Chapter 119: Chapter 118: The Real France

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“Your Highness, are you saying that blood is used to transport nutrients and oxygen?” Perna’s large green eyes glittered, her pretty face full of earnestness, “So, if we let blood from a patient, wouldn’t that make them even weaker?”

Joseph clapped his hands gently, “Indeed, you’ve uncovered the truth.”

“Then why do we perform bloodletting as a treatment?”

“That is a mistake.”

“No wonder you have always refused bloodletting treatments. Could all the doctors be wrong?” Perna nodded thoughtfully and then, suddenly looking at Joseph, hesitated a bit before saying, “Your Highness, what if… what if your conclusion is incorrect?”

“To study science is to have a spirit of doubt, to not blindly follow any authority.” Joseph first nodded in approval of the female doctor, then continued, “Actually, it’s quite simple to find out if something is right or wrong, we just need to do a double-blind experiment.”

“Double-blind experiment? What is that?”

Joseph explained, “In simple terms, it involves finding some patients with the same condition and similar physical constitutions, dividing them into two groups, and ensuring they cannot see each other.”

“Then one group receives bloodletting treatment, and the other does not. We see which group recovers first to determine whether bloodletting is effective.”

Perna jotted this down in her notebook, nodding in amazement, “This indeed seems like a very feasible method to test. Oh, Mother Mary, how has no one thought of doing this over the past several hundred years! What if bloodletting therapy actually has only adverse effects…”

Her eyes suddenly lit up, “Your Highness, perhaps we could also use this… oh, double-blind experiment, to assess whether a certain medication is effective, or whether some factors might affect the illness.”

Joseph gave her a look of approval for her quick understanding, “You are quite right, these can indeed be verified through double-blind experiments.”

Perna’s hand trembled with excitement as she held her pen, her eyes filled with light as she gazed at Joseph, “You, you are truly amazing! How did you come up with these ideas?”

She glanced at her notebook again, “Your Highness, may I tell my father about this method?”

“Of course, you may.”

As they were talking, the sound of “pitter-patter” came from the roof of the carriage, clearly indicating that it had begun to pour outside.

Soon, the carriage came to a slow stop. Kesode, the captain of the guard, announced from outside the window, “Your Highness, the road ahead has been flooded by the rain; it’s probably not suitable to continue.”

Joseph, somewhat helpless, ordered to find a place nearby to take shelter from the rain.

This was his first time leaving Paris, and he had thought that even if other areas were somewhat inferior to Paris, they wouldn’t be far off. Yet to his surprise, not even a hundred miles out of the Île-de-France region, everywhere looked impoverished and neglected.

Take the road they were currently on, for instance; it was obviously constructed with work skimped and materials scrimped, resulting in a loose and crumbly surface. In places where the ground was slightly lower, the rainwater had pooled, and it quickly became impassable.

Particularly for a carriage, if one were to insist on passing through, it would most likely get stuck in the mud and become immovable.

This time, in order to speed up the journey, he had specifically instructed to avoid local officials from coming to meet and see him off, but here he was, stopped by the heavy rain.

After a while, a scout from the cavalry reported back, saying there was a small village to the east. Kesode hurriedly directed the convoy to turn that way to take shelter from the rain.

After Joseph’s carriage got stuck in the mud five or six times, they finally arrived at a group of decrepit cottages with thatched roofs.

Kesode picked the largest one, knocked on the door, and gave the owner eight livres. Immediately, the owner was overjoyed and could not stop thanking him.

Upon entering the house, Joseph was hit by a musty smell. The place was not spacious, with newspapers pasted on the walls and furniture comprising only a wooden cabinet and a wobbly wood table. Still, it was enough to serve as a shelter from the wind and rain.

Because the lodging fee Kesode had given was excessive, the farmer’s wife felt she needed to provide exceptionally good hospitality. She took out the best food they had, borrowed quite a bit from neighbors, and finally prepared a “lavish” meal, bringing it out carefully from the back room.

“Oh, there’s no need, we brought our own food…”

Kesode stepped forward to stop the farmer’s wife, and Joseph then saw the tense and disappointed expression on her face. Not wanting to dismiss her kindness, he ordered the captain of the guard to let her bring the food over.

Eman tested the white bread, pickled meat, roast chicken, and vegetable soup on the table meticulously and only then nodded to the Crown Prince that it was safe to eat.

Joseph ate a few bites, finding the taste quite bland but not to the point of being inedible.

Kesode and Eman both ate some as well, and Perna, the least picky about food, nearly finished her portion and even complimented the hostess’s cooking skills in the back room.

Sitting idly and quite bored, Joseph struck up a conversation with the male homeowner, “Do you know about the government encouraging potato cultivation?”

The farmer bowed stiffly and nodded, “Yes, my lord. Father Marmont talked about it, saying that it was a gift from the Lord.”

“So, are you planning to plant some?”

The farmer shook his head.

“Why not plant them? After the harvest, you only need to pay back two-thirds, which is quite beneficial.”

The farmer was silent for about ten seconds before quietly saying, “Viscount Colbert said, it’s best not to plant those things…”

Kesode hurriedly leaned in to whisper to Joseph, “Your Highness, I inquired just now; Colbert is the landlord here. Nearly everyone around is his tenant farmer.”

Joseph nodded and then asked the farmer, “But isn’t it up to the farmers themselves to decide what to plant?”

The farmer said monotonously, “But Viscount Colbert won’t allow it.”

Joseph sighed. These serf farmers—also known as tenant farmers—were, in name, free to cultivate the land and simply had to pay rent, but in reality, they were still largely beholden to the feudal lord who owned the land.

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