Clark’s brows were tightly furrowed as she watched Henry Bolton’s gradually receding figure. She opened her mouth, hesitated for a moment, but in the end could only let her hand fall helplessly and look elsewhere. Yet in her heart, there was a deep, unspeakable bitterness: “My dear child, when will you finally grow up and become accomplished, so your mother won’t have to worry about you so much?”

Some of the The Bolton Family’s servants and maids dared not say anything aloud, keeping their heads down in silence, but they were truly indignant inside. Disaster was about to befall the The Bolton Family, and yet this good-for-nothing was still going out to “visit friends” and fool around—how utterly unreasonable.

Brian Bolton drove the carriage, and Henry Bolton sat inside as they left the residence. Although a government official’s carriage was already quite luxurious and advanced as a means of transportation in the flourishing Tang era, he still felt somewhat uncomfortable sitting in it.

Pedestrians bustled back and forth like weaving shuttles, and all kinds of shops, taverns, and inns lined both sides of the street, one after another, with dazzling signs hanging high above. The prosperity, vastness, and population density of Chang’an in the height of the Tang Dynasty far exceeded Henry Bolton’s imagination.

The residents of Chang’an, faces glowing with health, scholars with fragrant flowers in their hair and folding fans in hand drifting by, peddlers and laborers hawking their wares along the street with carts or baskets slung over their shoulders, foreign merchants in exotic attire, women dressed extremely revealingly with voluptuous figures and a hint of flirtation on their faces, and occasionally a few dignified monks… One unfamiliar face after another flashed enlarged before Henry Bolton’s eyes, but at this moment, he truly felt no sense of wonder or desire to linger.

In the historical information he possessed, there was almost nothing about the family affairs or descendants of William Bolton; historians had not recorded in detail the development and changes of William Bolton’s lineage. Most likely, it was because after William Bolton’s death, the The Bolton Family gradually declined.

With crisis looming, he felt he must first figure out the causes and details of Samuel Bolton’s crime before making any plans.

So he “remembered” those idle companions of the playboy, among whom was Simon Foster, the current Minister of Justice’s second son, Philip Foster. This Philip Foster was much the same as the previous Henry Bolton; the two were birds of a feather and often called each other “close friends.”

The Ministry of Justice was in charge of criminal cases, and now that Samuel Bolton had fallen into their hands, as the son of the highest official there, Philip Foster would surely know some inside information. If he could use Philip Foster as a connection to reach Simon Foster, even if it meant spending some money, he must do everything possible to help Samuel Bolton escape punishment. At the very least, he hoped to avoid disaster for the whole family.

But… idle companions only befriend their own kind—could they really be relied upon? Henry Bolton sighed inwardly.

Chapter 004: A Passionate Plea, Weighing Pros and Cons (1)

They arrived outside the The Foster Residence. Brian Bolton stopped the carriage on one side of the road, got down, lifted the curtain, and forced himself to remain calm as he respectfully said, “Third Young Master, we have arrived at the residence of Simon Foster, Lord Foster.”

The fact that his own third young master was close with the young master of The Foster Residence, Philip Foster, was no secret, and Brian Bolton naturally knew about it.

Seeing that his young master still couldn’t forget to come and hang around with Philip Foster at a time like this, Brian Bolton would be lying if he said he wasn’t angry or disappointed. But as a servant, even if Henry Bolton was useless, he was still the master, so he could only grumble inwardly and would never dare show it in word or deed.

Henry Bolton composed himself, stretched his limbs, and jumped down from the carriage.

He gazed at the imposing and solemn mansion of The Foster Residence not far away, pondered for a long time, then nodded to Brian Bolton and said, “Brian Bolton, go and announce us. Just say I wish to see the second young master of The Foster Residence.”

“Yes.” Brian Bolton replied, then walked over to the two gatekeepers of The Foster Residence and said with a smile, “Brothers, my young master wishes to see the second young master of The Foster Residence. Could you please announce us?”

One of the gatekeepers glanced sideways at Brian Bolton and Henry Bolton standing to the side. Seeing Henry Bolton’s splendid attire and impressive bearing, and Brian Bolton’s appearance as a servant from a noble house, he dared not be negligent and smiled in return, “May I ask which family’s young master you are, so we can announce you properly?”

“Third young master Henry Bolton of the southern city The Bolton Residence,” Brian Bolton replied.

The gatekeeper nodded and turned to go inside to announce them.

Before long, he hurried back out, but his expression had turned proud and cold.

He waved his hand coldly and said, “Sorry, our second young master said he doesn’t know any third young master from the southern city The Bolton Residence… Today our young master is unwell and will not see any guests. Please leave.”

Brian Bolton’s face changed.

Standing there, Henry Bolton had already heard the gatekeeper’s reply, but his face showed no anger, only a complex and disappointed look.

As the saying goes, when the wall falls, everyone pushes. Samuel Bolton had committed a grave crime and angered the emperor; the decline of the The Bolton Family was imminent. That Philip Foster would turn his back on him was not outside Henry Bolton’s expectations.

Such idle friendships were never reliable; when disaster struck, everyone scattered—this visit was just a shot in the dark, hoping for a stroke of luck.

The fickleness of the world truly transcends eras. A bitter smile appeared at the corner of Henry Bolton’s mouth. After a moment, he resolutely waved his hand and said in a deep voice, “Brian Bolton, let’s go home!”

……

……

The Bolton Residence.

The servants and attendants of The Bolton Residence wore grave expressions and hurried back and forth.

The sudden calamity that had befallen The Bolton Residence was no good thing for these servants either. Two carriages arrived one after another, and William Bolton’s two younger brothers, Matthew Bolton and Stephen Bolton, jumped down as soon as the carriages stopped and strode quickly toward the entrance of the residence.