CHAPTER 11 #6
"No... I’m not asking about that," Da Vinci breathed deeply. "Why is it that you can like two people at the same time? Do you want to propose to her?"
"Could, but not planning to," Botticelli turned his gaze back to the painting of the confused goddess, his tone softening. "Not all emotions need to be reciprocated or lead to any conclusions."
"They exist there, just don’t touch them."
"Once you care about them, they have the power to hurt you."
He couldn’t bear to feel that pain again.
"I don’t understand..." Da Vinci sighed deeply, still confused and with a complex mood.
He could understand Archimedes’ ancient treatises, could glimpse the secrets of bridge construction, yet he felt he could never quite reach that strange emotion that poets and singers endlessly sang about.
"I don’t understand why people fall in love, why they become so obsessed with another existence to the point of madness."
"I don’t understand what love is."
Botticelli stared at the woman in the painting for a long while, then suddenly smiled. "Do you want me to teach you?"
"You... seem to understand these things?"
"No, Leonardo," he said, turning to face him. "There are some things that cannot be taught with words."
"If you want to understand them, you can only do so through experience."
"Experience?"
"Only after experiencing something can you truly understand and comprehend it," Botticelli's smile became more complex, his gaze tinged with faint nostalgia. "It might be painful, it might keep you tossing and turning."
"When it comes, all you can do is quietly go through it."
It’s something you can’t foresee, something you can’t avoid. All the joy and pain will come like an unavoidable wind.
Da Vinci furrowed his brow as he looked at him, feeling a sense of resistance and agitation.
He liked things that could be precisely calculated and controlled—mechanics, gears, levers...
But these irrational matters were just...
"By the way," Botticelli glanced at him, "your good friend, the clever scholar, the skilled performer, Miss Hedy—she too will fall in love and marry, won’t she?"
"No, she won’t," Da Vinci instinctively denied it.
He simply couldn’t imagine such a scenario.
"Why won’t she?" Botticelli asked in return. "Only God and beasts endure solitude. Do you think she’ll spend the rest of her life in a convent like those nuns?"
"But she rejected those men—"
"That’s only because the right person hasn’t appeared yet," Botticelli interrupted calmly. "You’d better prepare yourself to lose this friend at any moment."
Da Vinci furrowed his brow as he looked at him, once again rejecting the notion.
"You might see her as a beautiful woman, like those noble ladies and young misses."
"But she’s not."
She was strong, intelligent, and had an endless thirst for knowledge about science and mysteries.
She was unlike anyone else.
She was one of a kind.
Da Vinci didn’t want to continue discussing this topic with Botticelli. He shook his head as if to deny something, then turned and walked away quickly.
Botticelli watched his retreating figure, a self-mocking smile playing on his lips. Once Da Vinci had left, he softly spoke.
"I don’t."
Hedy had begun to notice that Da Vinci’s gaze toward her had been strange these past few days.
She couldn’t quite put her finger on what kind of gaze it was—but for the sake of God, he better not mistake her for a witch, turning around and reporting those bizarre thoughts to someone.
The penicillin production workshop had been completed, and the hydro-powered system was indeed very effective. She only needed to hire two or three workers to keep an eye on it.
When Lorenzo returned from Venice, he took a look at the workshop, clearly intrigued.
Da Vinci had already constructed the prototype for the irrigation system, and with the help of experienced engineers for reference, the feasibility looked very promising.
Just at this juncture, guests from Milan arrived again.
Sforza looked to be in excellent health, walking with an air of self-assurance and pride.
At the banquet, the men discussed various matters regarding the federation, while the women subtly adjusted the atmosphere.
Hedy, still working on confirming the different mold species on various fruits, found an excuse to skip the banquet.
Amid the clinking of glasses, the servants brought trays of fresh oysters, and the wine emitted a fresh fragrance—everything was harmonious.
Sforza quickly consumed an oyster, then set his gaze on the roasted pigeon on the porcelain plate.
Lorenzo gave a subtle nod to the servant to refill Sforza’s glass, and with a friendly tone, he asked, “Besides trade matters, what else do you plan to discuss with me during your visit?”
"Proposal," Sforza set down his silver fork, glancing around at the guests along the long table, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity. "Speaking of which—why hasn’t that lady come?"
The air suddenly froze for a few seconds.
"You mean..." Lorenzo raised a polite smile. "A proposal?"
"Yes, Hedy Maria Kiesler Medici, that’s her name, isn’t it?" The Milanese lord fiddled with his pure gold ring. "She is a very suitable candidate. Once our two families are united through marriage, it would make many political dealings much easier, wouldn't it?"
Da Vinci suddenly lost interest in the pigeon on his plate.
Botticelli, sitting diagonally across from him, observed his expression leisurely, then returned to cutting his food, speaking in a calm tone, "It seems this lady... is quite popular."
Though everyone around the table was smiling and chatting, the atmosphere began to subtly shift, growing more tense, even awkward.
"She currently has no plans to marry," Lorenzo said calmly. "On behalf of the Medici family, we thank you for your kind offer."
Da Vinci glanced at Botticelli, his expression cold as he began to cut the neck of the pigeon.
Botticelli’s smile didn’t waver; instead, he leaned in, attentively listening to the conversation between the lords.
"This is a win-win choice," Sforza observed, eyeing him curiously, his tone growing more playful. "If you intend to use her as a bargaining chip—I'm quite willing."
"Marry this beauty to me," he picked up a green pea, inspecting it like a precious emerald. "I can loosen the trade controls between our two countries, provide you with more military support, and open up wider economic markets."
The way he spoke made it sound less like he was discussing a marriage, and more like he was negotiating a business deal.
Da Vinci’s knife clinked against the porcelain plate, emitting a harsh sound.
