“Hehe, I was hoping you could catch a few more for me. Wow, your swimming skills are amazing, even better than Erdan from Old Zhang’s family. All my fish were snatched away by Erdan and the others, I was thinking…” Frank Bolton giggled as he came over, tugging at Ethan Clark’s robe sleeve, pleading.

“Master Zhang, my young master is a proper scholar, a man of status, and he needs to focus on his studies to prepare for the provincial exam. How could he just casually go into the river to catch fish?” Old Clark entered carrying a pot of tea, frowned at Frank Bolton, and said, “Master Zhang, please leave!”

This Frank Bolton, though not that young anymore, was extremely mischievous—a real troublemaker who never let anyone rest easy. He led a group of youths around Yanshen Town causing mischief all day long, and was notorious for it. Throwing stones at one house, peeing at another—people only tolerated it out of respect for the local inspector. Now that this young master had just started to change his ways, even if he seemed a bit “odd,” at least he was heading in a better direction. How could Old Clark let him fall back in with Frank Bolton?

Frank Bolton shot a disappointed glare at Old Clark, then his eyes darted slyly. “What’s the big deal? I’ll leave, fine. Hmm, this calligraphy looks pretty good, I’ll take it back for my brother to see…” With that, he grabbed it and ran off.

Old Clark poured a cup of tea and handed it to Ethan Clark. He glanced casually at the square table and exclaimed in surprise, “Young master, did you write this?”

“That’s right,” Ethan Clark replied offhandedly, putting down his brush and turning to rummage through the bookshelf, looking for a book that was a bit more “easy to understand.”

“Oh my, young master, your calligraphy is truly outstanding—better than the paintings and calligraphy sold at the antique shop on the street! I remember how your writing used to be—heavens, could it be that the old master is watching over you from above?” Old Clark was actually moved to tears, dropping to his knees with a thud and kowtowing several times.

“Young… young master, could you write a few more characters?” Old Clark got up and looked at Ethan Clark, his voice trembling.

Ethan Clark glanced at him in confusion, but he more or less understood. Clearly, this Lin fellow’s handwriting must have been terrible, at least worse than his own, or else Old Man Clark wouldn’t be so shocked. But? That didn’t seem right either—if he could pass the scholar’s exam, his writing shouldn’t have been that bad.

He picked up the brush and wrote in regular script: “Qingzhou Prefecture, Yidu County, Yanshen Town, Ethan Clark,” then put down the brush and smiled slightly. “Old steward, what do you think?”

Old Clark stared at it for a long while, every wrinkle on his face trembling with excitement. Suddenly, he grabbed the two pieces of calligraphy Ethan Clark had just written and ran out.

Ethan Clark shook his head and continued flipping through his thread-bound books.

Inner courtyard. For the first time in over half a year, Old Clark pushed open the door and burst in, shouting, “Young madam!”

Liam Young stood at the doorway, her pretty face slightly frowning. “Old steward, weren’t you told not to come into the inner courtyard?”

“Yes, yes, I got a bit too excited and forgot. Liam Young, show the young madam the calligraphy the young master wrote, quickly!” Old Clark caught his breath and handed it over with both hands.

Liam Young muttered to herself, thinking the young master’s writing was nothing special. Back when he took the scholar’s exam, his poor handwriting nearly cost him a spot at the prefectural school, and it was only thanks to the old master spending a lot of silver that he scraped by. What’s so impressive about this?

But she stopped muttering immediately, let out a shriek, and ran inside. “Miss!”

Emily Lane lazily put down her book, her elegant brows furrowing. “Liam Young, what’s got you so worked up? You’re acting nothing like a proper young lady.”

Liam Young stuck out her tongue playfully, but quickly hurried over and handed her the calligraphy. “Miss, take a look—who do you think wrote this?”

“Oh, did the young master ask someone to write it for him?” Emily Lane glanced at it and said indifferently.

“No, the old steward said the young master wrote it himself,” Liam Young whispered.

“No, impossible, absolutely impossible.” Emily Lane shot to her feet. “What trick is the young master up to now? Never mind, let him be, Liam Young…”

“Miss, I think the old steward is an honest and upright man—he’d never lie. Could it really be the young master’s work?” Lucy Young walked over from behind and chimed in.

“……” Emily Lane stood there, a faint look of wonder in her deep, beautiful eyes. She said nothing more, lost in thought.

……

“Brother, look, what do you think of this calligraphy?” Frank Bolton grinned as he placed a piece of calligraphy on David Bolton’s desk. “If you like it, give me one tael of silver and I’ll give it to you. Then I can go buy some sugar figurines.”

“Nonsense, Little Ethan, how old are you now? Still playing with those childish things. Little Ethan, you’re not young anymore—it’s time to think about getting married. If you keep fooling around like this, how can you face our late parents?” David Bolton scolded him softly, but as soon as his eyes landed on the calligraphy, he was taken aback. “Little Ethan, this writing is so vigorous and spirited—who wrote it?”

Frank Bolton pouted. “It’s just that playboy from yesterday, Ethan Clark.”

“Him? My judgment was right after all. That man is calm and composed, unflustered even before officials—he must be a man of great talent.” David Bolton nodded.