Andrew Scott muttered a few words to himself, turned around, and said, “Little Charles, let’s go home…”

At this moment, Andrew Scott felt as if a raging storm was surging in his heart. He wasn’t in the mood to think about why William Clark would say such things; instead, his mind was entirely focused on the words “six hundred steps from the village entrance.”

Before the liberation, Andrew Scott’s father was an official in the Ministry of Education of the Nationalist Government, working in Nanjing for many years, while Andrew Scott’s mother often returned to live in the countryside. After the age of ten, Andrew Scott attended school in Nanjing with his father.

In 1949, when the Nationalist army suffered a crushing defeat, the situation was so urgent that Andrew Scott’s father didn’t have time to bring his wife along; he took his son and fled to Taiwan. That departure meant the two sides were separated by the strait, never to meet again.

After arriving in Taiwan, Andrew Scott’s father realized that over a million troops had poured into such a tiny place, and even many generals were living in military dependents’ villages.

So-called “military dependents’ villages” were housing built to accommodate Nationalist soldiers and their families who were forced to migrate from various provinces of mainland China to Taiwan. The buildings were low and the environment was much worse than back on the mainland.

However, Andrew Scott’s father was a talented man, fluent in several languages. After living in the military dependents’ village for ten years, he took his son to the United States, started his own company, and settled down.

It was just the year before last that Andrew Scott’s father passed away in the United States. Before he died, he instructed his son to be sure to bring his ashes back to the homeland and bury them together with his wife. That was the reason for Andrew Scott’s trip back to China.

It was only after returning home that Andrew Scott learned his mother had already passed away in the early 1950s.

During that movement that swept across all of China, many families with overseas connections—even ancestral graves—suffered disasters. So even the elders in the family couldn’t say exactly where Andrew Scott’s mother was buried.

This outcome left Andrew Scott somewhat disheartened. He had been preparing to return to America, but unexpectedly received this piece of information.

Chapter 010 Father

As the saying goes, “a desperate man will try anything.” Something that had seemed hopeless was stirred up again by a single sentence from William Clark. After searching all around for William Clark without success, Andrew Scott hurried back to the village with his grandnephew to discuss the matter with others.

Meanwhile, the instigator, William Clark, was leisurely playing outside for a while longer. When he saw that dusk was approaching, he headed toward Mr. Miller’s house.

Hearing the roar of engines coming from behind the house, William Clark didn’t enter the yard but instead turned a corner and went to the pond in the back.

In Jiangnan, there are many rivers. Mr. Miller had hired people to dig a channel from the fish pond, diverting the water into a nearby river. At this moment, more than twenty young men were shoveling earth into the pond, and several tractors were rumbling back and forth, hauling away the soil.

Seeing Mr. Miller frantically directing the work, William Clark smiled and said, “Hey, Big Miller, you sure are fast!”

Two ponds, each covering a considerable area, had been almost completely filled in just one afternoon. No matter the era, as long as you have money, things always get done.

“It’s little master! Take a look—do you think the pond is filled well enough?”

When William Clark walked over, Mr. Miller hurriedly asked. But for a grown man like him to consult a child holding a sugar figurine seemed rather comical to onlookers.

“Mr. Miller, who’s this little guy? Are there such young Taoist priests on the mountain?”

A laborer nearby, taking a drink of water, asked. Although everyone was from the same village, ever since Mr. Miller got rich, he hadn’t spoken so respectfully to anyone.

“Uh, this… this is—well, why do you care so much? As long as you have wine to drink tonight, that’s all that matters.”

Mr. Miller didn’t know how to explain. If he told the truth, the police would probably come looking for him tomorrow—wouldn’t that be openly promoting superstition?

The rich can afford to be bold. The man, hearing Mr. Miller’s words, wasn’t offended. He just picked up his shovel and went back to work, while Mr. Miller looked again at William Clark—this was a matter of life and death, after all.

“All right, as long as it’s filled, that’s fine…”

William Clark nodded, but somewhat perfunctorily. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help Mr. Miller further, but the tortoiseshell simply wouldn’t respond to his commands anymore; all the characters on it had turned a dull gray.

Hearing William Clark’s words, Mr. Miller shouted loudly, “Everyone, put in a bit more effort! Once we finish this last bit, come to my house for dinner!”

In the mid-1980s, not to mention the countryside—even in the cities, there were hardly any proper construction companies.

Whenever there was heavy labor to be done, people would call on relatives, friends, and neighbors to help out. Aside from building houses, for things like filling in a fish pond, there was no talk of wages—after the work was done, a meal and some drinks would suffice.

“Hey, Big Miller, is there any wine?”

“Look at you! If Mr. Miller is treating, how could there not be wine and meat?”

“Tommy, if you drink too much, your wife won’t let you in bed tonight. How about… I sleep at your place instead?”

“Get lost! I’ll break your damn legs…”

“All right, everyone, let’s move faster. Once we finish this, we’ll go eat meat and drink wine.”