Hearing his teasing and relaxed tone, it was as if even if he had done something wrong, it was no big deal.

Truly, no one knows a son better than his father.

No wonder Charles Foster turned out to be such a prodigal son—with this kind of doting, any son would be ruined.

Charles Foster sighed inwardly. What must come will come: “What bad thing could your son possibly do? I just sold a bit of land, that’s all.”

Samuel Foster continued to laugh heartily and said, “Just selling land, haha, selling a few dozen mu is nothing, sell as you please. If you’re short on silver, just tell your father. In the future, if—”

At this point, Samuel Foster suddenly noticed Henry Baker beside him looking as if he’d lost his mother, and his heart skipped a beat: “It was a few dozen mu that were sold, right?”

“A few thousand mu!” Charles Foster said, “To be precise, it was over two thousand mu.”

“Two... two thousand... over mu...”

Chapter 0006: Ancestors Above

Samuel Foster’s face, usually so dignified, instantly went blank, as if shrouded in dark clouds. He stammered, “Doesn’t that mean it’s all sold... all sold...”

This burly, broad-shouldered military man suddenly had tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. In an instant, with a thud, he knelt to the ground and wailed, “My descendants are unworthy, I have failed my ancestors...”

Samuel Foster wept bitterly, continuously kowtowing on the ground, crying out in self-reproach. Henry Baker, seeing Samuel Foster so utterly despondent, hurried to help him up.

Samuel Foster let out a long sigh and, full of anger, said to Henry Baker, “The young master wanted to sell land—why didn’t you write to consult me? Why... did you just indulge him like this?”

Henry Baker replied aggrievedly, “Master, you went south, so the young master became the head of the household. I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t. Besides, you always said that as long as the young master is happy, anything is fine. When you wrote, you said the most urgent thing was to treat the young master’s illness, that it was a brain ailment, and under no circumstances should he be agitated, so everything had to go his way...”

“Ah...” Samuel Foster sighed deeply, but had nothing more to say. He then continued walking toward the main hall. Charles Foster clicked his tongue, looking like a child who had done something wrong, dawdling as he trailed behind. He really wanted to comfort his father, but didn’t know how to begin.

When they reached the hall, Samuel Foster was about to give an order: “Pour some tea...”

But looking around—

He realized that the redwood official’s hat chairs in the hall were gone, as were the tea table and the calligraphy and paintings on the wall. Even the lamp stand had vanished without a trace.

What was left here...

Was a willow wood table, clearly a half-used item, and... two long benches...

Long benches...

The main hall of the Marquis of Nanhe’s residence was supposed to be so grand, yet these lonely long benches looked especially jarring.

Samuel Foster stared blankly, but a clever servant had already brought tea—only, instead of a white porcelain teacup, it was... uh... a big bowl, with visible cracks on the pottery. Of course, it wasn’t old, but rather the unique cracks from firing low-quality pottery.

Samuel Foster felt his vision darken and subconsciously said, “The tables and chairs... even... even those were sold?”

Henry Baker looked as if he’d lost his mother: “Sold... sold...”

Samuel Foster quickly propped himself up with his hand, his body swaying, barely managing to recover. Suddenly, rage surged within him, veins bulged on his forehead, and he raised his hand, swinging it fiercely toward Charles Foster’s face.

This large palm swept a half-arc through the air. Charles Foster instinctively closed his eyes, thinking, It’s over, just hit me. For a scoundrel and prodigal like me, honestly, I sometimes wish I could slap myself in the mirror every day.

But just as the palm was about to reach Charles Foster’s cheek, it suddenly stopped. Samuel Foster’s furious face instantly lost all color, like a defeated rooster, tears welling in his eyes. He sighed and said, “Jifan, when your mother died, she made me promise again and again to treat you well. All these years, I haven’t dared to remarry or take a concubine, for fear of letting down your late mother. And now you’ve become like this... cough, cough...” He coughed desperately, clutching his chest, choking out, “It’s my fault, all my fault. You grew up without a mother. Enough, enough, as long as you’re safe and healthy.”

He gave a bitter smile, just shaking his head. Suddenly, as if remembering something, his face tensed up again and he couldn’t help but ask, “The treasures... are the treasures still here?”

As he spoke, he shot off toward the study like an arrow released from a bow.

His treasures, of course, were the jars and bottles collected in the study, as well as some heirloom valuables. Panting, he rushed into the study, his eyes immediately searching for the display shelf.

But who could have guessed—not only were the items on the display shelf gone, but even the shelf itself had disappeared.

Charles Foster and Henry Baker and the others hurried after him, only to see Samuel Foster beating his chest and stamping his feet, wailing so loudly the tiles shook: “Heavens... what sin have I committed...”

“My lord, please calm down.” Henry Baker was about to step forward.

“Ancestors...” Samuel Foster raised both hands to the sky and roared, “Your descendants are unworthy!”

Samuel Foster’s vision went black and he collapsed with a dull thud.

Charles Foster was so frightened his face turned pale. Isn’t father a general? How can he have such a low tolerance for stress!