“So that’s why I came to find you—almost missed out on a good thing because of you!” Charles Bolton gave a strange smile, as if that good thing was just like the lanterns of the Lantern Festival night—gone by morning. He ignored Emily Thompson’s questions, grabbed him, and ran to the front courtyard. There, more than a dozen large tables had already been set up, not with delicate dishes, but with rough porcelain bowls. There was a foot-long braised carp, a five-pound spicy pork knuckle, steamed meatballs, dried bamboo shoots pickled in summer, and even freshly brewed osmanthus wine with the seal just broken. Mountains of meat and seas of wine filled the tables, which stretched five or six zhang long, to the brim. By the time Charles Bolton dragged Emily Thompson over, the courtyard was already buzzing with voices. Over a hundred servants of The Bolton Residence had gathered, crowding around the tables so tightly that not even water could get through. Before the host could announce the start, chopsticks were already darting across the dishes, and a few big fish were picked clean to the bone.

“I told you to come out earlier!” Charles Bolton complained a little. Seizing a rare gap, the two of them squeezed in like a pair of bamboo poles. Emily Thompson just smiled and turned to look at the steps, where there was a small table also covered with food and wine. Mr. Bolton’s family sat there, with an empty seat beside them—probably Brian Bolton’s. As his gaze swept by, it met Mrs. Bolton’s eyes. Their deep conversation last night had brought them closer. Mrs. Bolton nodded at him with a gentle smile, and a warmth rose in Emily Thompson’s heart. He drank two bowls of osmanthus wine, joined in the drinking games, and gradually blended into the lively, bustling world of the Tang city.

Just as his face was flushed and his ears were hot from drinking, Emily Thompson was nudged by Charles Bolton, who leaned in and whispered with a sly grin, “The most amorous woman in this household seems to have taken a liking to you—the one in the red jacket. Want me to play matchmaker for you?”

Emily Thompson knew he was talking about Lily. Ever since the meal began, her eyes had been glancing his way, but he pretended not to notice. He raised his wine bowl and laughed, “I haven’t even seen the young master, how could I know her? I think you’re just drunk! Haha! I actually think she’s looking at you. Looks like you’re the lucky one tonight.”

“Pfft!” Charles Bolton snorted, curling his lip. “A woman the young master’s already played with? As if I’d be interested.” His words were sharp, but his eyes still sneaked glances at Lily, secretly wondering, “Is she really looking at me?”

Suddenly, excitement swept through the crowd. Everyone’s eyes lit up, even Lily’s gaze shifted. Emily Thompson followed their line of sight and saw that, at some point, the banquet on the steps had been cleared away. The women had all returned to their rooms, leaving only Mr. Bolton sitting there. The table and the ground were piled with red cloth bags, each with a white slip of paper attached.

“The master is handing out bonuses!” Charles Bolton shouted excitedly. Only then did Emily Thompson realize that this was the “good thing” he’d been talking about.

“Isn’t this just the year-end bonus?” He was secretly delighted—he was short on money and wondered how much he’d get. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be like his previous life, where he only got a couple of thin bills.

“Frank Bolton!” The first name called was the head steward. Frank Bolton answered loudly, ran up, and received the red bag from the master with both hands. Mr. Bolton patted his shoulder and offered a few words of encouragement—nothing more than “keep up the good work this year,” the same speech he’d given for decades. But this year, it sounded different to Frank Bolton, who actually began to sob quietly. Mr. Bolton comforted him a bit more before sending him off.

“Luke Bolton!”

“Here!” The second steward hurried forward, but not before glancing at Frank Bolton’s back with a cold sneer, then put on his usual smile and respectfully accepted the bag from the master.

As the list went on, Mr. Bolton grew too lazy to offer words of encouragement. He simply read out names, letting the staff dig through the pile of money bags themselves. Suddenly, his eyes froze—the last name written was unmistakably Emily Thompson.

“Him? Isn’t he just that little Taoist? He’s only been here a few days—how does he get a year-end bonus?” He was reading the name himself, but the money had been prepared by his wife. “Did she make a mistake? No way!” Mr. Bolton immediately dismissed the thought. Except for being a bit muddled about their son, his wife was sharp as a tack in all other matters. His mind was in turmoil, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the amount.

“Three strings!” Mr. Bolton’s pupils widened in shock—he could hardly believe it. The steward only got two and a half, so how could he get three?

“Fine! Fine! Even if it means a showdown tonight, I have to get to the bottom of this with her.”

But right now, everyone in the courtyard was staring at that last, hefty red bag.

“Emily Thompson—” Mr. Bolton gritted his teeth and finally called out the name, clearly unwilling.

……

“I’ve only been here a few days, and I got more than anyone else.” Emily Thompson held the heavy bag in his hands, quietly feeling the warmth hidden inside.

The people in the courtyard had gradually dispersed. Charles Bolton patted Emily Thompson on the shoulder and said sourly, “What are you standing around for? Time to go!”

“Go where?” Emily Thompson looked at his eager face, feeling a bit confused himself.

“Of course, we’re going out to have some fun! Or do you want to just go back to sleep?” Charles Bolton seemed to think of something, glanced around, and only relaxed when he saw no sign of Lily.