After a moment, William Thompson stood up and looked toward the sky outside the hall, which was already tinged with a faint blue-gray. “There’s nothing pressing today. I’ll leave the palace for a bit.”

He wanted to see if he was just imagining things.

·

Edward Harris was “gravely ill” at home, yet the gates of the Ning residence were eerily quiet—no colleagues had come to visit, a stark contrast to the last time when the threshold was nearly worn down by visitors.

The only one who came to check in was Jason Grant.

When Jason Grant entered the residence carrying lavish gifts, he was met with the heavy scent of medicinal herbs filling the entire estate. Wisps of white smoke curled above the main courtyard, making it seem as if the master’s days were numbered.

The servants were all busy hanging white cloths, and not a single one came to announce his arrival.

His heart skipped a beat, and he rushed straight to the main courtyard. “Henry Harris!”

He hurried through the front yard and stepped into the main courtyard, only to be greeted by a cloud of white smoke.

As the smoke cleared, he saw Edward Harris, Eric Young, and Grace gathered around a small table in the courtyard, enjoying hotpot. Each of their faces was flushed from the food.

They looked cheerful and festive, the very picture of happiness.

Jason Grant was completely stunned.

“Let’s cook some more pork belly…” Edward Harris was happily eating, then turned to see Jason Grant standing at the entrance. “What brings you here?”

Jason Grant stared at him, his lips trembling.

As if he was about to unleash a string of curses.

After glancing at the gift box in Jason Grant’s hand, Edward Harris quickly put down his chopsticks and awkwardly called out, “You didn’t have to bring anything… Uncle Young, hurry and help him with that, it looks heavy.”

Eric Young, ever perceptive, stepped forward to take the gifts and carried them inside.

Jason Grant finally snapped out of it. “Is this… your last burst of energy before death?”

Edward Harris marveled, “Do you talk like this when you visit other sick people?”

Jason Grant basked in his gentle gaze.

A shiver ran through him, and he was fully awake.

…

A quarter of an hour later, an extra set of bowls and chopsticks had been added to the table.

Jason Grant had heard the whole story from start to finish.

He began to consider the possibility of taking his gifts back.

Edward Harris, reading his expression, casually remarked, “By the way, that teacup flew right past my shoulder at the time. Bang! The shards hit George Hall.”

Jason Grant swallowed. “Oh…”

Edward Harris dipped some pork belly into the hotpot. “The board they use to cut pork—about that long. When the Jinyiwei carried that bloody, mangled piece of flesh past me, His Majesty even whispered to me: David Harris, don’t let me down…”

“All right, all right!” Jason Grant felt his scalp tingle and nearly dropped his chopsticks. “You’ve suffered enough, don’t talk about it anymore.”

He also gave up on the idea of taking the gifts back.

Edward Harris contentedly fished more food from the hotpot.

Jason Grant could barely eat. “You’re supposed to be ‘gravely ill and on the verge of death’—do you have to live so well? If others find out…”

“Don’t worry,” Edward Harris said with ease. “Right now, not even a dog comes to our house.”

“……”

After he finished, he noticed Jason Grant’s odd expression and quickly added, “Except for you.”

Jason Grant’s face twisted even more.

The two were enthusiastically clashing chopsticks in the pot when suddenly Grace called out toward the courtyard gate:

“Master! Besides Mr. Grant and dogs, someone else is here!”

Edward Harris: ?

Jason Grant: ??? What’s that supposed to mean?

They both turned to look toward the gate, and through the swirling white smoke, they were startled to see a figure standing silently at the entrance.

“……” Edward Harris’s heart skipped a beat.

The deepening twilight and the smoke blurred the visitor’s features.

Only the tall, upright figure was clear, with a “servant” beside him who looked like he wanted to bury his head in his chest. A cool, jade-like voice cut through the haze:

“Mr. Harris is in quite the mood.”

Edward Harris’s breath caught, and he was instantly dizzy:

Why is William Thompson here!

“You…” He had just started to speak when the figure beside him suddenly moved.

He saw Eric Young instinctively get up, about to repeat his earlier routine and go help Brian Clark with the heavy gifts. “You didn’t have to bring anything—”

“Don’t…!” Edward Harris quickly pulled Eric Young back.

A gust of night wind swept through, dispersing the white smoke.

Across half the courtyard, he met William Thompson’s gaze, deeper than the twilight itself. He swallowed hard, then stood up and brushed off the stone stool, inviting him to sit. “…Please, make yourself at home.”

William Thompson looked at his flushed, well-fed face.

A cold laugh escaped him. “Heh.”

Author’s note:

William Thompson: I heard the treacherous minister was dying, so I came to take a look.

After seeing him…

William Thompson: In two lifetimes, I’ve never seen anyone look so healthy :)

Edward Harris: Hotpot, delicious, more more～

Chapter 8: Gathering Together

Edward Harris moistened his lips. How should he respond…

With a smile, or in silence?

Seeing that William Thompson was still standing there, he stepped aside and gently invited, “Come, have a seat.” While it’s hot.

After a brief stare, William Thompson finally walked over.

Only then did Eric Young and Grace realize it was Brian Clark, and immediately dropped to their knees in shock. “Y-Your Majesty!”

Grace was especially terrified, her pupils trembling, and she kept muttering that unforgivable phrase: Mr. Grant and dogs, Mr. Grant and dogs…

Edward Harris caught a glimpse and thought, “……” This unlucky child.