Ethan Clark was tilting his head to the sky, lost in his own thoughts, when he heard the words and turned to look, only to be stunned. Not far away, a charming and graceful "young married woman" stood there with a calm expression, glancing at him. She wore a pink short jacket on top, a light green long skirt below, a purple sash about an inch wide tied at her waist, and a crescent-shaped jade pendant hanging from it. Her hair was styled in a bun, black and glossy as clouds. She had a slender figure, brows like distant mountains, skin like congealed cream, eyes shy and gentle, a high and full bosom, and a faint blush on her fair, jade-like cheeks.

So beautiful! To call her a beauty capable of toppling cities and kingdoms might be an exaggeration, but she was definitely the epitome of a noble lady, a classic Eastern beauty. She had both the figure and the looks, and that gentle, virtuous aura that radiated from her even without words was enough to make any man fall head over heels.

Ethan Clark's heart trembled. This must be the wife Emily Lane whom “Ethan Clark” had married not long ago. Forcibly shifting his somewhat heated gaze away from Emily Lane's enchanting figure, he lowered his head slightly, trying to sort out his confused and bewildered thoughts.

With a gentle sway of her waist, Emily Lane gracefully walked a few steps forward, her cherry lips slightly parted, her voice calm, “Husband, have you ever practiced martial arts before?”

“Husband!” Though her voice was calm, it struck Ethan Clark's ears like thunder. He steadied himself and forced a smile. “Just fooling around for fun, I must have made you laugh.”

Liam Young held a sheet of paper in her hand, walked up to Ethan Clark, tilted her pretty face up and asked suspiciously, “Young master, did you write this?”

Ethan Clark glanced at it and nodded. “That's right, what's the matter?”

Liam Young looked back at Emily Lane, her eyes darting mischievously. “Young master, my lady said she wants to put up a couplet at the bedroom door. Could you please write one for her?”

“Oh?” Before Ethan Clark could reply, Henry Clark pushed open the door from the side room and called out loudly, “Liam Young, it's not a festival or New Year's, why put up a couplet? Ah! Young madam, Henry Clark greets young madam!”

Noticing Emily Lane standing to the side, Henry Clark was startled and quickly bowed, thinking to himself, The young madam hasn't stepped out of the inner courtyard for months—what's going on today? Could it be...?

“Henry Clark, no need for such formalities. Go to the young master's study and fetch brush, ink, paper, and inkstone. The young master is going to write a couplet for me.” Emily Lane smiled gently and waved her hand.

“Alright.” Henry Clark hurried into the study, fetched the items, placed them on the stone table in the courtyard, then returned to stand beside Ethan Clark, and cautiously whispered, “Young master, are you sure? Your handwriting...”

A thought struck Ethan Clark. Oh, Emily Lane must have seen his handwriting and doubted it was really his, so she came out herself to “investigate.” At this, he felt both annoyed and a bit disdainful, and his expression showed some hesitation.

Seeing Ethan Clark hesitating, a trace of contempt flashed across Liam Young's face. Though it was fleeting, Ethan Clark caught it, which only fueled his irritation. He wanted to “let the facts speak,” but then thought it might be “unnecessary,” so he simply turned away from them and strode into the house.

Liam Young let out a giggle, turned her head, and said, “Miss, I told you these characters definitely weren't written by the young master, but you insisted on seeing them... I've seen the young master's handwriting before—it's even uglier than mine.”

Emily Lane said nothing, but the corner of her mouth twitched, and she turned away in disappointment.

“Liam Young, how can you make fun of the young master?” Old Clark walked in from the front gate, glaring at Liam Young in disapproval. “Young madam, these characters really were written by the young master. I saw it with my own eyes. Young madam, would this old servant lie to you?”

Liam Young curled her lips, stuck out her tongue, and made a cute face.

“Heh.” Emily Lane gave a faint smile. Though she said nothing, her expression clearly showed disbelief.

Ethan Clark stopped in his tracks, slowly turned around, and swept his cold gaze over Liam Young, saying in a deep voice, “Liam Young, come here.”

“Young master, you... Miss, me?” Liam Young froze, lowering her head. For some reason, she suddenly felt that Ethan Clark's gaze today was as sharp as a knife, his expression cold and stern, completely different from his usual lecherous, playful demeanor. She couldn't help but feel afraid, hesitating to go over.

“Liam Young, didn't you hear me?” Ethan Clark's voice was unusually low, with a hint of anger.

“So fierce, it's scary.” Liam Young's face turned pale, her eyes reddened, and she almost burst into tears. She timidly walked over, softly calling, “Young master!”

Ethan Clark gave a cold smile and strode toward the stone table. “Grind the ink!”

Volume One: The World in a Pot, Chapter 10: Each with Their Own Thoughts

Liam Young lowered her head pitifully and ground the ink, while Ethan Clark picked up the brush with a somber face, lost in thought, his gaze drifting far away to a little yellow sparrow hopping and chirping among the green vines on the courtyard wall. A sense of loneliness and desolation emanated from Ethan Clark, making the atmosphere in the courtyard suddenly heavy and awkward.

Of course, except for Old Clark, everyone present—including Henry Clark—did not really believe that Ethan Clark could produce good calligraphy.