Samuel Grant was jolted by the metaphor and quickly tried to explain, “Senior brother, Master wants to test us, he wants us to carve—” He didn’t finish before Eugene Bennett kicked him, nearly making him bite his tongue.

Henry Bennett paused for a second, his anger flaring even more at Samuel Grant’s explanation: “So you’re ruining my material just to teach them? With their lousy skills, are they even worthy?!”

He kept his eyes on Edward Bennett, but his words swept over the other three as well. Earl Howard Bennett and Eugene Bennett showed no expression, only feeling indignant inside. Samuel Grant was different; he hadn’t expected Henry Bennett to look down on his junior brothers so much—was he really that dismissive?

But Henry Bennett was blunt: “Everyone knows their own worth. The things I can’t bear to touch, others aren’t worthy of at all. I’ll fix those four cuts myself. If you want to learn or teach, find your own materials. Don’t come looking for trouble.”

The morning erupted in chaos, leaving almost everyone without an appetite. Colin Bennett tried to subtly sow discord against Edward Bennett, hoping to get some justice for his two sons. Samuel Grant stirred his bowl of porridge until it went cold, too angry to eat.

He thought Edward Bennett was indeed wrong to destroy the jade without permission, but it wasn’t worth Henry Bennett’s harsh words… especially those two lines belittling his fellow disciples—his arrogance was suffocating.

Afraid of running into Henry Bennett again in the courtyard, he peeked around the archway for a long time before entering, only to find Henry Bennett wasn’t there.

Henry Bennett was in Grace Carter’s room, holding his disfigured wife. His long, strong fingers caressed her with unusual gentleness. Grace Carter brought in some food, closed the door, and said, “You’ve vented your anger and yelled at your own father. Now eat.”

Henry Bennett rolled up his sleeves. “Auntie, do you think I was right to scold them?”

Grace Carter was Henry Bennett’s biological aunt, Ethan Carter’s paternal aunt, and a generation above Earl Howard Bennett and Eugene Bennett, though she treated everyone well. But who doesn’t have favorites? Among them, she loved Henry Bennett and Ethan Carter the most.

“Is there such a thing as being right or wrong when scolding people?” she replied. “You shouted at your father in front of everyone. He was the one who taught you to recognize jade before you could even walk, even if it wasn’t the best piece, it was still something he taught you.”

Henry Bennett scraped his chopsticks along the edge of his bowl. “I was angry. Who told him to ruin my stuff, and for those useless guys, no less.”

His thinking was simple—there should be a balance between skill and material. Seven points of skill shouldn’t be used on three points of material, and certainly not on ten points of material.

Henry Bennett never bottled up his anger. After tidying up the table, he showed Grace Carter a piece of pinkish, lustrous stone he thought would suit her well and bring her luck in love.

“Auntie, do you like it? I’ll carve it nicely for you as a wedding gift.”

Grace Carter said, “Sure, and add my little southern red agate figurine—one big, one small.”

Henry Bennett turned to look at the little figurine on the dressing table. After being polished and left for a while, it had become even smoother from being handled. He finally remembered to ask, “This wasn’t made by Ethan, was it? Who gave it to you?”

Grace Carter teased, “Take a guess.”

Henry Bennett was skeptical. “My dad? But when would he have time to carve something so small? The lines and style aren’t like his—this one is softer.”

Grace Carter said, “It was Samuel.”

Henry Bennett exclaimed in surprise, “Samuel Grant?! Pearl Grant!”

All his impressions of Samuel Grant came from that failed lucky bamboo piece. Even if someone slipped up occasionally, it shouldn’t have been such a huge gap—unless he’d been pretending all along.

But he wasn’t sure—was Samuel Grant’s skill really that good?

Henry Bennett rushed into the courtyard like a gust of wind. A few trees were strung together with thin ropes, and Samuel Grant was hanging clothes under one of them. Their eyes met from a distance, and Samuel Grant seemed to… roll his eyes.

Well, it made sense. His words that morning had been hurtful. If Samuel Grant really was that skilled, being angry was only natural.

Henry Bennett strolled over, picked up a pair of pants and twisted them, making the rope sway as he hung them up. He asked, “Was that little southern red agate figurine at Auntie’s place carved by you?” His tone was casual, but his sidelong glance was sharp.

Samuel Grant clipped a pillowcase to the rope. “I carved it.”

Just like that, he admitted it, which also meant admitting he’d been faking it with the lucky bamboo, and that he was done pretending to be a fool. Henry Bennett’s outburst had pushed him to this point. Whether the other senior brothers would be wary of him was another matter, but he’d just quietly challenged Henry Bennett.

Maybe when he first arrived, he didn’t care what Henry Bennett thought, but now things had flipped.

Neither Henry Bennett nor Samuel Grant said anything more. They silently moved around under the trees, hanging clothes. The one who admitted did so frankly, and the one who asked accepted it just as openly. The clothes swayed on the line, like the water droplets trembling on their palms.

Through the white shirt, Henry Bennett looked at Samuel Grant’s face, and in his eyes floated the image of his hibiscus stone. The fleeting image faded, and Samuel Grant’s face became clear, making one wonder if this was what they called a “hibiscus face.”

Henry Bennett gritted his teeth, caught off guard by a sudden pang of sourness.

Author’s note: A normal person like senior brother, after feeling sour, would think: What does good looks have to do with me? If it’s a face-obsessed person: Wow, I’m in love, go for him. (Not hinting at anyone in particular.)

Chapter 7: Will it kill you not to talk back!