Cursing aside, Quentin Bennett now had a headache. He was only selling prescriptions to make money; he never intended to cause any trouble. No wonder the old man was on his case today like he’d swallowed gunpowder.

In Charles Bennett’s eyes, his son had changed drastically over the past year. But Quentin Bennett knew in his heart that it wasn’t a change in temperament—it was that the original Quentin Bennett had been replaced by the current Quentin Bennett. In his previous life, he’d been a museum curator. Who knew which deity he’d offended, but after one night’s sleep, he woke up in this Quentin Bennett’s body. That was why, in Charles Bennett’s eyes, his child’s personality had changed so much.

When Quentin Bennett first arrived here, he was full of lofty ambitions, always thinking that since he’d come to this era, as a man he ought to make something of himself. But once he tried to fit in, he was immediately at a loss.

He was the son of a yamen clerk, and according to Ming law, the descendants of clerks for three generations were forbidden from taking the imperial exams. Yet the previous Quentin Bennett had been a bookworm, which was quite unusual. Some people were obsessed with women, some with gambling, some with money, but Quentin Bennett had never seen anyone so addicted to books. And his former self was exactly that kind of fool—not only did he love reading, but he was apparently quite knowledgeable, able to recite the Four Books, Five Classics, and historical texts backwards and forwards.

So Quentin Bennett was out of luck. Although he’d inherited the original Quentin Bennett’s vast learning, it was all useless. His status barred him from officialdom, so there was no point in using it. Since he couldn’t become an official, Quentin Bennett figured he might as well get rich. Merchants in the Ming dynasty had low status, but with money, you could still have three wives and four concubines, beautiful women in abundance. So he set his sights on selling prescriptions—after all, the costs were low and the profits decent.

In his previous life at the museum, Quentin Bennett had once been tasked with restoring a rare Qing dynasty manuscript of folk remedies for difficult illnesses. He remembered its contents clearly, so every day he racked his brains to recall and write down those remedies, then packaged and sold them.

……

Pa…

While Quentin Bennett was lost in thought, he didn’t expect the old man to silently appear behind him and give him a hard knock on the head. Quentin Bennett yelped in pain and got angry: “Dad, you ambushed me!”

“Ambushed you?” Charles Bennett sneered, grabbing the small-framed Quentin Bennett and growling, “You’ve caused such a big mess—don’t you deserve a beating? What a disgrace. I, Charles Bennett, have been honest all my life, and to think I’d have a son like you.”

Quentin Bennett quickly said, “What do we do now?”

Quentin Bennett played a little trick. Since he couldn’t escape, he’d either get a beating or try to change the subject—at least it might distract the old man a bit.

Sure enough, Charles Bennett fell for it and sighed deeply. After all, this was his own flesh and blood; beating him was pointless. Better to think of a solution. He narrowed his eyes and said, “The county magistrate is pressing to have someone handed over—he doesn’t want trouble and wants to give that Eunuch Wang an explanation as soon as possible. So no matter what, we have to send someone to the magistrate first. This needs to be done quickly. You little troublemaker…”

Halfway through, he moved as if to hit him again, but Quentin Bennett had already slipped a full ten feet away while he was talking. Charles Bennett could only shake his head, then glared fiercely at Quentin Bennett and said, “Stay put at home. I have to go to the yamen. I’ll figure something out, but you mustn’t cause any more trouble these next few days, understand? Whether we get through this or not is up to fate.”

The old man let out a rare sigh, clearly finding the situation tricky.

With that, Charles Bennett picked up his ruler and was about to leave. Quentin Bennett breathed a sigh of relief—at least he’d escaped a beating this time. He quickly waved at Charles Bennett: “Goodbye, father. Take care, I won’t see you out.”

Charles Bennett snorted and walked out. After a while, he actually came back, took out a lock, and started locking the main room’s door. Quentin Bennett immediately realized what Charles Bennett was up to and shouted, “Dad… why are you locking the door? I said I wouldn’t go out, and I won’t!”

“Can I trust you? Just stay put!” Charles Bennett had already closed the door, locking Quentin Bennett inside. The sound of banging on the door came from within, but Charles Bennett ignored it and strode away.

Now Quentin Bennett was a bit dumbfounded. With the door locked, who knew when it would be opened again?

At first, he could sit still—after all, he knew he’d caused trouble and was determined to behave and be a good citizen.

But the old man still hadn’t come back by dusk, and Quentin Bennett was hungry. He and the old man depended on each other, and there was no woman at home to take care of things, so no food had been made in the morning. Usually, he’d buy a scallion pancake or a steamed bun at the street corner, but today, because of the prescription-selling incident, he hadn’t eaten breakfast. From morning till now, Quentin Bennett hadn’t had a bite to eat, and now his stomach was growling. Quentin Bennett grumbled inwardly—this was a crucial stage of development, how could he go hungry? But with the door locked, no matter how he tried, he couldn’t open it.

In his anxiety, his gaze fell on the paper window in the room.

No way, the old man might not be back for a while. Better to fill his stomach first.