Since morning, Mr. Turner had been sitting in the corner of the side hall, his gaze hardly leaving the merit boxes. One of them, next to the prayer mat, had been filled up twice! Even if it was all copper coins, that was no small sum—converted to silver, it would be at least twenty or thirty taels.

Getting rich, truly getting rich!

As the sun set behind the western hills and the last worshipper left, Mr. Turner shook his stiff body. He hurried to the back, where William Turner had been spending most of his time these days at the “Foreign Affairs Stele,” often sitting there for hours on end.

Sure enough, William Turner was there again, staring blankly at the mottled inscriptions.

“Yi’er! Great news!”

Mr. Turner patted his backside, pulled William Turner to sit on the stone steps, and, waving his hands excitedly, said, “Yi’er, I’ve done the math. The incense money is at least two hundred taels of silver. If we get half, that’s a hundred taels—a hundred taels!” Mr. Turner was at a loss for words.

“If we could get this much every day, the two of us wouldn’t have to do anything else.”

William Turner smiled indifferently. “That day will come, but it’s not now.” William Turner said with a smile, “Today is the Ghost Festival on the fifteenth of the seventh month. In the whole year, only a few days like the Spring Festival and Dragon Boat Festival might bring in more incense money than today. Besides, Father, do you really think a single idea can turn into a money tree?”

“What? Are you saying Master Edward Clark would lie?” Mr. Turner asked in confusion.

William Turner didn’t answer, only saying, “Just watch.”

As they spoke, Charles Grant came running over, panting, and said to William Turner, “Master is looking for you.”

“Alright, lead the way!”

William Turner quickly made his way to the meditation room. In a side room, several young monks were sweating as they counted money. In front of them, the copper coins were piled up like a small mountain. The young monks had never seen so much money before—their eyes were wide open, as if afraid a cat might snatch a coin away.

“Master, the incense money was pretty good today, wasn’t it?” William Turner asked with a smile.

Edward Clark sat at the table, took the account book from Charles Grant, and smiled, “Young patron, here’s the ledger. There are still some loose copper coins not yet counted, but let’s estimate it at fifty taels. How does that sound?”

“Seems fair,” William Turner replied with a smile.

“Good. The total incense money today is four hundred thirty-one taels and seven qian. One donor gave fifty taels, two gave thirty taels each, and several others gave five or ten taels. The rest is mostly copper and small silver. The detailed accounts are all here—please take a look.”

William Turner glanced at the ledger and suddenly smiled. “Master, your skills are profound; you wouldn’t play tricks with the accounts. I trust you!” The implication being, he couldn’t say the same for other matters.

There was a certain detachment in William Turner’s calmness, as if he saw through everything. Edward Clark naturally felt uncomfortable, but there was nothing he could do.

“Young patron, in previous years, the Ghost Festival would bring in a hundred or so taels of incense money. This year, thanks to my efforts, it’s only natural there’s an increase. So, not all this silver is due to your efforts. Let’s round it off and set aside three hundred taels for distribution. What do you think?”

William Turner tapped his fingers on the table, then suddenly smiled. “Master, as far as I know, quite a few people donated grain, oil, bricks, tiles, timber, and sand. If you convert those to silver, that’s another two or three hundred taels, right?”

Edward Clark was momentarily stunned, then suddenly laughed. “Young patron, the donors’ kindness is priceless. I can’t just convert it to silver. If you need it, take half with you!”

What a generous offer—William Turner almost spat out blood. What would he and his father do with bricks, tiles, and timber? Besides, if they made a big fuss moving things out of the temple, wouldn’t people talk behind their backs? William Turner was sure that if the devotees found out, their spit alone could drown him!

“Master, you’re quite the negotiator. I admit defeat. If you have anything else to say, just lay it all out!”

“Young people really are bold. When I first spoke to you, I said we’d use the Ghost Festival as a trial and split the incense money fifty-fifty.”

“That’s right. What’s your point, Master?”

Edward Clark suddenly smiled. “I think your method isn’t suitable. Our cooperation ends here! I’ve already had your things packed up—please take them all back with you.”

What? Not suitable?

Is there something wrong with my ears? We just made an extra three hundred taels of incense money, plus all that grain, flour, bricks, and tiles—how is that not suitable?

Trying to play hard to get with me? I’m not falling for that!

William Turner abruptly stood up. “Master, you’re not joking, are you?”

“Amitabha, monks do not lie!”

William Turner stared at Edward Clark, his mind racing. As the saying goes, monks don’t love money—the more, the better. Edward Clark didn’t seem like an exception. So why was he refusing?

Wait, he just said our cooperation ends here… I get it!

William Turner instantly calmed down, took a sip of tea, and said with a sigh and a smile, “Master, you’re quite the strategist. You want to cut me out and do it yourself, right? After all, the merit boxes aren’t worth much, incense and trinkets are even easier to copy. Why let me take half the silver?”