Chapter 108 Not Going to Be a Pig

Chapter 108 Not Going to Be a Pig (Two more chapters tonight)

Elizabeth Harrison sat by the fire, reading.

The door opened, and Isabella walked in, took off her coat and handed it to the butler, then went straight to sit down opposite Elizabeth.

She looked at the newspaper spread out in her aunt's hand, which contained two articles side by side: an excerpt from Animal Farm on the left and the article "Please Don't Laugh at the Pig in the Tuxedo" on the right.

Elizabeth looked up at her niece and put down her cup.

She asked, "Did Arthur write this?"

Isabella sat down opposite her and nodded.

"He wrote until the early hours of last night. He said that since Walker wanted to project an image of charity and respectability, we would help him to make that respectability even more sophisticated."

Elizabeth paused for a few seconds before her gaze returned to the newspaper.

She read the commentary about pigs again, then let out a complex sigh: "This is like putting deadly poison into the glasses of all the celebrities in New York."

Isabella didn't respond, waiting for her aunt to continue.

Elizabeth placed the newspaper on her lap and lightly tapped the headline: "Do you know who I just got a call from? Mrs. Vanderbilt."

Isabella raised an eyebrow. The Vanderbilt family was once one of New York's most prestigious families, but it was no longer what it used to be.

If we were to draw an analogy with Arthur, the Vanderbilt family today could be compared to the Jia family after chapter 78 of "Dream of the Red Chamber".

Elizabeth continued, "She had already ordered her Epiphany ball dress, which was supposedly flown in from Paris and cost three thousand dollars. But after reading this article this morning, she doesn't dare wear it out."

Isabella asked, "Why wouldn't you dare?"

Elizabeth said, "She said she was afraid that as soon as she stood under the lights of the Plaza Hotel, people would stare at her back, looking for any trace of a pig's tail. She said she felt uncomfortable just thinking about that fable."

Isabella smiled. She understood why Mrs. Vanderbilt reacted this way; for socialites like them, face was more important than anything else.

She then asked, "Aunt, what do you think of the article's effect?"

Elizabeth paused, picked up her teacup, took a sip, and then spoke.

"In New York, you can be called a corrupt official, a lecher, or even a murderer."

As long as you have money, power, and family backing, these accusations will fade in a few years. But in the social world, there's one thing you can never recover from.

"That would become a joke."

"The brilliance of Arthur's 'Please Don't Laugh at the Pig in the Tuxedo' lies in the fact that it doesn't insult anyone. It simply describes a scene, a picture, a picture that makes people want to laugh as soon as they think about it."

"Now, everyone who receives this invitation has that image etched in their mind: a group of pigs in tuxedos walking upright in a brightly lit hall, raising champagne glasses and chanting 'For prosperity!'"

Isabella nodded.

Elizabeth stood up and walked to her desk. There lay a stack of letters, all delivered that afternoon.

She picked up a few bills at random and handed them to Isabella.

"The Astor family just sent a letter. They said they've suddenly contracted a severe case of the flu and can't attend tonight, and they're asking if I'd like to attend."

Isabella took the note. It was written in neat handwriting and was very polite and appropriate, but it only meant one thing: she was not going.

Elizabeth picked up another one: "The Macy's owner was even more outrageous. He sent a basket of apples, saying it was for a charity ball, but he couldn't attend because of a 'sore throat.'"

"Listen, my throat hurts." Even a three-year-old wouldn't be fooled by this excuse, but he still said it.

She put the letters back on the table and concluded, "Everyone can see that whoever shows up next to Walker tonight is the pig in Arthur's story trying to walk upright. Nobody wants to be that pig."

Isabella asked, "And what about us? What are you planning to do?"

Elizabeth walked back to the fireplace and stood there silently for a few seconds. The firelight reflected on her face, making her expression unreadable.

"I'm not the kind of person who would hide at home and eat porridge. But I certainly don't want to be just a foil for Walker."

She walked to her desk, picked up a pen, and quickly wrote a line on the fine stationery.

She handed the letter to Isabella.

There is only one sentence above:

Since Manner Farm is hosting a party, as a human, I choose to stay in my house.

Isabella couldn't help but chuckle as she read the sentence. It was practically a perfect continuation of Arthur's style.

Elizabeth instructed the butler standing at the door, "Make fifty copies of this note and send them to all the families on the list. Tell them I will be staying home that day for a small, private book club."

The butler took the note, nodded, and left.

Isabella looked at her aunt and finally realized how clever this move was.

This is not just a joke. It's a public call for a collective boycott across the entire social media community.

"As a human being, I choose to stay in my house."

The subtext of this statement is: those who attend the ball are no longer human.

When these fifty notes were circulated throughout Manhattan, everyone who received them understood:

This is a matter of choosing sides. You either stand on the side of "humans" or be categorized as belonging to "Manna Farm".

Nobody wanted to be categorized as belonging to the farm.

Isabella said, "Aunt, you're forcing them to choose sides."

Elizabeth sat back down in her chair and continued, "It's not that I'm pressuring them; Arthur's article has already drawn up the battle lines. I'm just telling them which side is safe."

She put down her cup and looked out at the night view.

"Jimmy Walker has been in New York for so many years, and he's always relied on these friends. He thought that as long as the invitations were sent out, people would come. He thought that as long as the band was ready, the dance would start."

"He forgot that these friends are not best at offering help in times of need, but rather at adding to existing success. The snow hasn't even fallen yet, and they're already running away."

Isabella remained silent, knowing that after tonight, Jimmy Walker's social circle in New York would be completely ruined.

And it all started when a young man sat in front of a typewriter all night and typed out some words.

Elizabeth suddenly said, "You know what, Isabella, I'm starting to worry that you'll be taken advantage of working with that young man."

Isabella looked at her, puzzled.

Elizabeth shook her head, her tone carrying a hint of something that was hard to define—a mixture of admiration and awe: "That young man knows exactly how to kill someone by destroying their spirit."

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