His head suddenly buzzed and swelled—this was trouble out of nowhere, and the more Frank Bolton tried to explain himself, the more it showed he had a guilty conscience. At this moment, the courtyard was utterly silent; everyone had their heads lowered, their expressions strange. Mr. Bolton suddenly felt that everyone must be mocking his uselessness, that he couldn’t even keep a woman in check. He stole another glance at his wife, who was staring straight ahead, but the corners of her lips held a trace of ridicule.

Mr. Bolton stared at the two of them, but in his mind he was picturing their illicit affair. The anger in his chest surged up again, fiercer and hotter than before; any trace of pity had long been thrown to the ends of the earth.

“Frank Bolton!” he shouted harshly.

Frank Bolton shuddered all over. He hated this foolish, meddlesome woman to death—didn’t she know that speaking up now would only get him killed?

“You knew and didn’t report it, instead took benefits, and helped Henry Bolton cover it up. That’s an even greater crime! Someone! Give him a hundred heavy strokes, drive him to the estate to work the fields, and from now on, he is never to set foot in the residence again!”

A wail: “Master, spare me!”

……

While chaos reigned at The Bolton Residence, Emily Thompson remained calm at heart. He went alone to Jincheng Mountain to savor the late plum blossoms of the flourishing Tang era. All around, the hills were ablaze with vibrant colors, petals falling in profusion, clustering together in bunches and layers, spreading across the sky like brocade clouds. It was as if he were standing in a sea of plum blossoms.

“Who cuts out the fine leaves? The February spring breeze is like scissors.” Emily Thompson casually broke off a willow twig; tender buds were already quietly sprouting at the tips. He smiled apologetically and stuck the branch back into the soil. The spring of the second year of Tianbao was about to descend upon the land. In a few days, he would accompany Brian Bolton to The Spencer Residence in Xinzheng County to prepare for the upcoming county-level exam.

Chapter 11: The Spencer Residence of Xinzheng County (Part 1)

“I heard from your mother that you passed the tongsheng exam? Not bad! Not bad! You’ve brought some honor to your mother. Though you realized it a bit late, as long as you’re on the right path, you’ll make something of yourself sooner or later. From now on, stay at my residence. I’ll have Mr. Young teach you well.”

After saying so much in one breath, William Spencer was a little out of breath, and two young maids hurried over to pound his back for him. William Spencer was the old master of The Spencer Residence, and in a few months it would be his seventieth birthday. As the saying goes: “Wine debts are common wherever you go; to live to seventy is rare since ancient times.” Though he had reached this venerable age, he had enjoyed every luxury and had never known the bitterness of debt.

Brian Bolton had passed the tongsheng exam, and Mrs. Bolton, eager to show off, sent Brian Bolton to her parents’ home so her father could see that even the grandson he usually disliked had turned over a new leaf. She also hoped to use her family’s influence to secure a future for her son.

“Ashamed! I didn’t work hard enough and only ranked third from the bottom,” Brian Bolton said, feigning humility, but his expression was full of pride, as if he had truly earned the title himself.

With the maids pounding his back, William Spencer gradually caught his breath. He smiled kindly and said, “The tongsheng is just a qualification; what difference is there between first and last place? What’s remarkable is that last year I only heard of your misdeeds, and this year you passed in one go. That’s not easy!”

He glanced at Emily Thompson, who was standing by the screen in the distance, and said with a smile, “Your mother says it’s because you have a good tutor. Is it him?”

Emily Thompson was looking around The Spencer Residence. He had long heard that John Spencer was a famous tycoon, and it was true. Walking here with the family, he had passed through countless courtyards and gates—his legs were already sore—only to be told by the guide that this was just the front compound. If you counted the outer residences where the clan lived, it would be beyond measure.

“Great fortunes come from Shu”—this was certainly true. From what Emily Thompson saw, even the worst-dressed family member here was better dressed than the steward at The Bolton Residence. No wonder Luke Bolton always reminisced about the benefits of the old residence. The houses here were all carved beams and painted rafters, grand and magnificent. The furnishings in the hall left him speechless: at the front stood a large zitan wood table with a carved glass top, on which sat a bronze tripod over three feet tall, and above it hung a painting of a pine tree symbolizing longevity.

On either side was a row of nanmu armchairs, each covered with silver-red brocade cushions, with a small table in the middle holding tea bowls and vases of flowers. In each corner stood a pair of floor vases: on the east, great Dayi white porcelain, its glaze lustrous and smooth; on the west, Yuezhou celadon, its surface as clear as autumn dew, its color like a thousand peaks dripping with emerald. These must be the finest of porcelains. Even the screen beside him was carved from a single piece of white jade, with a zitan wood frame, and engraved with a scene of a hundred children at play—each figure vivid and lifelike, every line exquisitely detailed. Compared to this, The Bolton Residence was like a beggar’s broken kiln.

As Emily Thompson was marveling at the wealth of the residence, he saw a family member by the door signaling to him. Turning, he saw the master of the house beckoning, so he hurried over, knelt, and said, “Junior Emily Thompson greets Grandpa Spencer.”

“Please, get up! Get up!” Emily Thompson’s quick kneeling and sweet words immediately won William Spencer’s favor. He glanced sidelong at his own grandson, but Edward Clark did not kneel. He’d heard that in the brothels, he would kneel to the girls, but now, the little bit of goodwill he’d just felt for his grandson was completely dispelled by Emily Thompson’s respectful kneeling.

Feeling a bit dispirited, he waved his hand and said, “I’m a bit tired. Butler, take them away! Arrange a private courtyard for Young Master Thompson, and don’t neglect him.”

The Butler agreed and led Emily Thompson away. Brian Bolton had his own room and didn’t even greet Emily Thompson, going straight off on his own. William Spencer could only shake his head repeatedly—an unworthy child remains unworthy, passing the tongsheng exam hasn’t made him any more refined or courteous.