed into a suit and went downstairs.

The servant had prepared breakfast for him, but Clemenceau had no appetite, only sipping a bit of coffee to clear his mind.

Before leaving, the butler handed Clemenceau his hat and cane, then passed a yellow rose.

(The above image shows a yellow rose, representing friendship, a smile, happiness, and guardianship, blooming from April to September each year.)

"Have a pleasant day, sir!" The butler bowed graciously.

"Thank you very much, Baptiste." Clemenceau nodded and accepted: "You are too kind, I believe this is a delightful start."

"Of course." The butler smiled, opening the door for Clemenceau.

Before getting into the car, Clemenceau threw the flower into the roadside trash bin, grumbling to himself. This had never happened before; Baptiste’s behavior was odd today.

However, Clemenceau didn’t take it to heart, thinking it was merely the butler’s whim.

Over half an hour later, the car stopped in front of the Bourbon Palace conference room.

The driver got off from the driver’s seat, rounded half a circle to Clemenceau’s side, and opened the door for him.

Clemenceau stepped out of the car, donned his hat, and leaned on his cane. After two steps, the driver rushed back from behind, holding a yellow rose: "Have a pleasant day, sir."

"Oh, thank you!" Clemenceau’s reception of the flower was hesitant.

What day was today?

A rose-giving festival?

He couldn’t remember any such custom!

But the next moment, Clemenceau seemed to understand.

This must be the blooming season of roses at home, with the servants using them as offerings.

Clemenceau raised his eyebrows, striding towards the parliament gates.

...

The meeting had already started, Clemenceau found a seat in the first row and sat down.

Steed was passionately launching an attack on the resolution made the day before:

"Gentlemen, do you realize the grave mistake we’ve made?"

"The Reserve Army Group is the backup force for the frontline, managing the supply system and training new soldiers, turning those who’ve never touched a gun into qualified warriors."

"It needs a general who understands the military and commands respect to serve as the commander..."

Before he could finish speaking, a parliamentarian shouted from below, interrupting Steed:

"Ganmelin is also a military officer, his wisdom and prestige no less than Gallieni."

"We are not denying General Gallieni, but his health issues do not permit."

"We must acknowledge a fact, General Gallieni is no longer able to perform his duties normally!"

...

Steed spread his hands towards the parliamentarians:

"Listen to the citizens’ voices, gentlemen."

"Since we changed the commander of the Reserve Army Group, how many protests and demonstrations have occurred?"

"Is this what you call Ganmelin’s sufficient prestige?"

The momentum of the parliamentarians immediately weakened.

With the issues published in the newspapers these past two days, societal protests have surged, the most intense being from the Reserve Army Group, even showing signs of "mutiny."

Finally, Steed offered his advice:

"It’s wartime, gentlemen."

"Stability at the rear is equally important for the front line. If Gallieni painstakingly led the Reserve Army Group into positive development, and we kick him out at the crucial moment..."

"Aren’t you worried that the officers bleeding for France would lose heart?"

"Continuing this way, who would still be willing to fight for France?!"

Saying this, Steed stepped down from the podium amid the parliamentarians’ curses.

As he passed by Clemenceau, he casually pulled a flower from his pocket and handed it to Clemenceau, a yellow rose: "Have a pleasant day, Monsieur Clemenceau."

Clemenceau was utterly shocked, stunned for a long moment before realizing, his moment to declare a stance had arrived!