His intentions exposed, Edward Clark's face flushed red, and he simply fell silent. The meditation room instantly quieted down. William Turner sipped his tea, then suddenly smiled casually and said, “Master, there’s really no need to go to so much trouble! I only need it for the day of the Ghost Festival.”

“Oh? If that’s the case, this old monk must thank you, young benefactor.”

“Not so fast. Master, you must promise me one thing—no matter what happens, you can never tell anyone!”

To be honest, making money this way wasn’t exactly aboveboard. If word got out, William Turner’s reputation would be ruined. Forget about being an official—even the imperial exams would be a problem. So William Turner only wanted to get the first bucket of gold, not turn this into a long-term money-making scheme.

Edward Clark closed his eyes in thought. In fact, he was thinking the same thing—if this got out, his own reputation would be destroyed as well.

“Young benefactor, rest assured, this old monk’s lips are sealed!”

William Turner cupped his hands with a flourish. “Thank you, Master. By the way, your temple will surely need more incense and decorative items in the future. I’ve entrusted this to the Zhu couple—they’re honest and hardworking, just earning a bit of hard money. Think of it as giving the poor a way to make a living.”

In Edward Clark’s impression, William Turner was extremely clever, eccentric, even a bit ungrateful. Who else would think to threaten him by reporting to the Monastic Affairs Bureau? Although William Turner’s method worked and everyone was happy, Edward Clark still felt uncomfortable about it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have tried to scheme against William Turner.

“Young benefactor, you’ve truly surprised this old monk. Have the Zhu family come and talk; as long as it’s suitable, I’ll keep using them.” With that, Edward Clark took out one hundred and fifty taels of silver, thought for a moment, then added a fifty-tael silver ingot, making two hundred taels in total, and handed it to William Turner. He then sighed deeply, his tone tinged with sorrow: “Young benefactor, this old monk has wasted decades and accomplished nothing. When I came from Pujisi Temple, I vowed to bring glory to this temple and prosper the Dharma. This is the last thing I can do in my life. If I was a bit too hasty, I hope you can forgive me.”

William Turner nodded and smiled. “Master, my family is dirt poor, and my father isn’t good at business. That’s why I had to resort to this. If I’ve offended you, please forgive me. When your son William Turner makes it big, I’ll never forget your kindness!”

“Likewise, likewise!” The old and the young, monk and layman, laughed and let bygones be bygones.

Chapter 10: My Condolences

Mr. Turner and William Turner stayed at the Tianfei Palace for two more days. With no more conflicts of interest, their relationship quickly mended. Mr. Turner finished all the calligraphy that was needed and promised Edward Clark that he’d help whenever needed in the future, then happily went home.

Walking on the road, Mr. Turner found everything pleasing to the eye, and the smile never left his face.

“Yi’er, you look like you’re riding high on the spring breeze!”

“It’s autumn now, you know!” William Turner was speechless, but didn’t want to spoil his father’s mood. Two hundred taels of silver was no small sum—about the annual income of ten farming households. The father and son felt like they’d struck it rich. With money in their pockets, they were different people. Passing by a restaurant, they ordered over twenty dishes and had the waiter deliver them home. The table was too small, so they even put dishes on the bed.

Mr. Turner couldn’t help but frown and said, “Yi’er, I think we should get a new table. And new chairs too. The bed is too small and uncomfortable—let’s get one made of golden nanmu wood…”

“All right, why don’t you just get a new house?”

“You’re right.” Mr. Turner said, “Honestly, this bamboo house really isn’t fit for people.”

They used to live just fine, but William Turner knew his father came from an official family and didn’t know what it meant to be poor until he was twenty. These years had been hard on him, so let him have his fun!

As the saying goes, when poor people get money, it’s like winding up a spring. After the celebration feast, that night Mr. Turner couldn’t sleep. It felt like a little mouse was scratching at his heart, making him restless. He kept sneaking peeks at the cabinet, afraid the silver would disappear.

Again and again, every time he closed his eyes, it was as if a thief would jump in and steal all the money. Tossing and turning, by midnight he simply got up and put the silver under his pillow.

Now he felt at ease, but with the hard silver ingot under his head, the back of his head hurt—this wasn’t a long-term solution.

Finally, he sat up, threw on his clothes, and walked outside.

“Dad, can you give it a rest?” William Turner said, eyes red with frustration.

Mr. Turner was embarrassed and gave an awkward smile. “You’re still up? Can’t sleep either?”

“I was asleep—until you woke me up again!” William Turner said helplessly. “Dad, Grandpa was at least a county magistrate, and you’ve seen the world. It’s just two hundred taels of silver, is it really that big a deal?”

“Of course it is! You only know its value when you’ve lost it!” Mr. Turner said mysteriously, “Yi’er, this is our family’s entire fortune. I’m planning to dig a hole and bury it, so you can use it when you get married…”

William Turner rolled his eyes and laughed. “Are you going to write ‘There are no two hundred taels of silver buried here’ on it too?”

“You brat, you dare mock your father? Looking for a beating!” Mr. Turner shouted, pretending to strike.

William Turner quickly begged for mercy, saying, “Dad, think about it—your son can come up with an idea and get silver out of thin air. What’s there to be afraid of?”