Ethan Young spoke quietly, timidly, and very politely: "Thank you, officer."

Bro Charles was so angry he almost leapt over the table to tear off this person's fake mask: "Stop fucking acting! I'm the one who got beaten up, I'm the real victim!"

The police officer tapped the table with a folder: "If you keep yelling, get out! Look at how scared you've made the kid!"

Ethan Young cooperated by trembling twice, pretending to be frightened by the gangster. Although his acting was half-hearted, the effect was remarkable.

Fake, it's all fake! You're blind!

Bro Charles was roaring inside.

What kind of monster is this guy anyway? So young and already so good at pretending to be a sheep!

He's obviously a fucking wolf!

By the time Ethan Young left, it was almost dark. He bore no responsibility at all, and shirked it perfectly.

With the market ladies adding fuel to the fire, Bro Charles was nailed with the blame. The injuries on his body were determined to be "God knows where and by whom he was beaten," so he had to cough up five hundred yuan and write a letter of guarantee, deeply reflecting and swearing never to trouble the people of Heishui Street again, to turn over a new leaf and become a better person.

Bro Charles stuck his butt out, lying on the table, with a Xinhua Dictionary at hand, flipping through it for words he didn't know how to write—they wouldn't even let him use pinyin.

You could say this was one of the most humiliating experiences of his life.

As Ethan Young was walking out, Bro Charles called out to him.

The police officer gripped his baton, on full alert, and sternly warned: "Charles Carter! What are you trying to do now?"

"I'm not doing anything, you're watching me, what could I do? I just want to say something to him." After speaking, Bro Charles stared at Ethan Young, unwilling to give up, and asked, "Which gang are you from?"

Ethan Young stopped, and looked at him with a complicated expression, as if looking at an idiot.

Bro Charles repeated the question, pressing on: "Which gang are you from, exactly?!" He felt the social forces behind this person were unfathomable. He had to know which big shot he'd messed with this time—even if he died, he wanted to die knowing why.

Under Bro Charles's burning gaze, Ethan Young slowly opened his mouth: "Me? I walk the road of Chinese socialism."

Bro Charles: ""

A familiar silver-white Bentley was parked at the police station entrance. Grace Miller sat in the car, her profile faintly visible through the window.

Ethan Young got in the car: "Mom."

Grace Miller didn't say anything.

Ethan Young continued, "Actually, you didn't need to come today. I knew how to handle it."

That Bro Charles—he'd known from the start that this guy was just bluffing. Real tough guys don't go around bragging about 'having done time in prison,' and they certainly don't only dare to show up when Guangmao is short-staffed after drinking. In the end, he was even dumb enough to call the police himself.

Silence filled the air. After the car had driven for a while, Grace Miller finally said, "You still know I'm your mother? Why did you come here again for no reason? In the end, the police said you didn't do it, but it was you, wasn't it?"

Ethan Young leaned back and said nonchalantly, "It was me. Are you embarrassed by me?"

Grace Miller's hand gripped the edge of the plush seat cover, her knuckles standing out. She paused, then said harshly, "Yes, I'm embarrassed! If you know it's embarrassing, then stop doing these embarrassing things!"

The driver sighed in the front seat and tried to smooth things over: "Second Young Master, don't talk back to Madam. She was worried about you the whole way here, afraid something might have happened to you."

Ethan Young wanted to say, don't call me Second Young Master, I'm not your Cooper Family Second Young Master.

Every time he heard those words, he felt uncomfortable all over, like being forced into an ill-fitting suit, choking him so he couldn't breathe.

Grace Miller calmed down and changed the subject: "I've found a few tutors for you. Starting tomorrow until school starts, you're not going anywhere—just stay home and study. You know exactly what your grades are like."

Ethan Young said, "No need. My grades are what they are, don't waste your effort."

Grace Miller: "You won't go abroad when I arrange it, and look at what you do all day staying here. You're a mess, can't even stick to the wall with mud. Tell me, what do you want to do?!"

The car slowly drove into the underground garage. This was a private villa, surrounded by green hills and water. It had rained a few days ago, and the mist hadn't yet cleared, the dampness hitting them as they entered.

