John Chou sat quietly on the edge of the bed. It was still early in the day, and he had just dreamed of the little girl he often saw—she was crying, heartbroken. He pressed his hand to his chest, feeling a sorrow so deep it was as if it were his own.
He had never felt this way before. John Chou walked outside; the early spring morning was still a bit chilly. Today, he planned to go to Dingtown, to visit the Henderson Ceramics factory. These days, he had been visiting various Henderson Family businesses, always accompanied by Mr. Brown. After all, he still couldn't understand what Henry Henderson meant by those words that day.
Now that John Chou was already six years old—he had just celebrated his sixth birthday not long ago—and in ten months, it would be time for his agreement with Henry Henderson. He was a little afraid, especially of what Henry Henderson had said about driving him and his mother out of the Henderson Family. He was very uneasy about it.
“How am I supposed to investigate something so vague? Mr. Brown doesn't know, and Victor Fan would never tell me.”
“Young master, you're up so early.”
Just as John Chou stepped out of his room, he saw Mr. Cash busy in the courtyard. He was the Henderson Family's fire tender, responsible for the firewood. In the courtyard, there was a large pot over a fire, and Mr. Cash was arranging the wood.
“Mr. Cash, how many years have you been with our Henderson Family?”
Mr. Cash smiled and held up three fingers.
“Thirty years, young master. I watched Master Eugene grow up, and now I get to watch you grow up too.”
John Chou smiled and ran over to him.
“Mr. Cash, do you know what the Henderson family really does?”
“A big business, of course! And the master holds an official position at court, so he receives a stipend. Why do you ask, young master?”
Mr. Cash shook his head helplessly and kept tidying up. Everyone in the Henderson family knew this young master was a bit slow-witted. Henry Henderson’s choice of John Chou as heir had left the whole family bewildered.
Many assumed it was simply because Henry Henderson was getting old and a bit muddled. But it was understandable—no matter how lacking John Chou seemed, from the day he was born, he was destined to inherit the Henderson family’s estate.
It was still early. John Chou planned to wake Zane Zhuang and head to Dingtown soon. He hadn’t visited in ages, and the streets there were full of delicious food and fun things, plus he could stay at Victor Fan’s house.
He’d been there many times before. Everything in Victor Fan’s home felt natural and soothing, with a comforting atmosphere John Chou loved. Victor Fan would always tell him fascinating stories in private.
Most importantly, John Chou hoped to catch a hint from Victor Fan’s words about the thing Henry Henderson wanted him to find.
He walked through a long stretch of residential area—this used to be where the Branch Family lived. It was once lively as a bustling street, but now stood deserted, cold and quiet, with only a few servants left. Many smiled and greeted John Chou when they saw him, and he returned their greetings just as he always had.
Though the servants thought John Chou was a bit simple-minded, he was genuinely kind, never putting on the airs of a young master and always showing respect to his elders.
“Young master, Mr. Brown hasn’t gotten up yet. He drank quite a bit last night.”
A woman sprinkling water on the street called out, and John Chou pursed his lips and hurried over.
He reached the end of the courtyard—a three-story building. John Chou opened the door, tiptoed up to the third floor, and as soon as he reached the doorway, he smelled a heavy stench of alcohol. Pinching his nose, he gently pushed open Zane Zhuang’s door. Inside, he heard loud snoring; Zane Zhuang was still asleep.
Once inside, John Chou glanced around. He still suspected Zane Zhuang knew something and was hiding it from him. Zane Zhuang wasn’t much of a liar, and after John Chou’s constant probing, he’d finally let slip a few clues.
John Chou started searching Zane Zhuang’s room. Aside from a huge stack of thick account books, he found almost nothing else. Then he realized the account books were the easiest place to spot clues, so he opened the window and began flipping through them.
After a short while, he chuckled. As he suspected, Zane Zhuang had fiddled with the cabbage expenses, skimming off some profit—not very skillfully, either. John Chou carefully added a few notes with his pen, then examined many rolls of bamboo scrolls, but found nothing relevant. Except for the missing vegetable money, the main funds were all accounted for; nothing seemed out of place.
