Matthew Hayes insisted, “The Benson and Foster clans are not as friendly and harmonious as Henry Benson claims; in fact, there’s quite a bit of bad blood between them. I personally witnessed the heads of the Benson and Foster families meet on a bridge, and neither would give way—they stood at an impasse for half an hour. The two families haven’t visited each other in ages, so collusion is impossible.”

“Oh?” David Carter was surprised; things were getting complicated. Was Henry Benson really repaying enmity with kindness?

Matthew Hayes said, “If I may report to you both, in fact, Henry Benson has always been known in the village for his friendliness and brotherly love, especially since he fell seriously ill a month ago—he’s become even more so.”

He then recounted an incident involving Henry Benson.

“In Linqu Village, there’s a large pear orchard owned by the Benson clan. Every year when the pears ripen, the family invites their relatives to share the fruit.”

Of course, they would also send someone to deliver the best pears, with money and silk hidden underneath, to the local officials for a taste. This story was something Matthew Hayes had heard from the servant George Benson, who delivered the pears.

“When eating pears, Henry Benson always takes the smallest ones. The small pears are clearly more sour. When someone asked him why, Henry Benson replied: After studying the Classic of Filial Piety, I understood the way of filial piety and brotherhood. Since I am the youngest at home, I should let my elder brothers and cousins take first, so I choose the small ones.”

This story was very simple, but it left a deep impression. With some intentional spreading, it had circulated throughout the county in just over ten days.

David Carter dismissed his suspicions about Henry Benson: “It seems Henry Benson truly is kind and modest by nature. Yielding his place in the academy is not an isolated incident—I was overthinking it.”

But after a sip of wine, Edward Clark spoke up: “Although I’ve only exchanged a few words with this young man, in my opinion, the reason he gave up his place in the academy may not be entirely due to filial piety…”

“Then what is it?”

“I suspect it’s simply, like me, he can’t be bothered to study those tedious philological texts.” Edward Clark burst out laughing.

David Carter didn’t take his words seriously, only thinking to himself, “Henry Benson giving up the pear is quite an interesting story. I should write it down and show it to my uncle when I return to Chang’an—maybe he’ll include it in his ‘Miscellaneous Notes.’”

Meanwhile, the county magistrate Matthew Hayes was also secretly worried for Henry Benson.

The reason he spoke up for the Benson clan was, first, because Matthew Hayes’s father and Robert Benson had once been colleagues and had a good relationship. And for the matter of Henry Benson entering the Imperial Academy, the old man had given him quite a few gifts.

After the banquet ended, Matthew Hayes’s mind became active.

“Now that Henry Benson has given up the spot, in theory, I should return the money and gifts the Benson clan gave me.”

But since he had already accepted those items, there was no reason to give them back. What should he do?

A sudden idea struck Matthew Hayes, and he decided to report Henry Benson’s acts of yielding the pear and the academy spot to the prefecture.

First, having such a model of filial piety and brotherhood in his jurisdiction would, of course, be a political achievement for the county magistrate’s moral governance.

Second, it would also give the Benson clan an explanation, so he wouldn’t have to return their bribe.

“There just happens to be a county-level position that can be decided locally—perfect for someone as filial and brotherly as Henry Benson!”

……

The central hall of the compound was the largest building in the Benson clan’s fortified estate. Thick pillars supported the roof, and there were windows on all four sides, making it bright during the day. At night, two rows of bronze lampstands were lit along the walls.

But Henry Benson, used to the bright electric lights of later generations, still found the room too dim.

In the spacious center stood two rows of low lacquered tables, with mats behind them for sitting. This was where the Benson clan gathered the family’s decision-makers for important meetings, and also where they received guests. The clan leader of the Foster family and his young son, who had come late at night, knelt on the west side in the guest seats.

On the main seat to the east sat the proud-faced Robert Benson. Behind him was a wooden rack holding a long sword—the very one Robert Benson practiced with every morning.

The sword was sheathed, its edge hidden, just like the reserved, smiling Henry Benson who was receiving guests.

Seeing his old rival arrive, Robert Benson spoke with no warmth: “The meat in my pot has just finished cooking, Richard Foster, are you here to scrounge a meal?”

Unlike the martial, rough-edged Robert Benson, Richard Foster had attended lectures at the Imperial Academy in his youth and always spoke with a scholar’s subtlety. He wasn’t here to pick a fight today; instead, he lowered his head and eyes, saying, “To be honest, I haven’t eaten the Benson clan’s food in decades.”

The two had once been friends in their youth, both serving as local officials—one as a pavilion chief, the other as a scribe—but later fell out. As for the reason… well, wasn’t it always because of a woman?

Robert Benson narrowed his eyes: “You haven’t changed, old man. Speak plainly, don’t beat around the bush.”

Richard Foster smiled and stated his purpose: “I’ve come today to thank you for your son Boyu yielding his place in the Imperial Academy to my son. As the poem says, ‘A peach given, a plum in return’—it’s only right that we come to express our gratitude.”

“Hahaha.” Robert Benson was a bit smug. “My son Lun is naturally clever. In the official school, he easily scored first in the top grade. He’s still young and will have plenty of opportunities. Considering your son is nearly twenty and has failed the exams many times, if he doesn’t go now, he’ll be too old. After all, we’re kinsmen, so I softened and let him have it!”

“I don’t need his charity!”

The scholarly-looking Charles Foster felt deeply ashamed. He had grown a short mustache to look more mature, but his temperament was still impatient. Provoked by Robert Benson, his face flushed and he stood up to argue, but his father pulled him back.