Fortunately, William Thompson had no intention of making things difficult for them. He said, “No need for formalities,” and stopped in front of Edward Harris.

　　He came closer.

　　Only then did he see that the person before him not only had cheeks flushed from eating, but even his lips were rosy and glossy, echoing the red mole on the rim of his ear. In this courtyard shrouded in mist and plainness, the vividness was striking.

　　It carried a kind of brilliance and liveliness he had never seen in his memories.

　　William Thompson gazed steadily, saying nothing.

　　Facing that silent scrutiny, Edward Harris pressed his lips together a little nervously:

　　Why is he looking so seriously...

　　Could it be that some chili powder stuck to his philtrum?

　　He quietly licked his upper lip: Hmm... nothing stuck.

　　Before his tongue could retract, the person in front of him moved. Edward Harris instinctively leaned back, his lower back bumping into the cold, hard edge of the table.

　　But William Thompson simply moved past him and sat down, lifting his robe.

　　In the smoky twilight, William Thompson wore a low-key, deep blue everyday robe, with dark silk patterns and embroidered edges, sitting upright at the stone table, exuding a refined and noble air.

　　Only when he lifted his eyes did a hint of sharpness leak out—a gentleman hiding his edge.

　　Edward Harris unconsciously held his breath.

　　Until a faint voice sounded, “Sit down, all of you.”

　　He relaxed his breathing and sat down with Jason Grant, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

　　Jason Grant had been trying to minimize his presence from the start, and even after sitting down, he was too nervous to utter a word. Edward Harris couldn’t count on him, so he had to break the silence himself,

　　“Your Majesty, what brings you here so suddenly? The servants didn’t even announce it.”

　　William Thompson gave a half-smile, “Don’t blame them, they’re all busy.”

　　Edward Harris thought of the servants busy pulling white cloth: ...

　　He said awkwardly, “Just trying to make it grand.”

　　After speaking, he took the opportunity to tell Eric Young to stand guard outside, and sent the frightened Grace away, “Go to the kitchen and bring a bowl of soup for His Majesty.”

　　William Thompson frowned, “No need...”

　　But Grace had already darted off like a rabbit.

　　“……”

　　The soup was soon brought in.

　　It was the original broth from the hotpot, stewed to a milky white richness, with some tender, flavorful meat and bones floating in it.

　　Edward Harris pushed the bowl in front of William Thompson: Hurry and eat, then he’ll have no grounds to criticize him.

　　William Thompson glanced at it but didn’t move. As the emperor, he couldn’t be careless about what he ate.

　　He casually asked, “What kind of soup is this?”

　　Edward Harris replied, “Soup stewed from ten pounds of pork bones.”

　　William Thompson gave a lukewarm smile, “Oh. If I drink another mouthful, will David Harris end up with two fewer ribs?”

　　Edward Harris, “……”

　　What’s going on, why has he been so sarcastic since just now? Did he offend William Thompson again?

　　He touched his ribs, “It’s fine, Your Majesty. After two meals, I’m about to grow armor.”

　　William Thompson, “……”

　　Brian Clark, standing to the side, was sweating profusely, thinking:

　　Oh dear, Mr. Harris, please say a little less! His Majesty only made this special trip because he’s been so troubled by those rumors about you!

　　Edward Harris was still rubbing his ribs under William Thompson’s silent gaze when he heard Brian Clark clear his throat, “Mr. Harris, actually—”

　　“Sir!”

　　Eric Young’s voice suddenly came from outside the courtyard, cutting Brian Clark off.

　　Edward Harris: Hm? Actually what??

　　In a flash, Eric Young had already run in, “Sir... uh, no, Your Majesty!”

　　William Thompson lowered his eyes, “What is it?”

　　Eric Young reported, “The Deputy Prefect from the Meng residence has sent a calling card and is waiting at the door!”

　　Edward Harris was shocked: Someone else is here at this hour!

　　He just wanted to have a hotpot meal!

　　He couldn’t place the name for a moment, “Who’s that now?”

　　William Thompson glanced at him, his expression unreadable.

　　After a moment, he moved his lips and finally answered, “Deputy Prefect Charles Morgan from the Office of Scholars, a relative by marriage under the Cui family.”

　　Edward Harris suddenly understood.

　　When the King of Hell doesn’t come, the little devils arrive first.

　　He glanced at the bubbling hotpot on the table, then looked around at those present: himself, William Thompson, Jason Grant, and now a Cui family in-law waiting outside.

　　—All the people who shouldn’t be gathered together are now here.

　　He took the calling card, “Then should I go meet him?”

　　William Thompson gave him a look that brooked no argument.

　　Edward Harris stood up, lightly dusted off the card in his hand, “Very well. Then it’s decided—you’re the one, Pokémon!”

　　“...Sir.” Eric Young whispered, “His name is Charles Morgan.”

　　·

　　Edward Harris delayed a bit, using “lingering illness” as an excuse.

　　Brian Clark and Eric Young took the opportunity to have people clean up the hotpot in the main courtyard.

　　Jason Grant went to another courtyard to avoid the scene.

　　Perhaps thinking of the Cui family, he left with such force that even a vengeful ghost couldn’t match his resentment.

　　William Thompson withdrew his gaze, “David Harris wasn’t exaggerating.”

　　Truly wild in behavior, almost mad.

　　“I never deceive Your Majesty,” Edward Harris said, utterly unashamed as he prepared to go inside and feign illness. “Your Majesty, aren’t you going to avoid this meeting?”

　　William Thompson’s gaze fell on his main room, and suddenly he asked, “Is David Harris’s room big enough?”

　　Edward Harris’s heart skipped a beat, “What?”

　　“I think it’s big enough,” William Thompson said before he could answer, then added to himself, and after speaking, gave a soft laugh, “I’ve never heard someone plot in person before—it should be quite interesting.”

　　Edward Harris: ...