“Much better, it’s just... there are many things from the past I can’t remember.”

“Come over here and answer me, what are you afraid of? You had the guts to trade things for wine but not to admit it? ...” John Brooks didn’t even look up, continuing to write with a swift, steady hand.

“Oh...” Like a snail, after a long while I finally stood side by side with a famous figure from the Tang Dynasty. It felt just like standing next to the dean during a group photo at school—awkward and full of a sense of crisis.

John Brooks’s calligraphy was beautiful. With a lift and twist of the wrist, tiny, neat characters appeared under his brush, yet they exuded a vigorous and ancient charm. Watching Old Master Brooks write was like appreciating an artistic mood—truly mesmerizing.

Old Man Brooks seemed to sneak a glance at me. I pretended not to notice, continuing to stare intently at the tribute paper, wearing an expression of intoxication and admiration. Since many of the characters were in traditional script and I hadn’t studied classical Chinese much, I could only grasp the general meaning from the text. It seemed Old Man Brooks was preparing a memorial to present to Li Shimin about the people's livelihood.

John Brooks finally finished, slowly placing his brush on the rack. “I heard from Henry Brooks that you left the residence again yesterday?”

“Yes...” The old man’s intentions were unclear, so I had to respond cautiously.

“Drunk again?” The old man swayed past me, step by step, and sat down on the low couch. Immediately, a maid brought him tea. Strangely, why would the grand chancellor’s maids... uh, calling them maids seems a bit off... they were at least forty years old, and their looks... honestly, I didn’t have the courage to take a second glance. It seems the old lady’s supervision methods have reached perfection. A moment of silence for this Tang Dynasty chancellor struggling to survive under the thumb of a formidable woman.

“Yes...” I sneaked a glance; the old man’s expression hadn’t changed at all.

“Come, sit down.”

“Oh...” I plopped down across from the old man, secretly hoping the maid auntie would bring me a cup too, but the old man said, “All of you, leave...” Swish, swish, swish—the maids vanished like ninjas.

“Nonsense!” The old man shouted angrily, making my trembling hands and feet shake even more.

“Unfilial child!... Have you forgotten why your father punished you?” The old man’s voice grew louder and louder, his once dignified face starting to twist, his three long whiskers trembling rhythmically, and his right hand forming a knife shape—he looked about to explode.

“Ah?!” I hesitated—should I cheer for John Brooks’s righteous act of beating a prodigal son, or should I run for cover?

Chapter 6: Burning Books to Roast Goose?

Just as I was struggling to decide, “Master...” my mother Madam Foster’s gentle voice sounded like heavenly music. Buddha, have you shown your spirit?

“Hmph!...” Old Brooks snorted disdainfully, his knife-hand turning into an eagle’s claw as he grabbed the teacup and gulped it down. Good move.

Madam Foster appeared ethereally before me and Old Brooks. It seemed Madam Foster had long anticipated Old Brooks’s narrow-mindedness and pettiness. With a swish of her long skirt, she gracefully sat beside Old Brooks: “Master, really, Jun’er was so badly hurt, and only just now is he getting better. If you’re going to hit him again, you might as well divorce me first and give me a white silk scarf, so I don’t have to watch father and son turn against each other...”

Cold sweat instantly broke out on my forehead. Mom’s killer move is just too...

“Hmph!... Madam, even now you still protect this unfilial child!” Old Brooks’s spittle flew like arrows, and I could only brace myself to face this fierce storm.

“Yesterday, it was I who sent Jun’er out. If there’s blame, it should fall on me... Besides, our Jun’er made quite a splash yesterday and didn’t do anything out of line.” Madam Foster spoke softly, as if chatting with her old companion. I could clearly see Old Brooks’s anger value plummeting, the raging fire instantly reduced to a flickering ember.

“Sigh... Madam, it’s not that I don’t care, but when will this child ever learn? He’s neither good at literature nor at martial arts, always causing trouble—when has he not stirred up something? He’s almost lost all the Brooks family’s face.” Old Brooks seemed to have aged a lot, sounding a bit bitter... Yes, just like seeing my own father scolding me in the past.

“Father... I... Chris deserves to die!” I lowered my head and answered loudly. That kid really deserved it—with such a good mother and a father who strictly demanded he be a good person, and yet...

“All right, all right, Master, Jun’er has admitted his mistake. Jun’er, pour tea for your father.” Madam Foster looked at me with the same loving gaze as always, making my heart ache. I really wanted to tell her that her son... No, I am Chris Brooks, I am Chris Brooks. As for that bastard, let him reincarnate as a bully city inspector or a bandit cop in some other world.

I respectfully poured tea for my father and filled a cup for Madam Foster as well. Old Brooks glanced at me, and there seemed to be something in his eyes. When I looked up, I saw him look away with a cold snort. Such a grown man, yet still so childish... It seems Old Brooks really does care deeply for Chris Brooks, the prodigal son. That day, he must have lost control out of anger.