Maybe... this kid isn't as hopeless as people say. Could it be that the rumors are exaggerated, and someone has blown things out of proportion?

He was just thinking this.

Who would have thought that Charles Foster had already started writing—he was actually the fastest to answer.

Having a big man staring at you from the side is really uncomfortable.

Charles Foster even felt that Michael Bolton was like an old pervert.

Enough is enough!

But... anyway, I'm already known as a wastrel, and that reputation probably won't change anytime soon, so...

Without any hesitation, Charles Foster said, "I'm handing in my paper!"

Hand... handing in the paper...

The whole room was shocked.

Many examinees looked up in surprise at Charles Foster, but soon, they seemed to think it was normal and secretly rejoiced. The wastrel of the Fang family is just that—a true wastrel. It's only been the time of two incense sticks, still a long way from the end of the exam, and this guy is already handing in his paper. Did he just hand in a blank sheet?

Charles Foster, however, ignored these looks. He just wanted to get away as far as possible. Since he had finished answering, whether he passed or not was up to fate.

Michael Bolton was so angry he almost spat blood. He slammed Charles Foster's desk and said furiously, "Charles Foster... you... you... you really are... outrageous. Fine, fine, fine, take his paper and seal it!"

He had wanted to explode in anger, but on second thought, getting mad during the grading process was pointless. If this kid wants to dig his own grave, let him.

Charles Foster didn't linger either. He even bowed to Michael Bolton: "I'm off, then." And then hurried away.

Chapter 0011: The Young Master’s Wisdom

At this moment, outside the gate of the Marquis of Nanhe's residence, William Carter was still looking around anxiously.

The young master had been taken away by that eunuch. William Carter didn't dare to stop them, but he was so worried he was stomping his feet. He had always known the young master's temperament—if he said he wouldn't take the exam, he definitely wouldn't. Sure enough, before long, he saw the young master's figure.

"Young master... young master..." William Carter ran up excitedly.

Charles Foster felt a bit uneasy, not knowing if he had answered well or not. These policy questions all depended on whether they suited the examiner's taste.

When he saw William Carter, he immediately put on his playboy act again, whistling and striding even more boldly: "What are you yelling for!"

William Carter quickly bowed respectfully, grinning, "Did young master go to the grading?"

Charles Foster nodded.

William Carter was stunned. Although he had been dragged there, this wasn't like the young master at all. He started to get nervous—could it be that the young master was traumatized from being dragged off and his old illness had flared up again? So he asked worriedly, "Didn't young master always say that anyone who obediently goes to the grading is a loser?"

Charles Foster sneered, "I went, but I handed in my paper early."

William Carter was taken aback, then his eyes lit up with joy. He said happily, "Young master is truly the young master."

Although he felt the young master might have done something wrong again, William Carter actually felt a warm sense of reassurance inside. It was a comfortable feeling.

With a happy smile on his face, William Carter followed Charles Foster into the courtyard. From a distance, Charles Foster saw Grace struggling to carry a basket of clothes toward the courtyard well and said, "Little William, isn't little Grace sick?"

"Yes."

Seeing how much Grace was struggling, limping along, Charles Foster couldn't help but feel pity. He quickly stepped forward and said, "Little Grace, what are you doing?"

When Grace saw Charles Foster, she didn't know if it was because she was sick or shy. She quickly lowered her head, put down the basket, and bowed, "Young master, this servant is washing clothes."

Charles Foster's brows furrowed slightly. "You're washing even though you're sick?"

Grace hesitated.

But William Carter grinned and said, "Young master, it was Henry Baker's orders."

Charles Foster felt his teeth itch with anger. This is just like Huang Shiren—how can anyone treat people like this? He could ignore other things and play the part of the prodigal young master, but this he couldn't stand.

So he said sternly, "Call Henry Baker here."

William Carter thought it was strange, but seeing the young master's angry face, he didn't dare ask more and quickly went to call Henry Baker.

Soon, Henry Baker came running over, belly jiggling, with a fawning smile. "Young master, what are your orders?"

Charles Foster composed himself, already having a plan in mind. First, he pointed at Grace and said, "Grace, what do you mean by this? You're sick and still dare to show yourself in front of me? If you pass your illness to me, you'll be guilty of a capital crime!"

Grace was so frightened her face turned pale, tears streaming down as she hurriedly admitted her fault in terror.

Henry Baker thought Charles Foster was just scolding Grace, so he chimed in, angrily saying, "Did you hear that? How dare you offend the young master's eyes—watch yourself!" Then he looked at Charles Foster with a flattering smile, "Young master, isn't that right?"

But Charles Foster put away his fan and slapped Henry Baker across the face.

Smack...

A crisp, decisive slap, especially resounding on Henry Baker's chubby face, the echo lingering.

Henry Baker was caught completely off guard, instantly feeling wronged. He clutched his cheek, looking at Charles Foster in disbelief. "Young master, what are you..."

Charles Foster gritted his teeth and spat out through clenched teeth, "Remember this: in this capital, I will not allow anyone more despicable than myself to exist!"