Adam Bolton helped unfold the folding chessboard. After watching his father place a dozen or so black and white stones, he immediately knew his father was recreating a famous game played by Seo Bongsoo in 1983. The game record in his father's hand was very familiar to Adam Bolton; when he picked up Go again in high school, it was this very record he studied. He had a deep impression of several of Seo Bongsoo's games and could almost set them up without looking at the record. After his father placed a black stone, Adam Bolton picked up a white stone and responded.

　　Chris Bolton looked up at his son Adam Bolton, then glanced at the game record. Without saying anything, he placed another black stone. Seeing his son respond with another precise move, he asked in surprise, “Have you played through this record before?”

　　“Yeah, I remember some of Seo Bongsoo’s games…”

　　“Wasn’t your mom against you playing Go…”

　　“I played in secret…”

　　“Oh,” Chris Bolton didn’t doubt it. After all, his son had only stopped formal Go lessons in fifth grade. He gathered the pieces from the board back into the box. “Since you haven’t given it up, play a game with me…”

　　Julia Evans didn’t say anything to stop them, just cleared the dishes and went to the kitchen to wash up.

　　In another world, after graduating from college, Adam Bolton had even considered becoming a Go teacher. But after his father started working at the city government, he rarely had time for Go. His father’s skills improved greatly only after he was dismissed from public office. But in this world, none of that had happened yet.

　　Adam Bolton knew his own Go level was a notch above his father’s at this time. Throughout the game—opening, midgame, or endgame—Adam Bolton’s advantage was clear. He licked his lips and glanced at his father: “Want to count the points?”

　　“You rascal…” Chris Bolton reached over and tapped Adam Bolton on the back of the head, surprised by his skill but laughing. “When did you get this good? You could play against Uncle Clark now.”

　　Although Uncle Clark was only an amateur 5-dan, he was known as the godfather of Go in Haizhou, having single-handedly founded the Haizhou Go Academy. After Chris Bolton was dismissed from public office, it was Uncle Clark who taught him Go again. Later, when he couldn’t make it at Haizhou University, it was also Uncle Clark who took him in.

　　Adam Bolton smiled, “Should I give you a three-stone handicap?”

　　“Let’s start with two stones. Even Uncle Clark only gives me two…”

　　Time seemed to pass unnoticed. When the second game ended, the quartz clock had just struck eleven.

　　“It’s already so late…” Chris Bolton glanced at the window. “Still lost to you by half a point. Your level is no worse than the players at the Haizhou Go Academy. I don’t have to worry about your future anymore. If nothing else works out, you could become a professional Go player. Professional players all start training from a young age…”

　　Adam Bolton also looked out the window. The streetlights outside were dim, and the black shadows of the treetops reflected on the glass. Hearing his father say this, he guessed his father was worried that this incident might negatively affect his future.

　　Adam Bolton had never really understood his father’s thoughts about the 1994 incident. He was too young at the time, and only many years later did he gradually learn the truth about the Henry Harris case.

　　Of course, since he had the chance to live life over again, Adam Bolton had no intention of becoming a professional Go player: “Uncle Harris plays pretty well too. Last time the city government and the Go Academy held a match, I heard Uncle Harris even beat a professional from the academy…”

　　“Henry Harris is at least a deputy mayor and the honorary president of the Haizhou Go Academy. His skill isn’t as good as mine, but he just loves playing Go…” Chris Bolton sighed. “I’m afraid he’s not in the mood for Go right now…”

　　Adam Bolton was thinking about how to steer the conversation toward the Henry Harris case. If he directly told his father that he had lived through the next fourteen years and that the truth about the Henry Harris case would come out in about five years, his father probably wouldn’t accept it—he might even send him to a mental hospital.

　　“I heard Secretary Reed say that Uncle Harris asked you to go away for a while. Why did you have to leave?” Adam Bolton asked, pretending to be confused.

　　“Oh, you weren’t asleep then?”

　　“I vaguely heard a bit,” Adam Bolton said. “Didn’t open my eyes to see, but I recognized Secretary Reed’s voice…”

　　“Nothing happened, you don’t need to worry…” Chris Bolton stroked his son’s head heavily, sighed, and then asked, “Adam Bolton, what do you think of Uncle Harris as a person?”

　　“Why aren’t you sleeping yet?” Julia Evans came out of the bedroom and walked over to tidy up the chessboard. “You don’t know what kind of person Henry Harris is, so you’re asking your son? Don’t you understand organizational procedures? The provincial inspection team is putting Henry Harris under investigation—they can’t possibly do that without solid evidence. They’re just gathering more proof now. The rumors are everywhere: the HR manager at Xinfeng Group—isn’t her name Xu Si?—she’s Henry Harris’s mistress. Jiang Mingcheng used this vixen to funnel money to Henry Harris. That vixen only got her job at Xinfeng Group because Henry Harris pulled strings for her… These stories are all over the place, and you think they’re just baseless rumors?”