Samuel Grant immediately reached out and quickly buttoned up Henry Bennett's shirt. As he did so, he was close enough to be facing Henry Bennett's Adam's apple, so he spoke as his own throat moved: "Senior brother, school ends at six thirty."

Henry Bennett said, "I've been here before, you don't need to tell me."

Samuel Grant withdrew his hand, a bit hesitant: "Then could you come pick me up a little earlier?"

He only knew people from the The Bennett Family here. Even if Henry Bennett always found fault with him, he was still the most familiar face. But for Henry Bennett, it was different—he wasn't family or a close friend, not worth the extra effort.

Just like how he couldn't get up in the morning, he was afraid Henry Bennett would forget to pick him up in the afternoon.

They left too late, and Henry Bennett drove so fast that Samuel Grant almost threw up, but they were still late. The school's big iron gate was closed. Samuel Grant got out alone to knock, explaining himself to the guard in every way possible, but he had neither an ID nor a school uniform, so they wouldn't let him in.

Samuel Grant pulled out his file: "Sir, I'm a new transfer student. Today is my first day of class."

"Even new transfers need their parents to handle the paperwork. Otherwise, how can you prove it?" The guard held his enamel mug. "First day of class and you come this late? That's really not okay."

The car had already turned around. Henry Bennett saw everything in the rearview mirror, so he had to turn off the engine and get out. He jogged over: "Sir, what paperwork do you need? I'll handle it for him. If you don't let us in, how can we do the paperwork?"

The guard was confused: "Are you his brother?"

Henry Bennett reached through the fence, grabbed the iron latch, pulled it open, and pushed the gate in. The guard started shouting when he saw this. Henry Bennett blocked him, grabbed Samuel Grant's backpack strap with a backward reach, and dragged both him and the bag out by half a meter, shouting, "Stop making a fuss! Run!"

Samuel Grant took off running toward the teaching building, explaining himself to every teacher he met, and was smoothly led into a classroom. Once he sat down and caught his breath, he couldn't help but worry about what was happening with Henry Bennett at the school gate.

Henry Bennett was doing just fine. Even with the guard twisting his arm, he could still joke and curse: "Check the wall of outstanding graduates in the main hall and see if you can find me, Henry Bennett. What's wrong with opening the gate for an alumnus? All the reliefs in the hall were carved by me and my dad!"

The guard had worked here for over ten years: "Ding what? You're Henry Bennett!"

Henry Bennett shook himself free and straightened his collar: "I graduated from here. I'm not some criminal, okay?"

The guard, furious, shoved him and shouted like he was selling something: "It's you, kid! Back then you carved words on the teachers' car crossbars—stuff like 'turtle bastard' and 'can't finish homework.' I couldn't catch you, but I got my pay docked every day. You were full of mischief!"

Henry Bennett had long forgotten those old stories. He laughed and ran off, still hearing the guard's curses as he ducked into his car. It wasn't until he got onto the street that he started to remember: back then, his pencil case was heavy, with one pen and four knives. Whenever a teacher annoyed him, he'd carve tiny characters into their car's crossbar, then brush on a layer of gold ink.

Passing by the Cultural Relics Bureau, he turned the wheel and pulled in. He'd been off work for over a week; Mr. Bolton should be back by now, and he wanted to see if the other had brought anything back.

The office was still full of the same people. When they saw Henry Bennett come in, the place livened up. Henry Bennett was generous and always willing to help, so he had good relationships. He nodded toward the director's office and asked, "Back yet?"

A colleague nodded: "Mr. Bolton and Mr. Stone are splitting the loot right now."

Henry Bennett went to report back from leave, and on his way out, he ran into Mr. Stone. He noticed Mr. Stone looked thinner—clearly, the business trip had been tough. He went over, kettle in hand, and made tea for him, asking, "Team leader, did you miss me?"

Mr. Stone glanced at the office, gritting his back teeth: "I missed you every day!"

A large batch of marine relics had been salvaged in Fujian, and cultural relics bureaus from all over went to inspect them—conferences, preliminary screenings, limited selection and purchase, all back-to-back and exhausting. Mr. Stone punched him: "I need a few days off. Next, you run errands for me."

Henry Bennett asked, "Didn't you buy anything?"

Mr. Stone punched him again: "All you care about is that!" He lowered his voice, whispering, "The ones with minor damage need approval. I only picked out the badly damaged ones. I don't have the final say on the ones for the city exhibition—Mr. Bolton picks those."

Henry Bennett was itching with curiosity: "I'll treat you to dinner tonight. Let me have a look?"

He couldn't focus on anything else all day, finished his backlog of work with full effort, and just waited for the end of the day to feast his eyes with Mr. Stone. At six thirty sharp, he drove off with him, picked up a few dishes from a hotel, and headed straight to his place.

The apartment was a bit stuffy. Henry Bennett had no time for food or drink, spread out an old bedsheet, and laid out the relic fragments Mr. Stone had brought back, squatting by the bed to admire them. Mr. Stone came over and asked, "It's all junk. You like this stuff?"

Henry Bennett covered his nose and mouth to block the smell of the sea, his voice muffled: "I'm interested in antiques. The marine relics on the market are all too fake, but it's a pity these are too broken. Still, broken jade is better than a perfect tile."

Mr. Stone waved his hand: "Take them all, then. My wife won't let me keep this pile of broken porcelain and pottery—there are tubeworms on them, they're dirty."

Henry Bennett immediately packed them up, afraid the other would change his mind. Now he could take them home and study them at his leisure. After tidying up, he sat down to eat. It was already completely dark outside, and the weather report was almost over. As he cracked open a crab shell, he suddenly paused, feeling like he'd forgotten something.

Mr. Stone asked, "Why'd you drive today? Then don't drink."