Ian Bolton lifted the corner of his mouth: "Whether you understand or not isn't up to you. Stop pretending in front of me. No matter how much you brag, your family is just in the stone carving business. Do you really think you're one of the insiders?"

At this time, other colleagues had already arrived one after another. They couldn't help but glance into the office—those who cared were worried Henry Bennett would cause trouble, while the indifferent ones were just there for the show. Henry Bennett did not disappoint, satisfying both types of onlookers. Calm and collected, he replied, "Whether it's up to me or not, I say it is. Whether I understand or not, I definitely know more than you, the director. Our family doesn't need to brag. Even if there's only one Jade Carving Shop left, it's still the best in the business."

"Stone carvers? The stones I've ruined, you couldn't even afford to buy." Henry Bennett leaned back in his chair, as if relaxing in a wicker chair in the courtyard. "But you're pretty funny. Don't tell me just because you're a director at the Cultural Relics Bureau, you think you're an expert? Outside this office, who the hell cares about you?"

A few words from Henry Bennett completely shut down Ian Bolton. The humble and submissive look he had all morning was long gone. He was easygoing about everything else, but he absolutely couldn't tolerate anyone belittling the Ding family's craftsmanship and status. Scholars are both pretentious and proud, but someone like him, with real skill and guts, was not just proud—he was downright arrogant.

Ian Bolton swallowed his anger, unable to lash out because of his position. He'd disliked Henry Bennett for a long time, and over the past six months had picked plenty of faults, but this was the first time they'd had such a direct confrontation.

Henry Bennett knew exactly what was going on. One of his brush pots was worth three years of Ian Bolton's salary. Whenever the bureau chief saw him, he'd ask if Jade Carving Shop had anything new. Normally, this wouldn't be a big deal, but Ian Bolton was petty and greedy, so it became one.

Most importantly, both Ian Bolton and he were interested in antiques, and in the antiques circle, no one was a fool. The half-knowledgeable looked down on newcomers, and the real experts respected no one but themselves.

After venting, Henry Bennett got up leisurely. When he reached the door, he paused: "If my business trip request isn't approved, what about my leave request?"

Ian Bolton didn't want to see him: "Get out of here, now!"

Henry Bennett left. If he went home now, Lillian Carter would definitely nag him, so he simply rode his bike straight to the materials market. The market started getting busy on Thursdays, with bulk buyers and picky shoppers—all buyers.

In front of every jade stall, buyers were bargaining. Henry Bennett hadn't brought much money, so after wandering around, he went into a timber shop. He wanted to pick a piece of sandalwood for carving characters. The shopkeeper saw he was young and neatly dressed, not looking like a bargain hunter, so he ignored him.

"Boss, is this red sandalwood?" a middle-aged woman asked at the counter.

The boss replied, "Genuine small-leaf red sandalwood. Look at this grain. I'll show you the star pattern on the sample board so you can see the golden specks."

The woman knew a bit: "These days, a lot of small-leaf red sandalwood is fake. I'm not confident."

"Our shop guarantees authenticity—better than Jade Carving Shop's," the boss said, flipping through samples. "Ma'am, are you buying the wood to make beads or something else? Small-leaf red sandalwood beads and bracelets are all the rage now."

The woman immediately forgot about authenticity: "I just want to take it to Jade Carving Shop to make beads. Finished products are too expensive, so I thought buying the material myself would be cheaper."

Henry Bennett just wanted to browse in peace, but the conversation kept getting on his nerves. He leaned against the counter, hands in his pockets, openly listening. The boss said, "Of course, my materials are better than Jade Carving Shop's. Honestly, their stuff is ridiculously expensive—who knows if it's even real?"

Henry Bennett interjected coolly, "At least that's better than you passing off blood sandalwood as small-leaf red sandalwood and messing up the market."

He told the woman, "Jade Carving Shop's agate is agate, red sandalwood is red sandalwood. You could take it around the entire Pacific for appraisal and no one would get it wrong. And although it's expensive, judging by the market, red sandalwood bracelets are sure to go up in price—you'll actually make a profit."

With that, Henry Bennett left, slipping out before the boss could lose his temper.

In fact, Jade Carving Shop really was impressive. Otherwise, people wouldn't badmouth it just to boost their own reputation. But why had it gone from being sought after by everyone to being disparaged? In the end, it was because business had declined. The shop kept shrinking, and nearly a century of reputation, built up over time, could be lost in just a year or two.

But what bothered Henry Bennett most was that Jade Carving Shop's decline wasn't because their products were bad, but because the industry had developed rapidly in recent years. More people had entered the field, and more subpar materials had flooded the market. When there's more, there's bound to be junk. But Jade Carving Shop refused to lower its standards, so it could only remain aloof and unappreciated.

He lost interest, picked out a piece of wood, and headed home.

Weekends were always lively. All the brothers were there, and the youngest cousin from his uncle's side, Ethan Carter, had come too. They were all seventeen or eighteen, liked to keep up with trends and try new things, but since they heard Edward Bennett was flying in today, they had to stay home and pretend to study.

Henry Bennett was at his desk carving characters, with layers of rice paper under the cut wood. He wrote with a brush, then prepared to carve. The three brothers crowded around, blocking the light. Annoyed, he looked up: "What is this, the zoo? Watching a monkey?"

Earl Bennett, who was the same age as him, urged, "Stop dawdling. Let's see if the monkey can do it."

Henry Bennett started carving. His wrist angle didn't change; only his fingers applied and transferred force. The horizontal, vertical, and slanting strokes were done in one go—dots were dots, hooks were hooks. The marks were deep and the speed steady. After finishing three characters, he blew the wood shavings right into the faces of the three.

Ethan Carter complained, "Big brother, you're so skilled, we'll never learn."

Henry Bennett glanced at the watermelon on the small table: "Go get a plate of ice from the kitchen. I want to chill the watermelon."