Mr. Foster's expression changed slightly, and he forced a laugh as he said, "That place is just a side room, also part of my residence, it's nothing, really nothing. Master, please come—hiss, what are you coming out for?"

He wanted to redirect Gavin Clark's attention back to the main house, but just as he spoke, a figure appeared from behind the narrow door.

It was a young man dressed in a thick gray-blue robe, looking to be in his early twenties, about the same age as Gavin Clark. However, his expression and demeanor were extremely odd—he clung to the doorframe with both hands, his face timid yet full of curiosity, just like a little child hiding behind a door to peek at guests.

When Mr. Foster called out to him, he immediately became flustered, instinctively shrinking back behind the door, but not completely—half his face was still visible.

There was no bright lantern there, so the man's features appeared quite blurry.

Henry Grant couldn't make out his face, but instinctively felt that this man had an unusual relationship with Mr. Foster. He quietly whispered to Nathaniel Sullivan, "Who is that? Do you know him?"

Nathaniel Sullivan listlessly replied without even looking, "I've never been to the steward's residence, how would I know?"

Gavin Clark frowned and glanced at the clearly uneasy Mr. Foster, then stepped toward the narrow door.

"Hey, hey, Master—" Mr. Foster had probably never met a monk who treated him so casually, and hurried after him, calling out, "He's no trouble, really. That's my good-for-nothing eldest son, Charles Foster. He's family, nothing suspicious about him."

He seemed worried that his somewhat problematic eldest son would embarrass him in front of others, and seeing that he couldn't stop Gavin Clark, he waved at Charles Foster behind the door, half coaxing, half shooing: "Chong'er, be good, go back to your room and stay there. Father is discussing important matters with the master."

At this, Gavin Clark gave him another indifferent glance.

Gavin Clark said coolly, "You have people arranging a 'meandering stream into the main hall' in front of your hall. This setup requires wind to be hidden in the east and west, energy to gather in the north and south, and a balance of yin and yang. But on your west side, there's a wind passage."

Not only that, but the southwest corner was cramped and gloomy, suppressing yin energy—clearly not a balanced arrangement.

Henry Grant followed his gaze and looked at the shadowy narrow passage behind the door, thinking: Either the person Mr. Foster originally hired to arrange this was an amateur, or... this passage was later expanded by Mr. Foster himself.

Sure enough, when Mr. Foster heard Gavin Clark's words, his expression became awkward. He opened his mouth and said, "To be honest, this narrow passage was added later."

As he spoke, Gavin Clark had already stepped over the threshold and stood behind the narrow door.

Lucas Foster's eldest son, Charles Foster, saw the guests approaching, and first shrank back a few steps along the wall, then gave Gavin Clark a shy smile.

Henry Grant noticed that his movements were clumsy—not because of illness, but simply awkward. He wasn't bad-looking, clearly taking after his mother rather than his father: fair skin, big eyes, should have been a clever-looking boy, and his smile should have been endearing. But because of the overly naive look in his eyes, his smile seemed a bit foolish.

It was obvious that Charles Foster was an idiot.

No matter how Mr. Foster had called out before, whether stern or gentle, Gavin Clark had always acted indifferent. But now, facing a silly, grinning fool, Gavin Clark suddenly seemed to remember what "courtesy" was—he nodded to Charles Foster. Though his face was still expressionless, it was at least a response.

Mr. Foster's face immediately turned a bit green. Clearly, in Gavin Clark's eyes, he, a county steward, was not even as good as a fool.

There was more than just a narrow passage behind the door.

Henry Grant peeked from the hidden pocket and saw that the end of the passage was not a dead end, but an unremarkable little room. The room was built very stingily, at first glance looking like a storage space. However, Henry Grant saw the fool Charles Foster timidly retreating toward that room.

A person ignorant of the world, when encountering strangers, will only run to a place that makes him feel safe—either to his parents, or to his own room. This was something Henry Grant had noticed after mingling in the marketplace for half a year.

Charles Foster clearly belonged to the latter.

Henry Grant immediately thought Mr. Foster was a strange man—what kind of father would let his own son live in such a gloomy, lightless place? Was he raising his son like a mole?

Besides, who knew what was wrong with this room—it was so heavy with yin energy that, if he hadn't seen with his own eyes that it was for the living, Henry Grant would have suspected it was a burial mound.

Earlier, Mr. Foster had been evasive, probably afraid that Gavin Clark would see this room, but Gavin Clark saw it anyway. So he could only put on a thick skin and explain, obviously lying, "My son is a bit odd in temperament, doesn't like crowds, always says he wants a quiet place to live."

Henry Grant: "..." What a load of crap! Why don't you just send him to live on a wild grave outside the city? That's the quietest place, and the yin energy isn't even as heavy as here.

Even Mr. Foster himself felt embarrassed saying such nonsense, coughed dryly, and tried to change the subject: "Is the wind passage the master mentioned referring to this narrow corridor?"

Gavin Clark replied, "And this room as well."

"If I have someone block the high window on the south side of that room, will the wind passage on the west side be gone?" Mr. Foster asked.