As soon as Charles Foster bared his teeth in a grimace, William Carter, Henry Baker, and Edward Clark all gasped in shock.

They knew what kind of temper the young master had. In the past, when he got angry, he could beat someone to death, so none of them dared to wail loudly anymore, only sobbing quietly.

“I said sell, so we sell. From now on, sell whatever can be sold. Call in the brokers, negotiate, and once it’s settled, get a guarantor. Go now!”

This was absolutely not the time to show weakness. If he softened his tone even a little, he’d never be able to keep them in line.

Edward Clark, still weeping, said, “Young master, could we at least inform the marq—”

“No need, the fam—” Charles Foster was about to say “my father,” but suddenly shuddered. No, he shouldn’t call him father—he almost gave himself away. So he bared his teeth and put on a bold front: “Why bother with that old man? If I say sell, then we sell!”

The young master’s furious outburst shook the entire Foster household with fear. The loyal servant William Carter had already fainted, and Edward Clark, due to a heart attack, was carried off for medical treatment.

The next morning, with the sun already high, Charles Foster was getting dressed with Little Grace’s help. William Carter’s eyes were swollen like light bulbs—he must have woken up in the night and cried again. Charles Foster ignored him, thinking the doctor might come by soon and hoping he wouldn’t get another injection. He eyed Little Grace slyly and said, “Little Grace, I haven’t seen you for a day and you’ve grown again. Come here, your young master…”

Little Grace blushed and stood still, not daring to move. Charles Foster even gestured for her to step aside so he could back out gracefully, but Little Grace stood there like a wooden post, making him inwardly groan, “Why don’t you just move?”

Helpless, he could only reach out his wicked salty hand and give Little Grace a pinch. The softness startled Charles Foster, leaving him both ashamed and speechless. But… she really had grown. He was shocked—he wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t touched her. He couldn’t help but marvel: the Foster family’s rice really does nourish people!

Little Grace, still blushing, put a scented sachet on Charles Foster. When she lifted her pretty face, her eyes were brimming with tears. Charles Foster felt a pang of guilt and inwardly cursed the former Charles Foster for being such a scoundrel. William Carter then said from the side, “Y-young master… the brokers are here.”

“Good.” Charles Foster seized the chance to escape the awkwardness, took the Xiangfei fan from his waist, and snapped it open with a flourish: “Let’s go meet them.”

He led William Carter to the main hall, where a portly merchant was waiting nervously. The man seemed to shrink a size in the Foster household, looking uneasy. When he saw Charles Foster enter, he hurriedly stood and bowed: “I am David Thompson, greetings, young master.”

Charles Foster sat down with a swagger, crossed his legs, snapped the fan shut, and slapped it on the table: “No need for formalities. You know about the land, right? Want to go take a look?”

“N-no need.” David Thompson forced a smile, trying his best to appear harmless. This young master was infamous for being a troublemaker—if he said the wrong thing, who knew if he’d walk out of here alive. He beamed and said, “How could I not know about the Foster family’s estates? All top-quality farmland. At market price, each mu is at least thirty taels. With over two thousand mu, sixty or seventy thousand taels is no problem. Besides, this is a good year—few are selling, many are buying. As long as you’re really willing to sell, I’ll do my best to get a good deal. You won’t lose out, young master.”

Only sixty or seventy thousand…

Charles Foster felt a bit disappointed.

But thinking it over, in this era, a single tael of silver was no small sum—worth about two hundred yuan in modern times. Sixty or seventy thousand taels was equivalent to several million, even tens of millions.

Still, Charles Foster was unsatisfied. “That’s it?”

David Thompson kept smiling, but inwardly looked down on Charles Foster. The Nanhe Marquis’s lineage was well-known in the capital for being iron-willed men who had rendered countless services to the court. How did this generation produce such a character? If this were my son, I’d rather have no descendants than let him live.

With a sigh, David Thompson forced a laugh: “Young master, that price is already quite high.”

Charles Foster had to let it go. After all, he was a prodigal son—he couldn’t let anyone see he had any business acumen. So he waved his hand grandly: “Fine, it’s settled. Little William, pour some tea for our… our… whoever-the-hell-this-is. Haha, I love making friends! Come, sit, sit.”

David Thompson was mortified but didn’t dare refuse. He obediently sat down. When William Carter went to pour tea, Charles Foster said nothing, just played with his Xiangfei fan, making David Thompson feel awkward no matter where he looked. His gaze flickered to a painting on the wall, and he couldn’t help but say, “The Nanhe Marquis’s residence truly is extraordinary. That ‘Farewell at Clear River’ by Zhao Yuan—if an ordinary family had it, they’d keep it locked away, but here it’s just hung in the hall. I’m truly impressed.”

Hmm?

Originally, David Thompson was just trying to flatter him—a merchant’s tongue must always be sweet, especially when dealing with such a notorious rascal. But Charles Foster narrowed his eyes, suddenly sensing a business opportunity: “How much is it worth?”

“Worth? Worth what?” David Thompson was dumbfounded.