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"Your expression," Da Vinci remarked, looking at her, "seems to show some pity?"
"Mr. Da Vinci—"
"Mr. Leonardo," Da Vinci corrected her. "We're friends, no need for formalities."
"Mr. Leonardo," Hedy emphasized, "if you delay again, you might end up bankrupt and in prison."
"But after all—" Da Vinci started to say, but suddenly paused.
She wasn't his servant anymore.
When he slacked off or got distracted, there would be no one to bring him orange juice and remind him of this and that.
He might not even complete the work on time.
The young man with brown hair suddenly looked much paler.
"It's over," he sighed deeply. "I've already signed the contract, there's no turning back now."
Hedy had intended to just talk for a bit and then continue reading, but now she was conflicted.
If she didn’t help, one of the bright stars in European history could end up in prison because of debt, and Renaissance might never fully unfold.
"Alright," she coughed lightly. "I'll come over and supervise."
Da Vinci sighed in relief. "Then I'm saved."
"On the condition that you write a specific work schedule," Hedy insisted. "It needs to be detailed—when you'll finish drafts, and when you'll complete each part."
Da Vinci flashed a smile and waved his hand. "I'll finish the angel's halo for the theater first, then I'll start writing—"
"Write now."
"Well, I'll eat something and come back—"
"Write. Now."
Someone quietly returned to their room.
Hedy waited for a while, sensing that something was off.
She went over and knocked on the door, hearing the frantic sound of someone hastily packing things up.
Da Vinci had written half of the work schedule but suddenly started studying goose feathers, sketching swans in his notebook, completely ignoring the knocks on the door. At this rate, he would probably write until midnight.
When the schedule was finally done, Hedy took a close look—he only needed ten months.
From thirty months, to twenty months, and now down to ten.
Sure enough, this guy’s sense of time was like water in a sponge…
It was now February, the time when everyone in the city began drying pasta.
Long strips of pasta could be seen laid out in the sun all over the streets, with many rooftops and terraces also displaying pasta.
Although the Palazzo Vecchio looked like it only had three floors, its high ceilings gave it an imposing, almost omniscient feel.
Hedy had heard from Dechio that the microscope was ready, and she was about to go collect it. Just before leaving, she glanced out the window and saw the city bathed in ochre yellow, dotted with bright yellow egg yolk-colored geometric lines. Some places even had wavy lines and arcs arranged.
