Ethan Carter spread his hands, knowing that Henry Bennett and Samuel Grant didn’t get along, so he answered vaguely, “Carved a little aunt.”

Henry Bennett picked it up. “You carved this?”

“Yeah, I did…” Ethan Carter darted his eyes around, not really wanting to admit it. “Had an ice cream, felt so good that the knife just flowed, even I didn’t expect it.”

Henry Bennett asked, “Do you have that inspiration now?”

He didn’t wait for Ethan Carter to answer, grabbed the southern red agate and sat down at the polishing machine, saying with no room for argument, “I’ll polish it, so you don’t ruin it if your inspiration’s gone.”

Ethan Carter was a bit disgruntled, but since it was for Grace Carter anyway and didn’t belong to him, he let it go. Still, he asked uncertainly, “Bro, is this piece really that good?”

Henry Bennett always had a good mood when he saw quality work. “Good southern red, lifelike craftsmanship, the knife work is crisp and nimble, not a single flaw or shortcoming, the skill is even better than Ke Yu’er and He.”

Ethan Carter felt annoyed—so Samuel Grant had been hiding real skills, and in the end, he was still ranked last. He was pretty depressed. “Bro, I’m heading back. When you’re done polishing, just give it straight to my aunt.”

Henry Bennett closed the door and started the machine, working all night before it was finished. Only after polishing was the southern red truly complete. He admired it—the stone under the lamp had a brightness it usually didn’t, and aside from his practiced technique, what made it good was the distribution of the lines.

A diamond is nothing special; only with good cutting does it become dazzling. Jade is the same. Looking good after carving is the first step; flawless details show a higher level of skill. The highest level is maximizing the beauty of the material itself—change even a single cut and it’s too much, move it even a millimeter and it’s excessive.

Clearly, Ethan Carter didn’t have that ability, not even if he unlocked all his meridians.

It was late. Henry Bennett planned to give it to Grace Carter the next day. On his way back to his bedroom, he passed by the next room and noticed the half-closed door was now open. He coughed to announce himself, took a long stride into the room, and happened to catch Samuel Grant drying his hands.

Samuel Grant’s hair was wet—he’d just showered—but while he could skip drying his hair, he took care to dry his hands. He hadn’t expected Henry Bennett to show up suddenly, and stood there with his hands raised, forgetting to lower them. “Something up?”

Henry Bennett sniffed. “What are you putting on?”

Samuel Grant rubbed his fingers together. “Just some lotion…”

Henry Bennett came closer and saw the hand cream and scrub on the bed, then grabbed Samuel Grant’s hand. It was slippery, fragrant, and warm. The ten fingertips had faint, pale lines, a soft pink hue, and not a single callus.

In their line of work, you had to use knives and apply force—having no calluses was harder than climbing to the sky!

Henry Bennett asked in disbelief, “What the hell… have you even learned the craft?!”

Samuel Grant pulled away, extremely embarrassed, but couldn’t explain to this man. Just from that grab, he’d felt it—Henry Bennett’s hands were covered in thick calluses, all marks of hard work.

“Just as soon as I get calluses, I use scrub to rub them off, and put on lotion every day after washing?” Henry Bennett grumbled, picking up the hand cream to sniff it before tossing it down. “Careful you don’t scrub your fingers right off one day!”

Samuel Grant clenched his fists and stayed silent, his fingertips throbbing with pain. In their trade, how could you not get calluses? Rubbing them off hurt, sometimes even scraping off a layer of skin and exposing raw flesh.

“I… I can’t have calluses.” He mumbled, “Forget it, I can’t explain to you.”

Henry Bennett didn’t think much of it, nor did he ask, but probed about something else: “Are those jade earrings of yours real?”

Samuel Grant was clearly startled, his gaze turning to him, a bit dazed. Henry Bennett thought the lighting in the room was too good, making the person’s brows look soft and eyes bright. He sat down by the bed, acting shameless: “Let me see them again, or I’m not leaving.”

Samuel Grant didn’t move. “Fake jade.”

Henry Bennett was so mad he punched the bed—he’d actually misjudged!

“There was a real pair, but my master’s wife took them.” Samuel Grant suddenly said, “Master wanted to make me another pair, but I begged him to use fake jade.”

“Why?”

“Fake ones aren’t worth anything, so the master’s wife wouldn’t want them. I don’t care if they’re real or fake. If Master gives them to me, I’ll treasure them.”

“If you treasure them, why’d you just hand one over to me so easily?”

Samuel Grant flared up, remembering how Henry Bennett had tricked him. “I only gave it to you temporarily. I’ll redeem it when I have something better.” He turned to look at Henry Bennett. “You could tell it was fake?”

Henry Bennett felt awkward and changed the subject: “Is Master Ji your father?”

Samuel Grant fell silent for a long time, as expected. “I only called him that once, always thinking I’d do it again later, but kept putting it off until he was on his deathbed.”

He’d cried out, and Ji Fangxu had left with a smile.

A sudden ache pricked Henry Bennett’s heart. He turned his head to look at Samuel Grant, and saw a drop of water fall from the end of his hair onto his cheek, as if it had fallen from his eye.

He got up and walked out. “Go to bed early.”

Samuel Grant burrowed under the covers, anxious in the dark. A moment later, the window opened a crack from outside, and a golden bookmark flew in, landing right by his pillow. He stared in surprise at the shadow outside, not knowing what Henry Bennett meant.

“So many books, this bookmark’s for you.” Henry Bennett said coldly. “After you finish with your hands, dry your hair too.”

The shadow left, and Samuel Grant relaxed his brow and fell asleep.

Chapter 4 Bastard, son of a bitch.