This made Henry Bolton even more astonished. Since the approval process was so strict, why were the records of major expenditures written so simply in the account book? He had a vague premonition that perhaps something was being hidden here.

As evening gradually approached, Manager Young still hadn’t appeared. Those sent to look for him only said he wasn’t at home, and knew nothing else.

At this moment, the sound of “Dong! Dong!” rang out—the deep, melodious chime echoed above The Bolton Residence. This was the signal for the end of the workday at The Bolton Residence, though it only applied to those working for the The Bolton Family; the household servants were not included.

But even those who worked for the The Bolton Family and earned wages had originally been household servants of the The Bolton Family. It was only later that their masters returned their indenture contracts and restored their original surnames.

Manager Scott, with his eggplant-shaped face, was such a person. His father had saved the Sixth Master William Bolton fifteen years ago and was thus released from servitude by the The Bolton Family, becoming an ordinary citizen. Yet he remained the The Bolton Family’s gardener, earning three strings of cash a month—a considerable sum at the time. His son, Paul Scott, was even more accomplished: he attended school, had beautiful handwriting, and, with the help of the Sixth Master William Bolton, entered the accounting office. Now he had become a steward, earning fifty strings of cash a month—enough to make anyone envious. He bought a house, took a concubine, and had maids and servants. In today’s terms, he would be considered part of the “gold-collar” class.

Manager Scott’s house was not far from The Bolton Residence, located in a deep, narrow alley called Willow Lane, right next to a main street naturally named Flower Street. “Flower Street and Willow Lane”—the names were simple and easy to remember, and nearly everyone in Taiyuan City knew them. As dusk fell, Henry Bolton found his way to Manager Scott’s house.

“This is a little something for your wife and son!”

As soon as he entered, Henry Bolton handed his gifts to Manager Scott: for his wife, several boxes of “Qilixiang” face powder—not top-grade, but from a reputable shop and presentable; for his son, two writing brushes that were both ordinary and rare. Ordinary, because these goat-hair brushes cost only twenty wen each and were sold everywhere; rare, because they were embossed in gold with the words “Jinyang Academy.” This wasn’t like today, where Peking or Tsinghua University logos are sold as tourist souvenirs at street stalls.

In Taiyuan, the words “Jinyang Academy” could only be printed on special academy items. No small vendor would dare try it, and brushes with gold lettering were even rarer—they were prizes for the top three students in the academy’s annual evaluation. Last year, Henry Bolton ranked third and received ten such brushes; today, he gave two to Manager Scott’s fifteen-year-old son.

Manager Scott was so delighted he could hardly close his mouth. He, too, was from a scholarly background and knew the special significance of these two brushes. His son cheered aloud—these brushes would make him the center of attention at school tomorrow.

“It’s just a simple meal, yet you’ve brought such generous gifts, young master. I really don’t deserve it!”

While being polite, Manager Scott ushered Henry Bolton inside and called for his concubine to pour wine. Although there’s an old saying that “wives are not as good as concubines,” that only applies after the lights go out at night. In front of outsiders and on formal occasions, concubines had no right to dine at the same table. However, Manager Scott’s wife was busy trying out her new face powder and didn’t appear at the table, so only Henry Bolton and Manager Scott sat at the meal.

“To be honest, young master, we’re not strangers. My father once served as your father-in-law’s attendant, and my position in the accounting office is all thanks to the Sixth Master’s favor. Such great kindness is hard to repay!”

After a few cups of wine, Manager Scott’s face began to flush, the redness spreading to the backs of his hands, and his speech gradually became less restrained.

“You know, there aren’t many people in our accounting office, but the relationships are all very complicated. Old Qian used to be the family head’s page—no need to say more. Of the three stewards, one is the Second Master’s brother-in-law, one is the Third Master’s confidant, and I belong to the Sixth Master. The relationships are really tangled!”

Manager Scott drained his cup with a “slurp!” and smacked his lips, burping before continuing, “And it’s not just the stewards—even the junior clerks all have their own connections. It’s so chaotic that even I can’t keep track!”

By now, his face was as purple as an eggplant. He slammed his cup on the table and called for more wine. His concubine, seeing he was starting to talk nonsense, hurriedly nudged him, “Master! Maybe you should drink a little less!”

“Get out of here!” Manager Scott snatched the wine pot, poured himself another cup, and casually pinched his concubine’s bottom, chuckling, “Go to your own room. I’ll sleep with you tonight!”

His concubine, embarrassed and anxious at her husband’s behavior—especially with Henry Bolton watching and smiling silently—stomped her foot in frustration and ran out. Manager Scott watched her leave, then, feeling pleased, downed his wine in one gulp, leaned close to Henry Bolton’s ear, and said with a sly grin, “That woman is no easy one to handle. Only I have what it takes to satisfy her. Uh—where was I?”

Henry Bolton refilled his cup, smiling as he replied, “You were just talking about Manager Young!”

“That’s right! Manager Young.”

Manager Scott habitually glanced around, then lowered his voice: “Manager Young is the Third Master’s confidant. If it weren’t for the First Master’s reputation, Old Qian would have been ousted by them long ago. The two of them—they’re at a standoff!”