"Edward Clark, don't worry. If I ever achieve anything in the future, I will definitely come back to give you a grand burial. Also, I will take care of your family for you. I hope my parents can come to terms with this!" Although he wasn't at all sure he could pull off this deception, Brian Hill still spoke with conviction as he stood before that slightly raised mound of earth. "From today on, I am Edward Clark!"

Chapter Two: First Steps into the Gao Household

Following a group of woodcutters, he finally made his way to Bianjing City, and only then did Edward Clark breathe a sigh of relief. Although he was confident he hadn't slipped up, he still felt guilty like a thief, and couldn't help but feel nervous at the sight of the officers and soldiers. The real Edward Clark, before dying, had only mentioned that his home was at the Zhuque Gate, but Edward Clark himself knew nothing of the local geography, so he wandered around like a headless chicken, not daring to ask for directions. After wasting nearly an hour and a half, he finally managed to find the Zhuque Gate on the east side of Imperial Street, but by then his stomach was already growling with hunger.

Just as he was looking around anxiously, an old, hoarse voice suddenly called out behind him, "Erlang!"

Edward Clark had no idea who this "Erlang" was supposed to be, but he turned his head anyway, holding onto a sliver of hope—what if that person was his "family"? But as soon as he turned, an elderly man with graying temples came at him, swinging a cane down on him without warning, cursing as he did so:

"Useless brat! All you do is loaf around and wander the streets all day. Who knows what shameful things you've been up to! You disappear for ten days or half a month without a word—are you trying to drive me to my grave?"

Edward Clark was at a loss as the old man beat him indiscriminately, while everyone nearby scattered to avoid trouble. The previous owner of this body may have been a rascal, but it hardly seemed fair for him to be beaten for no reason, even if this was his supposed father. But since he still couldn't be sure who this man was, what if he wasn't the real deal? Thinking quickly, he stiffened and collapsed to the ground.

Sure enough, this trick worked. The old man, who had been cursing non-stop, suddenly panicked, pinching his philtrum and shaking him desperately, calling out his name. Edward Clark just pretended to be unconscious, and only when someone came and carried him away did he finally relax. It seemed he had made it to his destination safely this time.

After being jostled for quite a while, he was finally laid on a wooden bed. He could hear the sound of footsteps and constant arguing all around him.

"Father, have you lost your mind? Everyone else avoids this good-for-nothing like the plague, and you actually had him carried home? Just let him fend for himself!"

"Eldest son, Erlang is still your brother. Now that he's unconscious, how can you say such things?"

"Brother? We made things clear when we split the family. If he squandered his share, who else is to blame? Let me be clear: if his family runs out of food, don't come to me. I have my own wife and children to support! Father, if you want to give Erlang the share meant for our third brother, that's your business, but I don't have that kind of spare money!"

"You—"

Hearing such blunt arguments from the other room, Edward Clark gained a clear understanding of his predecessor's character. It seemed the old patriarch still had some pity for his son, but the eldest brother saw him as a plague, and as for the youngest brother, perhaps he was still too young, since he hadn't spoken up.

Before he could sort out his thoughts, heavy footsteps suddenly sounded by the bed, and a splash of cold water hit his face, making him jump up at once. Opening his eyes, he saw a tall young man standing by the bed with a bowl of cold water, a half-smile on his face.

"I told you this kid was faking it, but Father wouldn't believe me. See? One bowl of cold water and he's cured!" The young man didn't even look at Edward Clark, just set the bowl down and pushed his father toward the door. "He only came home because he's out of money. Otherwise, why would he come back so willingly? Father, don't bother with this lazy bum. Emily, take care of your husband!"

Hearing the word "husband," Edward Clark was taken aback. The previous owner had only mentioned an old father and two brothers, never a wife. He was completely unprepared for the fact that he had a wife at home—what was he supposed to do now?

Although it was broad daylight, the room was very dim. After a while, he finally made out a thin figure by the wooden table, quietly sobbing. They say there are no secrets between husband and wife—could he really fool Edward Clark's wife, or should he just find an excuse to divorce her? Testing the waters, he called out softly, "Emily?"

The figure clearly trembled, and after a long struggle, she shuffled over to the bed, her voice barely above a whisper: "Husband, what are your orders?"

At that moment, Edward Clark finally got a good look at the woman called Emily. She was sixteen or seventeen, and though she wore simple wooden hairpins and a homespun dress, there was an elegant grace about her. Her face was sorrowful and unadorned, but, to his shock, she looked uncannily like his girlfriend Xiaojing—seven or eight parts similar. Startled, he couldn't help but grab her left hand.

"H-husband, what are you doing?" Emily was flustered by this strange behavior, trying to pull her hand back but unable to break free from Edward Clark's grip. After a brief struggle, her body went limp and she collapsed into her husband's arms, her heart pounding wildly.