William, such a well-behaved and honest child, has never been one to cause trouble. How could he possibly have beaten up their family's David?

Even if he really did, it must have been because their family's David Brooks did something excessive.

He, John Brooks, has a harem of wives and concubines, and a pile of children. Especially among his sons, quite a few have a bad reputation, and David Brooks is one of them.

Grant has only this one obedient, well-behaved, and filial child under his knee, just twelve years old—clearly still a kid. How could he possibly be the one to start trouble?

“Wife, how about this: you talk to William and reassure him. If he wants to go out to relax, just let him go.”

At this point, Richard Grant turned his head and sized up the tall and imposing bodyguards behind him.

“Yvonne Foster, if the young master wants to leave the residence, take more men with you to protect him. If the young master is subjected to any more shocks…”

Seeing the sharp look in Grand Commandant Grant’s eyes, Yvonne Foster shuddered inwardly and hurriedly swore to the heavens that he would definitely protect the young master.

……

Sitting blankly behind the desk, William Grant looked utterly lifeless.

He had been in this era for a while now, but unfortunately, he was still just a child.

A kid who hadn’t even finished growing, what could he do besides act cute and play innocent?

His father was Richard Grant, and he himself, Young Master Grant, was actually his biological son. George Smith’s head was hanging on the city gate tower, reportedly already dried out by the wind.

When he heard this news, William Grant was completely dumbfounded.

William Grant spread out his hands and looked at his half-grown, childlike body.

He hadn’t even had the chance to grow up to the age where he could harass women and get beaten bloody by Robert Lane, screaming and wailing.

And the main leader of Water Margin had already met his end?!

Who the hell is messing with my state of mind?! Who’s messing with the history I know?!

For a while, William Grant was so depressed he almost shut himself off, and only after much effort did he manage to adjust his mindset after transmigrating.

He had planned to keep a low profile and go out to the market to see the famous Dongjing Bianliang depicted by the renowned Northern Song painter Zhang Zeduan.

But as soon as he stepped out and wandered around, he ran into a tongue-tied young man, David Brooks.

That guy actually mocked his father for being useless, saying he only became Grand Marshal by playing ball and other such nonsense.

William Grant felt that if he didn’t even dare to fight back, wouldn’t he be letting down the reputation of being the legitimate son of Grand Commandant Grant?

But unexpectedly, when David Brooks couldn’t win, he called for backup, forcing William Grant to make a strategic retreat.

In the end, he got lost, and in his dazed state, he somehow ended up under the bed of the legendary Song dynasty courtesan Miss Grace, witnessing a wildly indecent and thrilling scene.

Unfortunately, Miss Grace turned out to be a “peaceful princess,” which made William Grant sigh with deep regret for her stunning beauty.

Just as William Grant was sighing, he saw Yvonne Foster in the distance, approaching with a flattering smile.

……

Standing at the mansion gate, William Grant turned his head and saw his mother standing on the steps, waving at him eagerly.

William Grant could only return a smile, slowly walked out of the mansion, and after taking a dozen or so steps, couldn’t help but stop.

“Why are there so many people?”

Yvonne Foster eagerly came up and explained ingratiatingly.

“Young master, the master and madam instructed that under no circumstances should you be frightened again.”

Looking around at the more than twenty burly, fierce-looking bodyguards who clearly didn’t look like good people, William Grant couldn’t help but feel a bit exasperated. He was just going out for a stroll, to experience the life of the common people and soak in the atmosphere of the times, not to pick fights or bully anyone.

But after that conflict with David Brooks the other day, the other side only had to howl once to summon a dozen fierce-looking Brooks Residence Servant.

William Grant rolled his eyes, beckoned to the burly and loyal Yvonne Foster, and whispered to him.

That day, Yvonne Foster had been the first to throw himself at the enemy, holding them off so William Grant could escape.

His loyalty was high, he could take a beating, and was an excellent servant—just not very good with words, but such a minor flaw wasn’t worth fussing over.

The next moment, William Grant was still flanked by Yvonne Foster and two other bodyguards.

The remaining seventeen or eighteen strongmen hung back a dozen or so paces, splitting up along both sides of the street.

If you weren’t paying attention, you’d never know those men trailing behind were actually with him.

Leaving the mansion, he strolled forward, listening to the cries of peddlers from all over the country, and watching countless banners fluttering in the wind on both sides of the street.

The bustle here absolutely surpassed any of the big markets in later generations.

And that made sense—after all, this was the most prosperous metropolis of the era: Dongjing Bianliang.

……

“Sixth Young Master, let’s go back. We’ve been waiting here for two days already…”

A Brooks Residence Servant was trying to persuade the elegantly dressed, fair-skinned, but slightly bruised at the corners of his eyes, David Brooks Samuel Brooks.

“Shut up!” The thirteen-year-old Samuel Brooks glared at the servant and continued to lean on the railing, still fuming as he watched the street.