At the gate of a residence, Henry Foster stopped, and Edward Jr. Sutton stepped forward to knock, using the waiting time to observe.

“Is this the home of Zeng Lingchu, the scholar?”

Franklin Reed's father had once served as a tongzhi. This house, with its red gates and high walls, was not shabby, but there were no doormen, the lanterns were somewhat old, and the snow on the steps had not been fully swept away. It did not have the air of a tongzhi’s household.

The door was opened by a young married woman, still graceful but with a weary look on her face. As she opened the door, Edward Jr. Sutton noticed her cracked fingers, and couldn’t help but think of Brian Foster’s little hands, also chapped from the cold.

Life in ancient times was not as idyllic as in time-travel novels—beauties had to toil, scholars would take concubines, and when the family was not well-off, they couldn’t afford long-term servants, so the mistress of the house had to do chores herself.

But people of this era were used to it. Henry Foster adopted a very humble attitude: “Madam Zeng, I hope you are well. I have come to collect the manuscript.”

“Please come in, my husband is in the study.” Madam Zeng stepped inside.

The two followed her in. Inside, a middle-aged scholar was drinking tea. When he saw them, he stood up: “Brother Ye, please have a seat. The manuscript you requested is finished.”

He spoke softly, appearing calm, but his voice lacked strength and he was slightly out of breath, with a tired look on his face. Edward Jr. Sutton was very familiar with this kind of exhaustion—the complexion of someone who has stayed up late. He glanced at the manuscript, written with a brush; even when a page was filled, there weren’t many words. Though it looked like a thick stack, it probably wasn’t even ten thousand characters.

Henry Foster smiled: “Master Zeng, you’ve worked hard. I must read it with respect.”

As he spoke, he pulled out a piece, quickly read through it, and couldn’t help but slap the table: “Amazing! Truly worthy of your reputation, Master Zeng.”

Franklin Reed just smiled, without much reaction.

Henry Foster pondered for a moment, did some calculations, and said, “Leave it to me. My shop can offer a thirty percent royalty. How about it?”

“That’s fine.”

Franklin Reed’s attitude remained indifferent, but he did not object and nodded in agreement.

Edward Jr. Sutton said nothing, but now stepped forward to take the manuscript. Henry Foster smiled and handed it over, then casually pointed: “This is my nephew, Edward Jr. Sutton. Perhaps you’ve heard of him—the son of the Su family. He’s about to take the child student exam. Could you vouch for him?”

“Oh?”

With a tired look on his thin face, Franklin Reed glanced at Edward Jr. Sutton absentmindedly, coughed lightly, and nodded, which counted as agreement.

For the county exam, not only did five people have to vouch for each other, but at least one had to be a licentiate. Franklin Reed had done this many times, and he had indeed heard of Edward Jr. Sutton, so he immediately picked up his brush and wrote a letter of guarantee.

“You’ve troubled yourself.” Henry Foster took a piece of broken silver from his pocket. Though it had been clipped, the silver was pure and fine—ninety-eight percent patterned silver. This was the custom.

There were only about twenty licentiates in the county, but there were one or two hundred candidates for the exam. Just from this, each licentiate could earn an average of ten taels of silver.

Edward Jr. Sutton’s hand, which had been reaching into his pocket, stopped. He looked up at Henry Foster. The Ye family was already struggling, yet they had still quietly prepared the silver for the guarantee.

“If I take out money now, Henry Foster will definitely ask where it came from.”

“Should I say I got it by killing and robbing?”

“Never mind, I’ll repay the favor after I pass the child student exam. Anyway, I already owe a lot of favors.”

He took the letter of guarantee and left with Henry Foster.

“Boss Ye brought his nephew to see you, but you seemed indifferent?” Madam Zeng watched the two leave and asked, “Aren’t you two on good terms?”

“We are, and the thirty percent royalty is generous, but Ye’s shop is too small.” Franklin Reed sighed with melancholy. “My family only has this one property in the county, just eighty mu of land, and the rest brings in only thirty taels of silver a year. Others think we’re an official’s family, but in truth, it’s hard to get by.”

“There’s nothing I can do. I don’t mind helping, but the next book can’t go to the Ye family.” As he spoke, Franklin Reed shook his head and sighed.

When they stepped outside, the snow was falling harder and there were even fewer people on the road. Edward Jr. Sutton looked at Henry Foster’s back and suddenly called out, “Uncle Ye?”

“What is it?” Henry Foster turned back in surprise.

“…I will definitely pass the county exam.” Edward Jr. Sutton blurted out.

Chapter 8: The County Exam

County Office · End of February · Light Rain

On the day of the county exam, a fine drizzle slanted down over Linhua County, chilling to the bone, so much so that even bundling up couldn’t keep out the cold. All the students taking the exam inwardly cursed their bad luck.

Though this was the south, where snow was rare, such drizzling rain still made even the locals—who should have been used to it—look pale and hurry along, even more so than on snowy days.

Hurrying along with an oil-paper umbrella, Edward Jr. Sutton passed by the butcher’s shop. The owner, sitting at the counter, looked up and couldn’t help but advise again, “Little Brother Sutton, haven’t seen you in a few days—how have you gotten even thinner? Don’t study so hard.”

“That’s right, you’re so frail, don’t ruin your health for your studies.” An aunt passing by chimed in. Edward Jr. Sutton was well-liked in the neighborhood, mostly thanks to his late father. Facing these kind neighbors’ concern, Edward Jr. Sutton couldn’t help but feel moved, his eyes shining as he bowed in gratitude.

Just then, two familiar figures approached, both wearing straw raincoats—one was a wandering Taoist, the other was the debt collector Samuel Grant.

When Samuel Grant saw Edward Jr. Sutton, he couldn’t help but sneer, “Well, if it isn’t our Talented Mr. Sutton? Out for a stroll again? Looks like you’re pretty confident about the county exam!”