With Little Grace's service, Charles Foster rinsed his mouth. He had just finished breakfast when that renowned physician arrived.

The doctor, his face glowing with satisfaction, looked pleased. Upon hearing that the young master's brain ailment had greatly improved, everyone in the household now called him a miracle doctor. Though he spoke modestly, he was inwardly overjoyed.

As usual, he carried his medicine chest on his back and came in with a beaming smile to greet Charles Foster: "Greetings, Young Master Fang. You look much better today. Allow me to take your pulse first."

Charles Foster felt a certain instinctive fear toward this doctor, but after a moment's thought, he looked at him with his nose in the air, crossed his legs, and said, "I'm already much better. Why take my pulse? You old dog, get lost."

"Haha... haha..." The doctor let out an awkward laugh. As a physician, being called an old dog was certainly an insult, but though he felt a bit displeased, he still showed a gratified smile and sighed, "Yes, young master, your illness truly is much improved. This old man is... very, very..."

"Get out!" Charles Foster had figured out his way to survive: the more arrogant and domineering he acted, the happier and more relieved everyone seemed. What a... godlike world this was.

"Alright, alright." The doctor wasn't angry at all, but instead turned to instruct William Carter: "If the young master shows any signs of relapse, you must report it immediately. Young master... this old man takes his leave, takes his leave."

Watching the doctor leave in high spirits, Charles Foster finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Having just escaped a disaster, Charles Foster now felt empty and lonely again. Was he really going to spend his whole life pretending to be a scoundrel?

No, living like this was pointless. He had to accomplish something great. But right now...

Charles Foster stood up and said, "Little William..."

Little William was William Carter's exclusive nickname, but clearly William Carter wasn't too happy about being called that by Charles Foster, so he replied with a bitter face, "What are your orders, young master?"

Charles Foster grinned and said, "Come, accompany me for a walk around the residence."

"Alright." William Carter hurried off to fetch a Xiangfei fan and a flashy scented sachet, and said as if seeking credit, "Whenever young master goes out, he loves to bring this..."

Charles Foster was speechless. Did the owner of this body really have such tastes? He smiled, skillfully letting Little Grace tie the sachet to his waist, and played with the Xiangfei fan in his hand, opening and closing it. There was even a poem on the fan. Charles Foster glanced at it and saw written on the fan: "I urge you not to cherish your golden robes, but to cherish your youthful days. When the flowers bloom, pick them while you can; don't wait until there are no flowers and break empty branches."

The poem's sentiment was good, but Charles Foster knew the fan's owner had a rather lewd interpretation of it, and couldn't help but curse inwardly, "Pah, filthy scoundrel."

Though he felt contempt in his heart, life still had to go on.

Pulling himself together, he followed William Carter out of the bedroom. Only now did he truly see the Marquis of Nanhe's residence, and Charles Foster couldn't help but click his tongue in amazement.

The estate was enormous, at least fifty mu in size. The rooftops stretched in rows, with three courtyards in succession, a main hall, front hall, back courtyard, side rooms, and storage rooms—dozens of rooms in all. Charles Foster was quite satisfied, unconsciously fanning himself with the Xiangfei fan. The only flaw was that the mansion... was a bit old, at least a hundred years old, and looked rather weathered.

He couldn't help but say, "This house needs repairs."

"Re... repair the house..." William Carter exclaimed in surprise.

Charles Foster smacked him on the head. "You dog, the reason I got sick must be because this house is too old. Renovate it, understand?"

William Carter smiled again and said, "Young master is right. You mean the house is too gloomy? I understand, I understand. But... repairing the house costs a lot of silver."

Charles Foster raised an eyebrow and said, "The grand Marquis of Nanhe's residence, short of silver?"

"Short!" William Carter's answer left Charles Foster a bit stunned. "Young master usually doesn't handle affairs, but the estate has thousands of mu of good farmland in the suburbs. Still, what we grow is just grain. Though the marquis receives a stipend and rewards, there's not much actual silver—it's all Ming dynasty paper money."

Paper money... Charles Foster understood. This was the unique currency of the Ming dynasty, but unfortunately, the court printed too much of it, so it wasn't worth much.

He suddenly remembered, this was exactly the economic feature of this era. Land was valuable, but wealthy families mostly rented it out to tenant farmers, so what they received was grain. The grain was stored in granaries, and though it could be exchanged for money, the Marquis of Nanhe's household was so large that expenses were high, so naturally, there wasn't much actual silver on the books.

Continuing to play the fool wasn't a solution. He needed to be independent. Only by being independent—having money—could he avoid being controlled by others and being subjected to injections at any moment.

Besides, was he really going to be a prodigal son for life?

No way! Charles Foster felt that in his previous life, he was at least a top student and a model youth. He had to be strong and self-reliant.

But what to do without silver?

Charles Foster narrowed his eyes, suddenly growing excited.

A way to make money!

It was now the seventeenth day of the third month in the eleventh year of the Hongzhi era.

Half a month from now, Charles Foster vaguely remembered a record in the local gazetteer of Tongzhou, saying that dozens of ships carrying ebony would sink in North Tongzhou. Moreover, as ebony became increasingly prized by the nobility during the Hongzhi years, its price kept rising. Charles Foster remembered that the price of ebony soared to unprecedented heights.