Old Mr. Bolton nodded, and the servant hurriedly stuck his butt out and ran off. He was gone for more than an hour, and as the sky grew dark, he still hadn’t returned.

“What’s going on? Why is Old Mr. Harris like this? Isn’t this enough to make someone anxious!”

As Old Mr. Bolton was complaining, he suddenly noticed that Madam’s face had turned pale, her lips were trembling uncontrollably, and her body swayed, nearly collapsing.

“You—you’re sick too?” Old Mr. Bolton was startled, quickly supporting Madam. “Don’t scare me!”

Madam stared blankly for a while, then suddenly burst into tears. “It’s over, my pouch of jewelry is gone!”

Old Mr. Bolton was shocked. They had no money left, and the only thing of value was the jewelry and trinkets Madam carried with her—her dowry, kept in a small bundle.

“It must have been stolen by that wretched, heartless Old Rascal while I was preoccupied with our son!” Madam was so angry she nearly fainted.

Old Mr. Bolton was stunned for a moment, then understood what had happened. It must have been Old Mr. Harris who took the jewelry and ran off under the pretense of fetching a doctor. Damn it!

He—his family had served the The Bolton Family for three generations, and they had never treated him badly. Yet at this moment, he stole the jewelry and ran away. This was kicking them while they were down, repaying kindness with betrayal!

Old Mr. Bolton stomped his foot in anger and turned to leave.

“Master, you won’t catch up to him!” Madam cried out in alarm.

Old Mr. Bolton snorted, “Who’s going after him? I’m going to find some medicinal herbs for our son. I’ve read medical books—I can do it!” With that, he dashed off toward the nearby hillside.

Can an old scholar really know medicine?

Don’t underestimate people—if not a good minister, then a good doctor; if you can’t heal the country, heal the people. Many great doctors are also great scholars. Once you’ve read enough books, you naturally understand pharmacology.

It’s just that Old Mr. Bolton was still far from being a famous doctor. Normally, he would never act recklessly, but at this point, there was no other choice—he could only try whatever he could.

He was gone for nearly two hours, and when night fell, he finally returned, panting, with a bundle of herbs.

“Hurry, boil water for our son to drink.”

Madam didn’t know if it would help, but could only follow her husband’s instructions and started a fire to boil water.

As the firelight rose, Madam noticed that her husband’s cheeks and arms were covered in cuts and wounds, with blood seeping out and forming dark red scabs.

Seeing this, Madam’s nose stung and she couldn’t help but start to cry. Their family wasn’t exactly rich and powerful, but they were well-off, with servants to wait on them—when had they ever suffered like this!

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me. As long as our son is okay, that’s all that matters. It’s my incompetence as a father that’s harmed him!” Old Mr. Bolton looked at his son’s haggard face and couldn’t help but reach out and gently touch his forehead with affection.

By coincidence, the unconscious William Bolton slowly opened his eyes, though his gaze was dazed, with a hint of surprise and panic.

Old Mr. Bolton didn’t notice anything unusual. He just thought his son was coming around and said proudly, “See? My medicine works!”

Madam couldn’t help but scold with a laugh, “You’re out of your mind—he hasn’t even drunk it yet!”

Old Mr. Bolton said sheepishly, “Well, then it must be Heaven moved by our father-son devotion that woke him up. He’ll be fine for sure.”

Excited, Old Mr. Bolton took down the clay pot, used his sleeve as a pad, poured the liquid into a drinking bowl, waited for it to cool a bit, and brought it to his son’s lips, helping him drink it down.

The young man drank the medicine like a block of wood, the bitter taste filling his whole body, making him shiver. It was as if his soul had returned—he looked up at the two people in front of him, who were both watching him with concern.

They were... his parents!

How could this be?

William Bolton’s head throbbed with pain. Wasn’t he an orphan? How could he have parents?

Suddenly, memories exploded in his mind, surging in like a tide. The boy’s expression kept changing—he must have arrived in a strange new time and place.

As he sorted through his memories, William Bolton suddenly became uneasy.

The twelfth year of Zhizheng, Henan Jiangbei Province, Anfeng Road, Red Turban Army. The stone man with one eye, stirring up rebellion along the Yellow River... this was deadly!

If he wasn’t mistaken, he had arrived at the end of the Yuan dynasty. After all, the one-eyed stone man was deeply rooted in people’s minds—a classic symbol of rebellion.

How could this happen?

He was just an ordinary college student, a laid-back type. His biggest ambition was to become a civil servant and serve the people honestly, nothing more.

Now he’d been thrown into the chaos at the end of the Yuan dynasty—how was he supposed to survive?

And it was obvious that his family’s situation wasn’t good either—they were on the run.

William Bolton snuck a glance—his Old Dad clearly wasn’t the most reliable. Otherwise, how could he have led the family into such dire straits?

But what could he do? He was young, sickly, and his only hope was his father. Hopefully, Old Dad could find a way out for them!

At this moment, William Bolton was utterly exhausted, unable to think at all.

Maybe it was the effect of Old Dad’s herbs, but he soon fell asleep.

After a night’s rest, William Bolton felt much better, but Old Dad was troubled. “We have nothing left. Going to Jiangnan is out of the question... The nearest place is Haozhou, but I’ve heard that Haozhou has been taken by the Red Turban rebels. I’m afraid there’s no good end for us there either!”