Jim Thorne’s expression faltered, and he rolled his eyes in annoyance. "How would I know? All I know is that bitch definitely came onto my dad. But he kept it in his pants and resisted the temptation."

’In truth, Jim Thorne figured there was a nine-in-ten chance Felix Thorne *hadn’t* managed to keep his pants on. When meat serves itself up on a platter, even a dog would take a bite. His old man wasn’t a eunuch, so how could he possibly have resisted?’

But in front of Adrian Hawthorne, he still had to save some face for his old man. You don’t air your dirty laundry in public, after all. When it came to the big picture, he had his principles.

Adrian Hawthorne also suspected Felix Thorne hadn’t kept it in his pants. ’After all, Phoenix Golding was much prettier than Phoebe Huxley. She came onto him, and they even had some history. It would be a miracle if Felix Thorne had managed to resist.’

"When are we going after Bowman Golding?" Jim Thorne asked.

"Tomorrow, Bowman Golding is taking Qingming cakes to his fiancée’s house. We’ll ambush him on the way." Adrian Hawthorne had already figured out the details.

The village kids were the easiest to bribe; a few pieces of candy were enough to get them to do his bidding. He was keeping close tabs on the movements of the entire Golding family. As the Qingming Festival drew near, it was a local custom in Vessaria to make Qingming cakes. Moreover, engaged couples had a tradition of exchanging them. Typically, the man’s family would deliver a gift to the woman’s family first, who would then reciprocate.

(The method for making Qingming cakes is described in detail in two other books, *The 80s* and *The 60s*, so I won’t go into it here. All you need to know is that it’s an exceptionally delicious pastry, and everyone in the Brystol area makes them for the Qingming Festival.)

Adrian Hawthorne parted ways with Jim Thorne and went home alone. Rosalind Green was washing clothes in the courtyard, where a few chicks, ducklings, and goslings were chirping away. A new pigpen had been built next to the cowshed, and inside, a plump little white pig was grunting contentedly.

The place was a bit messier than its once pristine state, but it felt much more alive. Adrian Hawthorne liked his home this way. He was no longer the only one fighting for a better future; they were all working hard together. Life was sure to get better and better.

"I warmed up some eight-treasure congee in the pot. You can have it later if you get hungry while you’re studying." Rosalind Green wiped the sweat from her brow and gave Adrian Hawthorne a gentle smile. A wisp of hair fell messily across her forehead, and her clothes and pant cuffs were smudged with dirt. Compared to her formerly pristine and elegant self, Rosalind Green, though still beautiful, looked somewhat frazzled.

Suddenly having so much poultry and a pig at home meant that just feeding them and cleaning up left her with an aching back every day. Rosalind Green had never endured such hardship before. She had often been tempted to get rid of the pig, chickens, ducks, and geese, but then she would remember the disdainful look in Phoebe Huxley’s eyes and the words she had said. So, Rosalind Green gritted her teeth and persevered.

’I can’t be a burden to my son anymore. All the other women in the village are so capable. I can be, too.’

"Why don’t you stop raising them? We can just buy eggs and meat," Adrian Hawthorne said, his expression impassive. Even as he spoke words of concern, his face remained a neutral mask.

’He had seen how frazzled and flustered Rosalind Green had been these past few days. His mother simply wasn’t cut out for this kind of labor; forcing her to do it was truly asking too much. In truth, he wasn’t depending on her to provide meat and eggs. His net profits had already reached nearly six hundred—more than the money his father had left him.’

’Besides, his income was fairly stable now. Conservatively, he could easily make three to four hundred a month. With a little more effort, he could even bring in five or six hundred. So even if Rosalind Green didn’t do any of this, he could still guarantee they’d have meat and eggs.’

’The fact that Rosalind Green even wanted to change was enough for him. The results weren’t important.’

Rosalind Green shook her head and said gently, "We spent so much money buying them; it can’t go to waste. I want to at least try. You go on and get back to your studies!"

’Buying the piglet, chicks, and ducklings had cost a good deal of money—money her son had worked so hard for. She had to raise them well.’