He gave a slight smile to several of the gate guards, pointed inside, and shrugged helplessly. Although he didn’t say anything, the guards seemed to understand. They looked at Henry Bolton with pity and made way for him.

Perhaps out of concern that the guards might steal, the further inside he went, the fewer guards there were. Before long, Henry Bolton had arrived at the largest inner residence of the Zhang clan’s estate. This was where the family head, Edward Bolton, and his legitimate sons lived. Although it was just an inner residence, it still covered a vast area, laid out like a giant flower. In the center stood a refined and elegant two-story red main building—this was the residence of the family head, Edward Bolton. Around it, like petals, were five or six smaller standalone courtyards, all single-story houses, for the married legitimate sons. Each courtyard had three sections: the outer row of rooms housed personal maids and young servants, along with a few small storerooms; the middle section was where the masters lived their daily lives; and the innermost rooms were the bedrooms, where the sons and their wives and concubines resided.

David Bolton’s courtyard was the first on the left after entering. A person-high wall symbolically enclosed the house. At this time, David Bolton and his wife had gone to the main building to dine with their father. The main gate was ajar. It was mealtime, so the courtyard was empty and very quiet. Henry Bolton glanced to both sides, slipped into the courtyard, and quickly hid in the storeroom.

Night gradually fell, and the men of the various households returned to their own residences one after another, making the Zhang estate lively. At this moment, David Bolton’s voice sounded in the courtyard, followed by the coquettish laughter of a young woman.

Henry Bolton peered through a lattice window and saw several people standing in the courtyard. In the center, slightly drunk, was David Bolton. Beside him stood a young woman in palace attire, standing in the shadows. Though her face was unclear, her dress suggested she was David Bolton’s main wife, the legitimate granddaughter of the Wang family of Shannan, and also David Bolton’s cousin.

But Henry Bolton’s attention was not on her. He focused on two others. First, a charming young woman in an almost transparent gauze dress, her face powdered and her features delicate—she was Henry Bolton’s favorite concubine, Mrs. Rose. The coquettish laughter just now had come from her.

The other was the wicked servant Peter Bolton, who had insulted him at noon. He was David Bolton’s personal page and lived in the outer rooms of this courtyard. At this moment, he stood behind David Bolton, bowing and smiling obsequiously, but his shifty eyes kept sneaking glances at Mrs. Rose’s body. Henry Bolton’s eyes narrowed, and he gave a cold smile, melting into the darkness.

As night deepened, the estate grew quiet. With Edward Bolton at home, the rules were stricter than usual. The Zhang family’s sons dared not misbehave, so they washed up and went to bed early, gradually drifting into sleep.

At the fourth watch, when people were sleeping most soundly, a shadow quietly appeared beneath the window of Peter Bolton’s room. Using a thin iron rod, he gently pried open the window a crack, and Henry Bolton leapt inside.

The room was dark and silent, but his eyes had long since adapted to the darkness. At a glance, he saw Peter Bolton sleeping on the kang, a lewd smile on his face, lost in some lascivious dream.

Henry Bolton stared at those two ugly little mustaches and sneered coldly. Before Peter Bolton could wake, he struck him on the ear, and Peter Bolton grunted and passed out.

Henry Bolton bent down, hoisted him onto his shoulder, put on his shoes, and exited through the window as before. He ran swiftly along the base of the wall, then nimbly vaulted over a garden wall into the rear courtyard.

Since David Bolton had not achieved official rank, clan rules allowed him only one wife and one concubine. The main house was naturally for David Bolton and his wife, while the side house was for his concubine, Mrs. Rose—a clear arrangement.

Carrying Peter Bolton, Henry Bolton passed through a bamboo grove to the window behind the side house. He dipped his finger in saliva and poked a hole in the paper window, peering inside. This was the outer room, simply furnished, with a maid sleeping on the floor. Henry Bolton moved a few steps further to another window, poked another hole, and saw that the curtain was not fully drawn. A faint fragrance wafted out. The room was elegantly decorated, and in the corner, a bronze censer glowed dimly, sending up wisps of blue smoke.

Henry Bolton silently thanked his luck. Only one woman slept on the kang—David Bolton had not come here for the night, likely because that coquettish laugh had displeased his main wife, Wang.

No time to lose. Henry Bolton quickly stripped Peter Bolton naked and tossed his clothes under the window. Then, carrying him, he leapt into the room...

Suddenly, Mrs. Rose awoke from her dream to find a skinny, naked body pressing down on her, and she herself was also naked. Terrified, she screamed hysterically and shoved Peter Bolton off her. She grabbed her shredded clothes to cover her chest and began to cry and scream at the top of her lungs.

...

By the riverside, Henry Bolton took a deep breath and leapt into the river. With a splash, the water closed over his head, instantly cutting off the distant, faint sounds of angry shouting in a world of darkness.

The courtyard gate opened a crack. Uncle George looked at the returning Henry Bolton with a complicated expression and shook his head gently.

Chapter Five: The Zhang Family Head

“What do you plan to do with that wicked servant who dared to rape the mistress?”