“Mm-hmm, look at my face.” She tugged at her chubby cheeks.

“Tsk, how many times have I told you…”

William Grant sat on the edge of the kang, lecturing, “This is what makes you cute. Don’t go imitating those pointy-chinned girls in your class. Do you know what a lively, energetic beauty is?”

Tch!

The little girl pouted, unconvinced, but then sat down across from him, looking as if she wanted something, her big eyes blinking pitifully.

“Go ahead, play!” He gave in helplessly.

“Hee hee, thanks, bro!”

The girl bounced over to the TV, where there was a table with an old laptop on it. She handled it skillfully, and before long, all sorts of software notification sounds started popping up chaotically.

“……”

William Grant shook his head, picked up a dumpling, and stuffed it into his mouth in one bite.

This little girl was Emily Foster, the daughter of that plump aunt, fifteen years old and about to take her high school entrance exams. She was lively and loved to play, especially online, but her family couldn’t afford a computer, so she often snuck over to use the internet.

And this laptop was a gift from William Grant’s grandfather when he got into college.

The dumplings were cabbage and pork, a whole big bowl. Young people have big appetites, so he finished them off easily. She played on her side, he ate on his, and after about forty minutes, Emily Foster glanced back, then reluctantly stood up. “Bro, I’m heading home.”

“Okay, thank Auntie for me.”

The little girl took the empty bowl, and as William Grant walked her to the main room, he suddenly said, “Hey, wait a second.”

As he spoke, he took out his keys, opened the door to the west room, and went in. Emily Foster was very curious; for as long as she could remember, that room had always been locked, and she had no idea what was inside.

Soon, William Grant came out holding an incense box. “There are a lot of mosquitoes lately. Take this.”

“Ah, my mom was just saying she wanted this! I almost forgot!”

Emily Foster knew how magical this stuff was—light one stick at night, and all the mosquitoes would disappear, with no smoke smell at all.

William Grant walked her to the gate before heading back inside. After cleaning up the table, he casually turned on the TV and plopped down in front of the computer.

“Those silks as beautiful as the morning glow were made by ignorant mulberry girls, toiling day and night, nearly going blind. Those luxurious bear pelts were caught by rough hunters, lying in wait for days and nights in the bitter cold and snow. Those priceless mermaid tears…”

A few lines of dialogue came from the TV. As soon as he heard them, he felt a headache coming on and complained, “It’s always Ji Guanlin whenever I turn it on.” He glanced over and added, “And those damn thick eyebrows!”

He couldn’t be bothered to watch, so he sat up straight, clicked the mouse a few times, entered his account, and clicked again.

The webpage loaded slowly, revealing a small handmade incense forum, built by a group of enthusiasts. He mostly lurked, occasionally posting, and was recognized as a big shot on the site. Watching the others argue fiercely over a recipe or ingredient ratio had become one of his few amusements.

He entered the forum just as a new post appeared. He clicked it open:

“Ahhhhh! Don’t ever think that a well-sealed perfume bottle means you don’t need to worry about bugs! I just got some top-quality roses, and in two days they were riddled with holes. I can’t throw them away, but I can’t keep them either. Ahhh, my heart is bleeding!”

Below was a picture of the ruined roses. The poster was called “Miracles by Strength,” a very active and cute girl.

William Grant, with nothing better to do, typed a reply: “Botanical incense ingredients are prone to bugs. You can put a deoxidizer in the bottle and some spikenard outside.”

After a while, he refreshed the page, and the girl had already replied at lightning speed: “Ah, I can’t believe my eyes, Yunshen-sama actually noticed me!!!!”

Well, his ID was “Yunshen Is Not a Virgin.” Huh? That sounded a bit off.

“Heh…”

William Grant chuckled but didn’t reply again. The next second, he heard a “ding ding” sound—a private message had arrived:

“I’ve finished the last batch of refreshing incense. I’d like to order another box. Sender: Little Ethan.”

She was also an old member; they’d chatted a few times. Not long ago, she’d mentioned feeling tired and sluggish, so William Grant had asked for her address and sent her a box of refreshing incense.

He’d meant it as a gift, but she sent him a red envelope. Since he needed the extra cash, he didn’t refuse. They’d added each other as friends, but didn’t know much about each other—he only knew her name was Ethan Clark.

“Water flows from the western river beyond the sky, Little Ethan’s pine shadows brush the clouds flat. Who taught me to play the long flute, leaning on the spring breeze, playing in the moonlight?”

A poem by Little Du, more or less.

“Okay, I’ll let you know before I mail it.”

Right away, William Grant replied to her message. There was no response, but a few minutes later, his phone chimed—a 200 yuan red envelope.

“……”

He pursed his lips. The girl was really straightforward.

It might seem easy to make money this way, but it wasn’t. Handmade incense was a complicated, time-consuming process; just the aging alone took days, which didn’t fit the fast-paced sales model.

So he couldn’t open an online shop, only take private orders—one at a time, as niche as it gets.

Chapter Four William Grant (Part 2)