Henry Bolton nodded with a smile, then turned to ask Charles Bennett, “Has your father’s illness improved?”

Charles Bennett was the complete opposite of Frank Harris in appearance—tall and thin, with prominent cheekbones and deep-set eyes. He rarely smiled, but whenever he did, it was highly infectious. His family had once been well-off, but two years ago his father fell seriously ill and had been bedridden ever since, causing the family’s fortunes to decline.

Seeing Henry Bolton ask about him, he hurried forward and bowed deeply. “Many thanks for your medicine, Brother Qu Bing. My father wrote to say his spirits have improved!”

Henry Bolton gently squeezed his shoulder and comforted him, “That’s good. When the weather cools down a bit, bring your father over and let my master take a look at him. He can stay at my house then.”

“Then I’ll take care of all your father’s salt and rice!” Frank Harris patted his chest, unwilling to be outdone.

“Of course! How could a rich man like you get out of it?” Henry Bolton laughed heartily, slinging his arms around the two of them as they strode up the steps.

The three of them chatted and laughed as they walked toward the main hall. The main hall of Jinyang Academy was grand and towering, spacious and bright inside, able to accommodate three thousand people listening to lectures at once.

At the entrance stood an ancient bronze bell weighing ten thousand jin, inscribed with the personal motto of the Zhang family’s second-generation head, the founder of Jinyang Academy, Zhang Kuan: ‘Learning for Practical Application.’

Every student had to pay their respects here before entering the main hall. At this moment, it seemed some ceremony was taking place in front of the bell. Many students stood on both sides, their faces full of reverence.

“It’s the dean!” Charles Bennett had sharp eyes and immediately recognized the person bowing before the bell—it was the head of the Zhang family and Minister of Rites, Edward Bolton. He quickly turned to look at Henry Bolton, only to see his expression calm, showing no sign of emotion.

“It’s the Minister!” Frank Harris cried out excitedly, a beat slower to realize that the dean was also the Minister of Rites, Edward Bolton.

His voice was a bit loud, drawing glances from many nearby. One person even gave a light “hmph!”—a nasal, contemptuous sound. Henry Bolton glanced over and saw a handsome young man standing to his left, looking rather arrogant, with several pages and attendants standing behind him, hands on their hips, all rolling their eyes skyward.

Henry Bolton recognized him—his name was David Bolton, the legitimate eldest son of the family head Edward Bolton, and the heir to the sixth generation of the Zhang clan. Their eyes met, but Henry Bolton said nothing, turning back and gently patting Frank Harris’s hand to signal him to keep quiet. But just then, the earlier voice sounded again, persistently mocking, “Looks like a pig and is just as slow-witted. I really don’t know how you got into Jinyang Academy!”

Frank Harris flushed bright red but dared not provoke him, lowering his head in silent resentment. Henry Bolton, however, turned around, lazily glanced at him, and said with a faint smile, “He took first place in last year’s ‘Research on Canal Transport History’ essay competition—much better than some people who even have others ghostwrite their plagiarized work!”

“Insolent!” Before the master could speak, his lackey barked first. A small, thin page with a pair of drooping mustaches was the most arrogant. He pretended to be furious, rolling up his sleeves to reveal his skinny arms, as if about to charge over.

“All right, enough. The family head is coming.”

David Bolton shot Henry Bolton a cold glare, but immediately switched to a respectful and gentle expression, lowered his head, and greeted his father Edward Bolton, who was slowly approaching, “Greetings, Father!”

Edward Bolton was about sixty, standing ramrod straight and robust. His hair was as lustrous as silvery snow, his long beard equally white, but his cheeks were as rosy and glowing as a young man’s—he was the very picture of “white hair, youthful face.”

He seemed not to hear his son’s greeting, walking straight past him. Strictly speaking, David Bolton was not truly Edward Bolton’s eldest son. Edward Bolton’s first wife and three sons had all perished fifteen years ago during the Huihe Rebellion. David Bolton’s mother, being from the Wang family of Shannan, was elevated to the position of principal wife, making David Bolton the legitimate eldest son and, by clan rules, the heir to the Zhang family.

But Edward Bolton did not seem to like this son very much. Though he tried hard to restrain his dissatisfaction, it still occasionally slipped out in his tone and expression.

Today was no exception. In front of everyone, he ignored his son’s greeting.

He walked straight into the crowd, and the many young Zhang clan members immediately grew excited, bowing in unison, “Greetings, Family Head!”

Edward Bolton nodded solemnly, waved to them, then turned and ascended the steps, preparing to enter the main hall. At that moment, he suddenly noticed Henry Bolton standing to the side. Henry Bolton’s gaze was clear and calm, showing not the slightest excitement at seeing the family head.

As if recalling something, a strange look flashed in his eyes. He gazed deeply at Henry Bolton for a long moment, then gave him a knowing smile before turning and entering the main hall.

Although the strange look in his eyes when he glanced at Henry Bolton lasted only an instant, it was still caught by his eldest son David Bolton. Jealousy immediately welled up in his heart, surging and flooding his entire being, all stemming from his father’s neglect.

“How could Father treat me like this!”

David Bolton lowered his head, his gaze dark, fists clenched tightly. Even after almost everyone had entered the main hall, he still stood there, motionless.