"Master Henderson, the rainfall has been abundant this year. The crops in these fields should have a good harvest."
The overseer of the fields came over, respectfully standing to the side. Henry Henderson smiled happily, looking at the farmland stretching to the distant mountains, his heart filled with hope.
"Would you like me to bring a chair for you, Master Henderson, and prepare some refreshments?"
Henry Henderson waved his hand, indicating he wanted to sit quietly on the ridge by himself.
"If Eugene had half your wisdom, perhaps he wouldn’t have died."
In Henry Henderson’s memory, Eugene Henderson was the smartest of his three sons. He was capable of anything since childhood, but he was too eager for quick success. Although he saved the family and changed everything, all of this started because of him. He simply fulfilled his duty.
Thinking of this, Henry Henderson’s eyes grew moist. If Maggie Mute hadn’t seen through Henry’s thoughts and insisted on bringing Eugene back, perhaps the Henderson Family would have ended right then.
Henry Henderson looked down on all the children from the branch families. Anyone who was too eager for quick success could not inherit the family. Thinking carefully, Maggie Mute must already know what the Henderson Family truly does, but she never speaks.
A baby girl picked up by a kind farmer, who cried until she lost her voice, is now twenty years old—well past the age for marriage, yet no one cares for her. But bit by bit, she approached Eugene Henderson and won his heart, or rather, became the Henderson Family’s daughter-in-law. Henry Henderson witnessed every step.
This child, John Chou, nearly perfectly inherited his mother’s qualities. He is very observant and learned to endure at a young age. During the years mother and son spent together, Maggie Mute must have taught John Chou through body language. This is what makes Henry Henderson happiest.
Maggie Mute smiled softly and shook her head. She walked over with graceful steps, crouched down, and traced a few words on the dusty ground with her finger: "Man proposes, God disposes."
Henry Henderson stared at Maggie Mute in disbelief, his eyes wide. Then, suddenly, he burst into loud, almost desperate laughter.
"Maybe all of this is just fate."
By midday, John Chou’s stomach was already growling with hunger. The moment they entered Dingtown, he lit up with joy, drawn in by the bustling, lively streets. He couldn’t stop looking around, eyes wide with curiosity and longing.
Restaurants lined the streets. When Zane Zhuang first came into town, shopkeepers called out, greeting him warmly as if clinging to the last vestiges of old respect.
"You four, keep a close eye on the young master. I have business to handle. After you’ve eaten, take him straight to Henderson Ceramics."
Zane Zhuang stepped into a butcher’s shop, pulled some coins from his pocket, and set them on the table. He was about to leave when John Chou suddenly dashed out, grabbing his hand tightly.
"What is it, young master?"
"Take this. Sell it—you’ll get a good price. Just don’t sell it here; it was a birthday gift."
As John Chou spoke, he pulled a round medallion from his coat. It was gold, shaped like a snake, so lifelike it almost seemed to writhe in his palm.
"Young master, this..."
"Just take it. Consider it my apology for grabbing your hand. Uncle Zhuang, be quick and come back soon."
Zane Zhuang’s heart twisted with mixed emotions. His hand still ached, but it was nothing serious. He was headed to the old Zhuang family home on the edge of town, now reduced to squalor and poverty.
"Thank you, young master."
"No need for thanks."
John Chou grinned and dashed back inside. Zane Zhuang quickly tucked the medallion away. Life for the Zhuang family had become a daily struggle—a big family with no means to survive, barely scraping by for food and shelter, bullied by the locals whenever they showed weakness.
Zane Zhuang hurried down the main road. After a while, he reached a dirt path lined with crumbling shacks—a cluster of houses on Dingtown’s western edge, home to the destitute. As he passed, beggars reached out, blocking his way on their knees, hands outstretched for coins.
Zane Zhuang sighed. The place was filthy and chaotic, overrun with beggars.
At last, Zane Zhuang scattered a handful of loose change. Only then could he ride through on horseback, the crowd parting just enough to let him pass.
In front of a ruined courtyard, the gate hung open. An old man with wild hair and a long, tangled beard sat at the threshold. As Zane Zhuang approached, the old man’s eyes lit up and he struggled to his feet, a fleeting spark of joy in his weary face.
"Xian’er is back."
With shouts echoing, ragged figures poured from the houses—they were all Johnsons. His father, Noah Johnson, sat silent in a corner, head bowed. Zane Zhuang set down the rice and flour he’d bought, handed money to Madam Jian, then walked toward his father. Every time Zane returned, it was like a holiday—everyone praised him, but he ignored their words, so different from his childhood.
"Father."
Zane Zhuang approached, crouching low. Noah Johnson’s vacant eyes flickered with a bitter sneer. He shook his head—the family’s ruin was a wound that never healed. Zane pulled out the gold medallion and placed it in his father’s hand. With a harsh clang, Noah Johnson flung it away, glaring at his son with raw resentment.
The others rushed in, and Madam Jian snatched up the gold medallion.
"Madam Jian, you can only sell this outside, not here—do you understand?"
"I don’t need your pity. Hmph."
Noah Johnson forced a laugh and turned away, his figure radiating loneliness and defeat.
"I’ll be back."
Just outside, a group of men with hostile intent closed in. Zane Zhuang’s gaze swept the crowd, cold and unyielding.
"Listen up. Next time I come back, if I hear you’ve bullied anyone here, I’ll kill you myself."
Zane Zhuang roared, fury burning in his voice. The men scattered, and with a heavy heart, Zane left the low, crumbling houses behind.
Zane felt nothing for the Johnsons anymore. Seeing their fall—once as powerful in Dingtown as the Hendersons—left him bitter. If he abandoned them, they’d starve. These pampered souls had no idea how to survive.
He remembered his first visit—the Johnsons hadn’t eaten a full meal in days. Zane suggested countless jobs, but they always found something to complain about.
"Young master, why are you..."
Zane Zhuang paused. John Chou’s guards had bought food and were handing it out to the poor. Children gathered around, laughing and playing.
"We’ve been waiting for you, Uncle Zhuang. How did it go?"
Zane Zhuang shook his head.
"Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime. Uncle Zhuang, let’s move!"
John Chou turned and walked away, slow and deliberate. Zane Zhuang was stunned—he never expected such words from John Chou.
Zane had considered it, but never had the resolve. He feared wounding his father’s pride. Forcing him to work at Henderson Ceramics might be worse than death.
"Uncle Zhuang, people are strange. Sometimes, they’d rather die than take a single step forward."
Trailing behind John Chou, Zane Zhuang’s mind flashed back to his mother and childhood. She could have left, but chose to endure everything in the Johnson family—and died because of it.
"Young master, where did you hear things like that?"
John Chou smiled, pointing to his eyes.
"Most people just look. I observe."