Charles Grant thought to himself, he’s just an imbecile, how could he make any decisions?

The tall, thin young man, on the other hand, was somewhat hopeful—he noticed that both Olivia Miller and Lily wore clothes of fine material, and their complexions were excellent, showing none of the peeling skin or red blotches that come from years of exposure and hardship. If his little niece could enter such a wealthy household, he’d no longer have to worry about her starving, freezing, or dying in the streets. When she grew up, she might even live as decently as this head maid...

Lily, listening from the side, also felt pity for this family. She wanted to help, but knew that as a maid she had no say, so she gently held Olivia Miller’s hand, her gaze rather pleading.

Olivia Miller felt a bit annoyed at being stared at by everyone—why are you all looking at me, do you really think a five-year-old could be this smart?

He didn’t want anyone to realize he wasn’t an imbecile. But, a hero still needs to be trained. There are plenty of talents in this constable’s camp—a brute, an assassin. If you miss this chance, there won’t be another...

After thinking for a while, he decided to take a gamble. He walked over to the tall, thin young man, stood on tiptoe, and whispered in his ear, “Charles Grant doesn’t owe you any favors, so you don’t trust him. But I have no reason to raise your niece for nothing... How about this: you become my bodyguard and work for me in the future.”

The tall, thin young man was stunned.

But then he heard Olivia Miller say again, “Don’t say anything more. If you agree, just nod. Tell Charles Grant where to pick up your niece.”

The tall, thin young man looked at his innocent, cheerful face, a bit dumbfounded.

But he could see the sincerity in this strange child’s eyes. Besides, it’s normal not to be able to guess what rich people are thinking.

So the tall young man nodded and said to Charles Grant, “My niece is in the seventh house on the west side of Alley Two, East Duoqiao. Please take care of her...”

Watching the two jailers take the man away, Lily couldn’t help but ask Olivia Miller, “Young master, what did you say to him?”

Olivia Miller replied, “I said I could help, but I had to ask big brother first.”

“Then why did you whisper to him, young master? Didn’t want Lily to hear?”

Olivia Miller said, “That man just now whispered to Gundan, so I copied him.”

“Young master, the officer’s name is ‘Charles Grant’, not ‘Gundan’...”

Chapter 8 Old Harris

Since the questioning was over, Charles Grant led Olivia Miller and his servant back. After winding through several corners and returning to the main hall, they heard the sound of wailing.

Earlier, though many people in the hall had begged for mercy or cried injustice, it was just noisy. But now, this wailing was heart-wrenching.

Following the sound, Olivia Miller saw a skinny old man prostrate on the ground, kowtowing repeatedly to an officer.

The old man’s clothes were tattered, his hands shackled, his grizzled beard and hair a mess, his face streaked with tears and snot. When he cried, his thin neck looked like it was just a bone wrapped in skin, but he had a bamboo tube hanging from his waist, apparently for holding wine.

Most people brought to the constable’s camp were hardened criminals or old hands; even those wrongly accused were usually silent and honest, rarely crying so hysterically. So everyone’s attention fell on this old man.

“What are you bawling about!” a burly man with a shackle around his neck and a tiger tattoo cursed, “Can’t believe I have to share a cell with a useless wretch like you—makes me lose face for no reason.”

Another man, skinny and sly-looking with a goatee, grinned and said, “There’s food and drink in here. Do a year or two, and you’ll come out a hero again. What’s there to cry about?”

Someone called out to the goatee, “You might get out after a year or two, but this old man probably doesn’t have that much time left.”

“Hahaha, look at how old and skinny he is, and he can still steal things. Impressive, impressive.”

“You guys don’t care about being locked up, but maybe he’s got a wife outside?”

“A wife? Hey, if he can still get it up at his age, I’ll call him big brother from now on...”

A bunch of old hands started chattering, and from time to time someone burst out laughing, sounding quite cheeky.

Lily saw that some of these people had tattoos, some had fierce faces, some looked cunning, some had knife scars... She was scared and tugged at Olivia Miller. But Olivia Miller didn’t move, watching with great interest—he found himself really liking this group.

He even saw the goateed man, while grinning, secretly swipe a ring of keys and a pouch from an officer.

Noticing Olivia Miller’s gaze, the goateed man put a finger to his lips and went “shh,” then winked.

Olivia Miller winked back.

This constable’s camp is a great place—people from all walks of life, a real talent market.

“What’s all this noise!” a fierce-looking officer shouted.

Then he took a whip and lashed it hard across the old man’s back, cursing, “You old bastard, wailing, are you? You’ve got the guts to steal silver but not to admit it.”

The old man took the lash, fell to the ground, and howled even louder, his face streaming with tears.

“Officer, I really am innocent, I swear I didn’t steal that silver...”

“Wasn’t you who stole it?” the officer sneered. “Still got the nerve to talk back to me.”

With that, he lashed the whip again.

Charles Grant couldn’t stand it anymore. He went over to stop the officer and said softly, “Helen Howard, what’s going on?”