The young man was dressed in an old Daoist robe, washed so many times it had turned pale. His face was youthful, his features upright, his eyes bright, carrying an indescribable quality, as if he could see the hidden truths within many things, like a mirror.

At his feet lay his luggage, which looked quite ordinary, but was organized with great care and showed no trace of dust from travel. Even the bamboo hat tied atop the luggage had been wiped spotlessly clean.

What raised Mrs. Sullivan’s eyebrows was not these things, but rather that the tea on the table had long since lost its warmth, yet the young man remained calm, showing not the slightest sign of impatience—possessing a composure and patience rare for someone his age.

This was a person who would be difficult to deal with.

Fortunately, people like this were often also very proud.

……

……

After entering the Divine General’s Residence, he exchanged a few words with the old maid, and then no one paid him any further attention. Sitting in the side hall for half an hour, it was only natural to feel a bit bored, but Ethan Brooks had been used to solitude since childhood and did not find it hard to endure.

He silently recited the commentary from the sixth volume of the “Huating Scripture” to pass the time, while waiting for someone to come so he could return the marriage contract and settle this matter—he still had many things of his own to do afterward.

He had indeed only taken a single sip of the tea on the table, just moistening his slightly dry lips. It was not, as the old maid had guessed, out of caution or wariness, but rather because he felt that as a guest in someone else’s home, it would be impolite to ask to use the restroom if he drank too much tea. Moreover, although the teacups in the Divine General’s Residence were all precious Ru kiln porcelain, he was still unaccustomed to drinking from other people’s vessels.

In this regard, he was a bit of a clean freak.

He stood up and bowed respectfully to the elegantly dressed lady, guessing that she was likely Mrs. Sullivan, the mistress of the Divine General’s Residence. He thought that he could finally resolve this matter, so he reached into his robe, preparing to take out the marriage contract.

Mrs. Sullivan gestured for him not to rush, gracefully took her seat at the head of the table, accepted the tea brought by the housekeeper, and looked at him calmly as she said, “You haven’t visited the Heavenly Book Mausoleum yet, have you? Or the Naihe Bridge? Or perhaps you could go to the Detached Palace to see the ivy—the scenery there is quite beautiful as well.”

Ethan Brooks thought this was small talk. He had felt there was no need for it, but since an elder had spoken, he naturally could not be rude. He replied briefly and respectfully, “Not yet, but I will go in a few days.”

Mrs. Sullivan paused with the lid of her teacup in midair and asked, “So, as soon as you arrived in the capital, you came straight to the General’s Residence?”

Ethan Brooks answered honestly, “I dared not delay.”

“I see.”

The lady looked up at him coldly, thinking to herself: a penniless youth from the backcountry, not even tempted by the splendor of the capital, coming straight here to discuss marriage—so eager, it’s truly laughable.

Ethan Brooks did not understand what she meant by “I see.” He stood up again, reaching into his robe to take out the marriage contract and return it. Since he had already made up his mind, he did not intend to waste any more time.

However, his action was once again misunderstood. The lady looked at him, her expression growing even colder, and said, “I will not agree to this marriage. Even if you take out the marriage contract, it is meaningless.”

Ethan Brooks had not expected to hear this and was momentarily stunned.

“Many years ago, the old master was saved by your teacher, and thus this marriage was arranged… It sounds like a fine story, doesn’t it?”

Mrs. Sullivan looked at him coldly and said, “…But in reality, that’s the kind of story that only happens in plays. It could never occur in the real world. Who but some foolish women would believe it?”

Ethan Brooks wanted to explain that he had come to break off the engagement, but hearing her condescending words and seeing the undisguised contempt and coldness in Mrs. Sullivan’s eyes, he found it hard to speak—at that moment, his hand was still inside his robe, fingers touching the edge of the stiff paper: one sheet was the marriage contract written by the Grand Preceptor himself, and another bore the birth date and time of a certain young lady.

“The old master passed away four years ago. This engagement no longer exists.”

Mrs. Sullivan looked at the young man before her and continued, “I know you are a clever person, so we should speak as clever people do. What you should be considering now is not continuing this engagement, but rather what kind of compensation you can obtain. What do you think of my proposal?”

Ethan Brooks withdrew his hand from his robe, empty-handed, letting it fall to his side, and asked, “May I ask why?”

“Why? That’s not a question a clever person would ask.”

Mrs. Sullivan looked at him expressionlessly and said, “Because your teacher may be a good doctor, but he is still just an ordinary Daoist, while this is the Divine General’s Residence; because you are a poor youth who can only afford an old Daoist robe, while my daughter is the young lady of the Divine General’s Residence; because you are an ordinary person, and the Divine General’s Residence is not a place for ordinary people. Is my explanation clear enough?”

Ethan Brooks’s hand tightened slightly, but his voice did not tremble at all: “Very clear.”

Mrs. Sullivan looked at his still-childish face and decided to apply a bit more pressure. She knew very well what proud and clever youths could not bear the most—soon, he would surely propose breaking off the engagement himself.