John Chou had asked Henry Henderson for the family account books before, but Henry told him to check for himself. Most of the records were held at the family businesses in town—land, timber, livestock. John Chou had looked through all of them and found not a single clue.
Today, he planned to go to Dingtown and check the accounts at Henderson Ceramics. Victor Fan had taught him basic arithmetic, and John Chou had listened intently, even asking Victor Fan about numbers in private. Victor Fan always explained patiently, demonstrating as he went.
John Chou tossed aside the bamboo scrolls in frustration and turned to look at Zane Zhuang, still snoring on the bed. The sun was nearly up. Rubbing his dry eyes, John Chou resumed searching the room. That’s when he found a small badge he’d never seen before. It bore the Henderson character, intricately hollowed out in the center. He couldn’t tell what material it was made of—cold in his hand, but not like stone.
“What on earth is this?”
John Chou looked at it, glanced around, lit an oil lamp, and held the badge over the flame for a while. It started to get hot, so he quickly let go. The badge hadn’t turned black—if it were metal, it should have. But it didn’t feel like stone either. He put it in water, but nothing changed.
[Irrelevant system prompt skipped.]
“Young master, what are you doing?”
Zane Zhuang woke up, bleary-eyed, and saw John Chou brandishing a small hammer, ready to smash something. On the table was the Henderson Badge he always carried. Alarmed, he rushed over and clamped his hand over the badge.
With a bang, John Chou dropped the hammer in a panic. Zane Zhuang grimaced, clutching his hand in pain.
“Young master, what are you doing?”
“I just wanted to see if there was anything inside, or maybe...”
Mr. Brown blew on his hand, face twisted in anger, and began to scold him.
“What else could it be? It’s the Henderson family’s Order Token! When I help the master with dealings in other countries, I use it as proof of identity. If you break it, the master will punish me!”
“Sorry, Mr. Brown. I guess you really didn’t know.”
Zane Zhuang shot a sideways glance at the brooding John Chou, utterly helpless. The Henderson family dealt in such intricate intelligence work—it was far too much for a child barely six years old. Zane Zhuang had fetched intelligence for Henry Henderson many times, and the family's secrecy was nearly flawless.
In Zane Zhuang’s memory, the Henderson family had never slipped up. Their base in Dingtown radiated influence to neighboring countries, controlling a vast intelligence network.
“Young master, let me wash up and grab a bite, then we’ll head to Dingtown!”
John Chou grunted in reply, still pondering how he could uncover the true nature of the Henderson family’s business. Checking the account books was clearly pointless. He’d asked Henry Henderson if there was a second set of books, but Henry insisted there was only one.
With four guards and Mr. Brown in tow, John Chou mounted a horse. He’d practiced before and even fallen off once, but now he could ride alone without trouble.
Maggie Mute stood at the door, watching John Chou climb onto the horse with Mr. Brown’s help, and smiled, waving to him.
“Mother, when I come back tonight, I want roast meat and rice.”
Maggie Mute nodded, her eyes signaling John Chou to be careful.
The five horses sped off. Henry Henderson stepped behind Maggie Mute, who bowed deeply; Henry nodded in return.
“Maggie, the reason John Chou is so clever must be because he inherited everything from you.”
Maggie Mute looked at Henry Henderson in confusion. He shook his head, said nothing, and left the Henderson estate with several servants.
People say those who cannot speak are better at reading others and at enduring hardship. To inherit the Henderson family’s legacy, a man must learn endurance—or trouble will surely follow. The moment Henry Henderson realized John Chou was only pretending to be slow, he decided to entrust him with the family’s future.
There was cunning, too—Henry Henderson had seen it in this woman for years. Born mute, with dark skin, and though not unattractive, no one in these rural parts wanted a woman with such a disability.
Henry Henderson saw everything: how Maggie Mute approached his son Eugene Henderson after the family fell on hard times and moved here, how she still had some savings and managed to get by, and how she began spending time with his son, listening to him every day.
When the sun was high, Henry Henderson sat quietly at the edge of a freshly planted field. He used to watch his son and Maggie Mute sit here together, and every time he came, he couldn’t help but feel sorrow.
“She really is an extraordinarily clever woman—she knows how to seize the moment. If she didn’t, she’d be doomed to a lifetime of toil.”