Ethan Young opened the car door and got out, retorting, "I know what I'm doing with my own life."

Grace Miller was so angry at his attitude she couldn't speak. The driver tried to comfort her: "It's just a rebellious phase, boys are always like this, sharp edges that prick people. My kid was like this too—just get through it, he'll understand eventually."

Grace Miller sat in the car, rubbing her temples, unable to say a word.

-- Awesome, Boss Young, you said you'd come see me, and you ended up in the police station. I'm so fucking touched.

-- Are you out of the station yet? Want me to come bail you out?

Sender: Ray.

Ethan Young was reading the text as he walked into the house.

He was busy changing clothes and didn't have time to type, so he just called.

At this hour, Ray should still be helping out at the barbecue stall.

Sure enough, when the call connected, the first thing he heard wasn't Ray's voice, but someone saying, "Ten more skewers of lamb."

"Coming, coming, table three, ten skewers of lamb."

After saying that, Ray yanked off his apron and slipped out the back door: "Boss Young, you okay? Are you home? Damn, you just go in and out of the station like it's nothing, your temper hasn't changed a bit in ten years."

Ethan Young had just taken off his t-shirt, bare-chested: "What could happen to me? Oh, keep an eye on that Doggie Bro for me, I'm worried he'll go bother Aunt May again."

"Doggie Bro?" Ray thought for a moment, then realized, "You mean that Bro Charles?"

Ethan Young: "Close enough."

Ray: "That's not really close at all."

Ray asked again, "You've always been like this, never remembering people's names. Do you even remember what my name is?"

Ethan Young: "Ray Jones, are you sick or something."

"As long as you remember, as long as you remember. With your attitude, I wouldn't be surprised if you really forgot."

Ray found a little plastic stool, sat down, pulled out a Zhonghua cigarette, and continued, "Aunt May doesn't need me to protect her—if anything, she looks after me. I'm just a little prince of the barbecue stall at best, she's the real big boss of Heishui Street."

Ethan Young noticed there was more to his words: "What do you mean?"

"You left early, so you don't know. Aunt May found some people and stripped him of everything. All that talk about doing time and killing people is just hot air—he only ever stole something, and got caught by the owner. I don't think he can stay in Heishui Street anymore. Protection money isn't that easy to collect around here."

Ethan Young put his phone on the bed, getting ready to change his pants.

As Ray kept talking, maybe because he was feeling lonely smoking, he suddenly got sentimental: "Makes me think of when we all used to hang out together. Those were good times. But I'm happy for you too—Cooper Family is famous for being rich in A City, and now they've opened branches in B City. Your mom married in, and you never have to worry about food or clothes again, not like before, always hiding from debt collectors."

Ethan Young didn't bother changing his pants, let go, and flopped onto the bed. The chandelier was so bright it hurt his eyes. He didn't know if he was asking someone else or himself: "Really?"

It was too noisy on Ray's end, he didn't hear what Ethan Young said. He took one last drag of his cigarette, got up and said, "Boss Young, I won't chat anymore, table three is starting to complain. Damn, they're even banging on the table—if they're not careful, I'll shove the charcoal in their faces—"

The call ended.

Ethan Young lay on the bed in a daze.

After a while, he scratched his head, just about to get up and shower, when he felt a hard little square in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw it was a flyer—the gaudy yellow ad he hadn't had time to throw away.

Unexpectedly, what it was promoting wasn't some nude chat app, because he caught sight of four bold black characters at the bottom: Quiz Masters Clash.

Ethan Young raised an eyebrow, thinking this kind of bait-and-switch was pretty novel.

He casually flipped the flyer over.

On the back it said: Here you'll find the latest and most complete Olympiad math problems, the most thrilling arena battles, questions covering Chinese, math, English, physics, and chemistry, hundreds of professors carefully crafting questions, giving you unexpected trap experiences—there's no hardest, only harder.

Will you be the quiz king we've been waiting for?

Isn't it mysterious! Isn't it exciting! Good brother~ ah~ come on~

Ethan Young: ""

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4. Chapter Four

Grace Miller entered the house a few steps later, took off her shawl and handed it to the maid: "Is dinner ready?"