Lorenzo looked up at him briefly, then turned his attention back to the still-chattering Sforza.
"Or, as for the textiles, Milan could—"
"The Medici family does not need to sacrifice women for profit."
"Once she marries into Milan, she can come back and visit you whenever she likes," Sforza said nonchalantly. "Moreover, she hasn’t voiced her opinion yet. Why are you so quick to reject my offer?"
Lorenzo’s smile deepened as he leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed.
"Do you want me to call her over now?"
"That sounds a bit fiery," Sforza said, biting into his green pea and raising an eyebrow as he looked at Lorenzo. "You seem to be rather averse to this topic. Or do you have a personal issue with me?"
"You are our guest," Lorenzo lowered his gaze and smiled. "But speaking of which, the Alberti family has produced a beauty. I’ve heard her eyes are like those of a Persian cat, and her figure is as graceful as an Indian maiden."
"Persian cat?" Sforza's interest piqued again. "What’s her temperament like?"
"Sharp-tongued and hard to tame, I’ve heard there are quite a few suitors."
"Ha," the man tapped his thick knuckles, as if already burning with the desire to conquer. "You must arrange for me to meet her—after all, we’ve been cooperating for so long."
"Of course."
But since the matter had been spoken, a formal meeting was necessary.
However, it was likely because the Milanese lord had already met the amber-eyed little wildcat privately that, upon meeting the alchemist, he wasn’t as eager or welcoming as people had anticipated. He offered only a formal greeting and tested her opinion on the marriage proposal.
She, naturally, politely thanked him and declined.
At the moment of her refusal, several people in the room sighed in relief.
"You will meet someone more suitable," Sforza exhaled, offering a broad, sincere smile. "God will send you a perfect husband."
Hedy smiled noncommittally, simply leaning in to bid him farewell, with no trace of regret.
Lorenzo watched her walk away, then glanced at Sforza. "Last night?"
The Milanese lord grinned. "That cat has quite the fiery temper, I like it."
After leaving the drawing room, Da Vinci adjusted his breathing and paced back and forth in the hallway.
He understood well that he didn’t like her, nor had he developed any affectionate, tender feelings toward her.
He had seen the way Botticelli looked at Simonetta’s portrait—the emotion was clearly nothing like what he felt.
Yet, Da Vinci still couldn't accept the possibility that Botticelli had suggested.
"You should be ready to lose this friend at any time."
No...
If Hedy ever married, out of respect for her husband or for her own honor, he shouldn’t continue to maintain such a close relationship with her.
But such an exceptional woman...
Da Vinci took a deep breath again, still hesitating before he knocked on Hedy’s door.
Dechio, the maid, opened the door and gestured with her eyes to show that her mistress was busy.
Hedy was scraping mold off a green olive, wearing a mask and goggles—clearly wary of the substance on it.
Da Vinci stepped forward, intending to approach her, but paused halfway.
He didn’t know how to ask such a question.
This request sounded absurd and unreasonable, even though he had been headstrong for so long. It felt deeply illogical.
But there were so many mysteries in this world that had yet to be explored, and the potential of penicillin...
"Leonardo? What’s the matter?" Hedy turned to look at him, then resumed carefully transferring the scraped mold into a glass dish.
"I heard about the Milanese lord," he said dryly.
"Trade or marriage?" she asked casually. "The former is certainly a good thing. Florence and Milan should strengthen their ties."
"And the latter?"
"The latter?" She paused, raising a crescent-shaped brow. "What are you trying to ask?"
Da Vinci swallowed hard, trying to appear calm. "Do you plan to get married?"
"Wait—hopefully there’s no misunderstanding between us," Hedy laughed softly. "You’re not planning to be the next one to be rejected, are you?"
"No, I only have friendship for you, and I hope you don't misunderstand," he instinctively clarified. Then he asked, "Have you ever thought about it?"
"Not at the moment," she shrugged and continued examining the olive beside her.
Several weeks passed, and there was no progress in the study of the mold cultures. The mold derived from them was almost identical to the one from the orange peel. Some of them fermented slightly faster, but the difference was negligible.
"So when will we..."
"Leonardo, this isn't like you to ask such a question," she put down her tools, stood up, and walked over to him, her expression a mix of amusement and mild exasperation. "If I were to consider marriage, it would only be for one reason."
"And that is...?"
"That I suddenly find myself facing an unavoidable crisis, and only marriage could help me escape it."
He let out a long sigh of relief, but then, with some hesitation, asked, "What about love?"
"Love?" She laughed lightly. "That fleeting thing? It's best to avoid it."
She had been married six times, with three of those marriages lasting less than two years.
Love, passion, commitment.
None of them were eternal.
If this were the modern world, perhaps she would muster the courage to love again.
But this was the Middle Ages, where divorce was impossible.
Women had relatively more freedom in deciding whether to marry, but divorce was absolutely forbidden. This meant that, as a powerless commoner, if your husband was decayed and foolish, or a compulsive gambler and drunkard with countless illegitimate children, you could not legally leave him.
She had already had a significant cognitive dissonance with the opposite sex in this era, and the allure of wealth and appearance continuously diminished, leaving almost nothing that could move her.
Given these existing shackles, the thought became clearer and clearer.
Absolutely—never gamble everything for so-called love.
At that moment, as the answer emerged, Da Vinci instinctively smiled, extending his arms and giving her a tight hug.
"I knew it—I knew you would make this choice."
How could I lose a friend like you?
It was simply impossible.
He seemed to release many of his concerns and worries, and at that moment, returned from his strange, twisted state to one of carefree ease.
Hedy, somewhat surprised, reached up to pat his back, clearly feeling his jubilant mood.
Was he really this happy?
Was this person hoping I would end up lonely and be eaten by the cat I keep?