C2329 Dublin Intifada (1/2)

Some people say that whether a city is prosperous or not, doesn't matter how long one's nightlife lasts on the surface, because since ancient times, night and day have always been part of leisure, and leisure has always required money.

Especially in the era when electricity was still not widespread, nightlife itself was a kind of luxury synonym. Just how much did the lights in the restaurant cost for a night of candles and gas lamps? How much wine did the boss need to be able to afford this?

Not to mention the singing lady in the bar and the well-dressed band, the luxurious atmosphere they created needed money.

Wealthy people could have an all-nighter in their own homes or high-end restaurants, but the event would always be concentrated in a small part of the country. Middle-class people obviously wouldn't have such luxury.

Night life in the commoner's cave was even more monotonous. The workers who left work in the evening only had enough money in their pockets to buy a bag of potatoes and a few pieces of bread for their families.

Only bachelors and unsuspecting drunks lingered in dirty taverns, cheap beer as sour and bitter as horse piss in their mouths, and old whores had to find drunk people to do business in the dim light.

You mean with wine and food? Oh my God, such a luxury is not something that the poor can have. Salt water beans or baked potato chips are considered a luxury meal.

The poor Irishmen did not enjoy much of such simple food and wine. They usually spent the last coin in their pockets before 9 pm, and with the exception of a few drunkards who could be trusted, the rest were all kicked out.

Irish poverty had penetrated to the bone, and British exploitation was all-pervasive, essentially blocking any opportunity for the Irish to make a fortune.

The millions of Irish didn't even have the right to sell food, and all the produce of Irish farmland had to be sold by the merchants established by the United Kingdom.

”Pah …” Bastard Englishman, one of these days, I will drown you all in the ocean … ”Ugh …” In the middle of the night, a drunkard was puking at the sea while holding a gas pole. The pungent smell made him want to cry.

Tears blurred his eyes as the light in the darkness suddenly flickered strangely, as if countless ghosts were rushing towards him.

”This black-hearted Jack bar, what kind of rubbish did you give me to drink …” ”I only borrowed a little money, is there a need for you to give me some adulterated wine …”

The drunkard rubbed his eyes and scrutinized carefully. Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine, forcing cold sweat out of his body. The alcohol immediately sobered up.

”Up...” God! ”Who is this person …”

In the dark night in the cargo area of the port, a pitch-black gate was opened. A group of murderous gods silently rushed out like devils from hell. What were they holding in their hands? The shiny bayonets even had rifles and pistols.

”Weapon!” ”Who would actually have a weapon …” The British arms embargo on the Ireland was extremely strict. Forget about weapons, there was no way to buy any raw materials to concoct gunpowder.

Just as the drunkard wanted to scream out loud, he saw a familiar face rushing over, and a large hand tightly covered his mouth. ”Don't speak, I am Huai Te … This is the big day of the Young Irish Party uprising! ”

All the alcohol in the drunkard's blood vessels was ignited by this sentence. ”What did you say …” The martyred young people are back? ”They're going to revolt...”

Huai Te took out his handgun and waved it as he shouted excitedly, ”Did you see that... This time we have weapons, and we even have mercenaries with rich combat experience! ”

”Long live Ireland! Long live independence! ”