"Ah, it's Little Michael, good, good! Did your boss send you to pick up the vegetables?" Mr. Foster, who had been sitting alone in silence, suddenly brightened up, smiled, and said in a hoarse voice, "It's rare that you still care enough to come and greet this old man. Come on, the vegetables are ready, just waiting for you. After this batch, I'll be closing up for the New Year too."

"Sorry to have kept you waiting so long, Old Foster, I really apologize." Grace Bolton smiled. "And of course, it's only right to pay my respects to you, Old Foster. Not to mention, these past few months, I've received so much of your care."

Old Foster just nodded, watching as he busied himself, effortlessly carrying bundles of vegetables onto the cart.

"You speak so politely—did you study before?" At this, the old man suddenly asked.

"Maybe. I can read a bit, maybe I read a few books before, but I've forgotten everything from the past, so I really don't know."

Sitting on a small stool, Mr. Foster seemed to want to say more, but when he saw how thinly dressed the boy was in the cold wind—yet showing no sign of being cold—his eyes narrowed, he paused, let out a low sigh, and said nothing more.

In the silence, the boy quickly finished up, and just as he was about to load the cart, Mr. Foster's hoarse voice sounded again: "So you were the one saved by Zhen girl? You didn't sign a contract with the boss?"

"No."

Grace Bolton answered crisply. He hadn't signed any indenture; at Old Feng's place, he was just working for a meal for now, partly to repay Sister Zhen's kindness, but if it meant becoming someone's servant, he would never agree.

After tying up the vegetables and meat, making sure they wouldn't come loose on the road, Grace Bolton looked up, about to let out a long breath, when he saw the old man staring at him with a rather strange look.

"Old Foster, is there something you want to say to me?" Grace Bolton wondered, taking out the money for the groceries, counting it out coin by coin, and handing it over. Any extra copper coins, he counted and put away.

"Yes, that's right. Come, sit and talk. You're quick on your feet, so talking a bit more here won't delay you." Mr. Foster looked at him, hesitated for a moment.

Grace Bolton smiled and said, "Alright!"

He sat down across from him. Although Mr. Foster didn't speak for a while, he was calm and unhurried, showing no sign of impatience.

"You've practiced martial arts, haven't you?" Mr. Foster suddenly asked.

"Yes, I have. Recently, even though I can't remember much from before, I do recall a few things. Seems I used to practice martial arts." Grace Bolton answered without hiding anything. In his situation, anyone with a bit of insight could tell he'd trained. Besides, from what he'd observed, martial arts were very popular in this world—there were many martial arts schools in Yangzhou, and even the constables knew a few moves—so it wasn't anything too special.

"How old are you this year?"

"Fourteen, I think. I'll be fifteen after the New Year."

"Good, you haven't missed your chance, you haven't missed it." Mr. Foster muttered, then after a pause, continued, "I've been watching you for a while. You work diligently, do things thoroughly, never greedy, never complain. At your age, that's really rare."

"Old Foster, you're too kind." Grace Bolton knew that what Mr. Foster was referring to was how, for the past few months, he'd always worked hard, never pocketed even a single coin from buying groceries—something others did all the time. But what they didn't know was that Grace Bolton simply didn't care about such petty gains; he wouldn't sully himself for such trivial matters.

"It's not flattery, it's the truth. For example, that Cui Han, always trying to be clever, can't do half as well as you." Mr. Foster shook his head. "You've studied, practiced martial arts, and even though you've forgotten a lot, it's enough. I, Mr. Foster, want to discuss something with you."

"Mr. Foster, you're too polite. If you have any instructions, just tell me, I'll do it."

"This isn't an ordinary matter, I have to talk to you about it. Do you know about the Zhuhua Gang?"

"No, I don't. Please enlighten me, Mr. Foster."

"Just from your answer, I can tell you're a cautious person, a scholar. Haha, but since you asked, I'll tell you." As Mr. Foster spoke, a hint of pride appeared on his face.

Chapter Two: Realization (Part Two)

Grace Bolton didn't interrupt, listening carefully. The more he heard, the more surprised he became, and a certain possibility grew clearer in his mind—if this were the real world, he would utterly despise organizations like gangs, since no matter what, they could never be respectable. But the gang Mr. Foster spoke of was in no way inferior to the famous historical societies like the Heaven and Earth Society or the Hongmen, perhaps even surpassing them. According to what was said, this Zhuhua Gang was just a regional organization, but it was extremely well-organized. Under the gang leader, there was a strategist, then the four halls of 'Wind, Clear, Rain, Dew', each commanding branch leaders, incense masters, and numerous members. The gang's influence extended throughout the nearby counties, with a total membership of over ten thousand, tightly organized, strictly hierarchical, and controlling vast wealth and property. So, rather than calling it a gang, it was more like a quasi-military organization.

As he listened, Grace Bolton was already thinking. When Mr. Foster finished, he tentatively asked, "Mr. Foster, what are you getting at by telling me all this?"