Charles Clark put the brush back into the brush holder, stretched lazily, and couldn’t help but smile wryly in his heart. This era had its own advantages—there were fewer material temptations, and the greatest entertainment was probably just visiting brothels. However, with a delicate beauty by his side, Charles Clark naturally had no desire to visit such places, which allowed him to devote himself wholeheartedly to practicing running script as he did now.

After loosening up his muscles, he walked over to the bed and saw Ethan Foster sleeping peacefully. He didn’t wake her, but tucked her in, then went out to find Lily, asking her to light the lamps. He himself stared blankly at the running script he had just written, summarized his own shortcomings, and after pondering for a moment, seemed to have gained some insight.

Just then, Lily came in from outside and said, “Young master, the master asks you to come to the study.”

Charles Clark put down the running script in his hand and looked up, saying, “The master?”

Seeing Charles Clark looking confused, Lily smiled and said, “It’s your father-in-law, young master.”

“Oh.” Only then did Charles Clark remember. In fact, although he had been married for a few days, he had almost no impression of this father-in-law, who was, in his mind, a dispensable person. Moreover, this father-in-law seemed to harbor a bit of hostility toward him.

“At this hour, what does he want with me?” Charles Clark was still puzzled, but then stood up and said, “Lily, lead the way for me.”

Lily fetched a lantern and led Charles Clark through the residence. They stopped outside a solitary side room, and she whispered, “Young master, the master is very strict. You should be careful.”

Charles Clark smiled at her and said, “This residence is so big, and it’s pitch dark. I didn’t remember the way when I came. Wait for me outside, and we’ll go back together later.”

Lily nodded.

As for this father-in-law, Charles Clark didn’t really feel afraid. After all, having lived two lives, he had seen his share of storms. He took a deep breath, pushed open the study door, and walked in confidently. The study was not as luxurious as Charles Clark had imagined; instead, it had a simple and unadorned feel—just bookshelves, a desk, and a lampstand.

Sitting behind the desk was William Foster, whose face was as calm as autumn water. William Foster seemed to have been waiting for some time. When he saw Charles Clark enter, he put down the book in his hand with a faint expression and said indifferently, “Sit.”

Charles Clark sat down as instructed and addressed him as father-in-law. William Foster barely responded, not exactly enthusiastic, but making an effort not to seem too cold.

William Foster sized up Charles Clark and saw that he was composed and at ease, but still felt uncomfortable inside, thinking: As expected, a bookworm—knows no fear, nor when to advance or retreat.

But William Foster had called him here for a reason. After a moment’s thought, he asked, “What did you do at home today while you were idle?”

Charles Clark found this odd, thinking: He even cares about this? This cheap father-in-law really is from the Jinyiwei—could he be trying to give me a hard time?

Charles Clark replied, “I just practiced calligraphy at home.”

Hearing that Charles Clark spent his time at home writing, William Foster was even more displeased, and his impression of this bookworm deepened. Although William Foster was somewhat literate himself, deep down he looked down on those scholars who only talked big. Let alone someone like Charles Clark, who had lost his official status—without even a title, what’s the point of practicing calligraphy? Was he planning to set up a calligraphy stall on the street in the future?

William Foster forced a slight smile and said coldly, “A real man shouldn’t spend all day cooped up at home reading and writing. The old madam has instructed me to find you something to do. Seeing how bored you are, I’ve arranged a job for you. Tomorrow morning, go report to the Qianhu Office in the Inner West City, collect your waist token, and from now on, you’ll be working at the Northern Town Magistrate’s Office.”

Charles Clark was surprised. He hadn’t expected that in this era, marrying a wife could get you a job—this was even better than being assigned a job after college in later times.

To work in the Jinyiwei—if it were the old Clark, he would never have agreed. Scholars had a kind of pride; even without official status, they wouldn’t want to do such dirty work. But for the current Charles Clark, he didn’t feel much resistance. Now, he was entirely supported by the Wen family. Although he lived in luxury, he always felt a bit uneasy. Now that he had an opportunity, why not give it a try? He didn’t aspire to be a high official or noble, or to become a Qianhu or Tongzhi. He just wanted a career that could support his wife and children, give them shelter from the wind and rain, and not have to depend on others—that would be enough.

However… Clark the Scholar’s future career would actually involve lurking in the dark, eavesdropping, or baring his teeth and extorting money! Thinking of this, Charles Clark couldn’t help but feel embarrassed.

Without much hesitation, Charles Clark agreed directly. Having something to do was better than idling at home. If a man didn’t even have a livelihood and relied on his wife’s family to fill his belly, he had no backbone to speak of. Of course, Charles Clark had to seize this opportunity.

William Foster had actually hoped that Charles Clark would refuse to work for the Jinyiwei, but seeing him agree so readily, he had nothing more to say. He only said, “Once you join the Jinyiwei, things will be different. The Jinyiwei has its own rules. You’ll have to learn them yourself.”

Charles Clark said, “I understand.”