His words were the height of defiance. Who was Henry Clark? He was about to explode on the spot. But just at that moment, Young Master Bolton became interested and quickly said, “This only distinguishes good wine from bad, but how can we measure just how good a fine wine is?”

Adam Sullivan replied, “The more flaws there are in the wine, the more black spots appear on the face. The finer the wine, the less abnormality there will be on the face.”

“Brilliant!” Young Master Bolton exclaimed, his spirits soaring. He had treasured this ten-year-old Bamboo Leaf Green for a long time, and if it weren’t for currying favor with Young Master Clark, he wouldn’t have been willing to bring it out. But there’s a problem with wine: while you can tell good from bad, it’s hard to distinguish between good wines. If Adam Sullivan could prove this wine was the best of the best, wouldn’t he have even more face in front of Henry Clark? After all, Henry Clark was the son of a duke, with countless treasures at home—every drink he had was a rare vintage. If he couldn’t taste the wonders of this ten-year-old Bamboo Leaf Green, wouldn’t that be a pity?

“Then pour yourself a cup and show us.”

The nearby Young Master Miller was also intrigued, his eyes fixed on Adam Sullivan. Henry Clark had no choice but to hold back his anger, folding his arms and watching with a smile.

Adam Sullivan took an empty cup, filled it, and took a sip. The wine was rich and mellow, with a hint of bamboo leaf fragrance, leaving a lingering aftertaste.

“Excellent wine!” Adam Sullivan smacked his lips, savoring the mellow aroma. He put down the cup and said to Young Master Bolton, “Young master, do you see any black spots on my face?”

Young Master Bolton examined him carefully and shook his head. “None.”

Adam Sullivan then showed his face to Henry Clark and Young Master Miller, who both looked him over with interest for a moment and also shook their heads.

Adam Sullivan sincerely praised, “This wine is already the finest of fine brews. I fear you couldn’t buy it for a hundred strings of cash at the wine market. Young Master Bolton, you are truly generous to be willing to share such good wine with others.”

Young Master Bolton was overjoyed, no longer caring whether Adam Sullivan was just putting on a show. All he wanted was this evaluation. He turned to Henry Clark and said, “The Clark family really is extraordinary—even a household servant has such discernment and eloquence.”

Adam Sullivan praised Young Master Bolton’s wine, and Young Master Bolton in turn praised the Clark family’s upbringing. The pockmarked face of Young Master Clark immediately lit up, and he found Adam Sullivan much more pleasing to the eye, laughing heartily and modestly saying, “I don’t deserve such praise, I don’t deserve it.”

Adam Sullivan poured wine for the young masters, then left the pleasure boat and returned to the willow tree, where he saw Charles Bolton and several other servants, their faces pale, staring at Adam Sullivan in surprise as he returned unscathed and smelling of wine. They had just seen Adam Sullivan down a full cup of Bamboo Leaf Green in one gulp, so there was no way to argue.

“Hand over the money!” Adam Sullivan smiled slightly, stretched out his hand, and gestured with his mouth toward the four dumbfounded servants.

Chapter Two: Long Live the Bookboy

In just a moment, he had swindled four strings of cash—equivalent to four months’ wages for Adam Sullivan. He weighed the silver worth four strings in his hand, feeling both delighted and exhilarated.

Truly, people in ancient times were so naive—a little trick like this could fool them. It seems that time-traveling isn’t such a bad thing after all.

Charles Bolton’s lips were white with anger, and he glared at Adam Sullivan in indignation.

Adam Sullivan said with a grin, “Not convinced?”

Charles Bolton blurted out, “Of course I’m not.”

“I’ll give you another chance, let’s bet again—do you dare?”

Charles Bolton hesitated, but seeing Adam Sullivan’s confident look, he became furious. “How do we bet?”

Adam Sullivan chuckled, took out the four strings of broken silver and placed them on the ground. “You put up another four strings.”

Charles Bolton thought for a moment, hesitating again. He did have the money—whenever the young master went out, he was the one who accompanied him. He usually handled the purchases and payments, and over time had secretly stashed away more than ten taels of silver for emergencies, all of which he carried with him. But Adam Sullivan was so mysterious that he couldn’t help but be extra cautious.

“This brat is going too far. No matter what, I have to bet with him.” Charles Bolton gritted his teeth and took out silver worth four strings, placing it on the ground.

“Look, there are eight strings of cash on the ground now. You and I will bid against each other. Whoever bids higher gets all eight strings and wins. How about it?” Adam Sullivan calmly gathered the silver into a pile, and the other two servants came over as well.

Charles Bolton nodded, thinking, “Whoever bids higher gets the eight strings—heh, that’s easy. This time I definitely won’t lose to you.”

Adam Sullivan started, “Let’s begin. I bid four strings.”

Charles Bolton quickly said, “I bid five.”

Adam Sullivan smiled, “Then I’ll bid six.”

Charles Bolton snorted, “I’ll bid seven.” He thought, “If I bid seven and get eight strings, I’ll make a small profit, and I’ll finally win against this guy. If he bids eight next, there’s no profit left. Ha, this time I definitely won’t lose.”

Adam Sullivan shook his head in feigned frustration. “Can I bid seven and a half strings?”

Charles Bolton sneered, “That’s not allowed. You have to increase by whole strings.”

Adam Sullivan sighed, “Looks like I’ve lost. All right, give me seven strings, and the eight strings are yours.”