Father, Mother, and the Gardener

"Not yet, Mother." James sat up and looked at the incredibly beautiful woman.

"I can tell you've been studying for a long time. I told you already, your body has just recovered, you can't overexert yourself!" Elizabeth sat beside James, pulled him into her arms, and said with a pained expression, gently kissing his forehead.

"I'm really fine. It's been over a month, I recovered ages ago. Look at me, haven't I been doing great lately..."

"That's good, that's good..." Elizabeth tightened her hold on James, murmuring to herself.

She was always filled with guilt after James recovered from an illness, because her eldest son, Tony, had died of sickness in her arms, causing this woman to collapse into hysteria. James, meanwhile, was always prone to fevers and illnesses, and every time it happened, it seemed to evoke past memories, driving her to madness and loss of control.

When James had his first fever and fell into a coma at the age of four, Elizabeth had held his small body and wailed Tony's name incessantly. Mr. Howlett had then ordered the servants to place Elizabeth under house arrest in her room, forbidding her from coming out.

This had left the mother feeling deeply guilty for being unable to accompany her sick son, though perhaps there were other reasons as well.

Victor Logan was a very special child. This didn't just refer to his tall, strong build despite his young age, or his somewhat disgusting and ferocious-looking fingernails; more importantly, he didn't act like a servant's son at all. His speech and conduct made it seem as if he were the young master of this estate.

There was a pride in his bones that refused to be beneath anyone, and he only restrained himself when in front of Mr. Howlett, even feigning a bit of a servant's humility.

Even in front of John, he often spoke in a blunt, harsh tone, which was perhaps another reason why John disliked him, aside from the fact that he was the son of Thomas Logan.

The evening air was cooler. The large balcony attached to James's room was not only spacious but also offered an excellent view. He had grown increasingly fond of practicing here. Although what he practiced was merely the proper, orthodox method of strengthening his tendons, bones, and blood—not some mysterious, esoteric "absorbing moonlight or swallowing clouds"—it still required a clear and expansive mind.

The magnificent Rocky Mountains, as yet untouched by humanity, the forests, the myriad stars overhead, and the huge, bright moon—such an environment for training was worthy of the saying in the boxing manuals: "The mountains nourish the tendons and bones, the stars open the Ren and Du meridians." It was a perfect environment for cultivation.

Channeling his strength, regulating his breathing, and visualizing in his heart, he could now complete the first volume of Yijin Gong in its entirety. After all, a child's body was well-suited for building such a foundation in the meridians; if he had started training in his twenties like in his past life, his progress would have been nowhere near this fast.

James lay on the balcony, feeling somewhat bored. The vast estate was eerily quiet.

People in the 19th century didn't have much entertainment; by ten o'clock at night, the silence was already as profound as it would be at two or three in the morning.

James's father, John Howlett, had gone to the east in recent days to inspect the breeding conditions of the livestock on the ranches. Currently, the family's affairs and businesses were basically managed by John. Mr. Howlett mostly stayed on the estate to enjoy his retirement, but as long as he was there, all the industries of the Howlett family would continue to operate steadily.

"Elizabeth! Listen to me! Damn it! You wait for me!"

On the balcony, James vaguely heard what sounded like a suppressed roar erupting in the garden not far below.

"Thomas, you're hurting me!" A woman's somewhat sharp voice rang out. This time, James confirmed it was his mother, Elizabeth. He nimbly climbed onto the roof ridge below the balcony and, like a civet cat, crept closer with silent steps.

"Tell me! Does James have anything to do with me or not!" The gardener, Thomas Logan, was wearing a flaxen-colored coarse cloth shirt. His burly chest was covered in thick hair, and one hand gripped the delicate arm of Mrs. Howlett. Even as she twisted and struggled, he didn't budge an inch.

"James is obviously John's son! Could a crude, dull brute like you produce a child as beautiful as James!" Elizabeth's snow-white skin was flushed red with shame, anger, or the rush of blood from her violent struggle, and she retorted sharply to Thomas Logan's questioning.

"No, no, that's not right! Even though James doesn't look like me, he doesn't look like John either. He just looks like you! I found it strange back then, the day James was born coincided with our..."

"Shut your mouth! Thomas, shut your filthy mouth! We ended that long ago. I won't allow you to bring that up again, never! You're just a gardener! Just a gardener!" Elizabeth's indignant rebuke seemed to pierce deep into Thomas Logan. A thick, sinister gloom appeared on the man's face, and he let go of her arm, becoming eerily calm.

"Yes, I'm just a gardener, and you are the most noble mistress of this estate. But what is there to be proud of for a Mrs. Howlett who commits adultery with a gardener!"

"It won't work, Thomas, it won't... People can't know about us, do you understand? Howlett will kill us. That was just a mistake I made. I had lost Tony at the time, and Victor's mother had died in childbirth. We were just two heartbroken people who accidentally came together. People really can't know about this!" Elizabeth's beautiful face was full of pleading, making it hard for one to bear.

"At least, at least think about James! He's still so small. Do you think Howlett will let him live?"

"So James is my son!" Thomas's emotions flared up again. Elizabeth didn't respond. The excessive silence made it seem as if nothing had happened that night, and the answer was self-evident.

"Let's go, Elizabeth. Let's leave this place!"

A flash of hidden disdain crossed Mrs. Howlett's face, but her lowered head hid it well.

"Where could we go? We have nothing. Where could we go with the children?" she sighed helplessly, full of misery and uncertainty.

"Just the two of us! We can go anywhere. We could even go to America! Or back to England. I only want you, only you. You should understand my heart. When we were growing up together, you liked me more, didn't you? John is just lucky he has the Howlett surname!"

Elizabeth felt even more contempt for this man who only cared about women and was even willing to abandon his own two sons. Ignoring the regret for her past mistakes, she pacified Thomas: "Can you let me think about this properly? My dear, this is not a small matter. At the very least, we need to plan it thoroughly."

Elizabeth's soft, gentle words made Thomas Logan overjoyed. The brute, whose brain was filled with nothing but muscle, nodded excitedly, as if a beautiful and happy future were right before his eyes. The two whispered for a moment longer before quickly leaving the garden, leaving only James lying on the corner of the roof, staring up at the starry sky, stunned and motionless.

This was likely a standard, cliché love triangle. Once upon a time, young John, Thomas, and Elizabeth had grown up together. In their youth, they were inseparable. Perhaps John and Thomas were once close brothers, and both boys were fond of the beautiful Elizabeth. Back then, the tall and robust Thomas was more favored by the girl.

But as they slowly grew up, John, as the son of the estate owner, naturally had a boundless future, while Thomas was just a poor boy from an ordinary farming family. There was no need to ask how Elizabeth made her choice.

The former brothers had turned against each other because of this, and their simple friendship ceased to exist. Perhaps something had happened in between that made John Howlett begin to loathe his childhood friend.

But now, if the scandalous affair between Mrs. Elizabeth and Thomas Logan were to be exposed, it would undoubtedly lead to a slaughter, and even Mr. Howlett's precious "grandson," James, would not be spared.

He didn't quite remember when or how he had returned to his bed. What troubled James was not that his mother had an affair with the gardener or that he was a bastard born of that illicit union, but rather how to emerge unscathed from this "disaster."