Chapter 3

In the approximately thirty-square-meter dining room, the lights were brightly lit.

The room did not use the convenient and cheap kerosene lamps but instead used elegant tall candles, which illuminated the entire space brightly, completely separating it from the cold and dark world outside the window.

At the two ends of the long dining table, an old man and a young boy were seated.

One was a black-haired boy of about eleven or twelve years old, slender and taciturn; the other was a white-haired man in his sixties, tall and robust, with a stern face. At each end of the long table, there was a bowl of soup, a piece of veal, and a serving of mashed potatoes. The only difference was that the old man had an additional glass of dark red wine in front of him.

The two ate their dinner in silence.

John Hunterlar tried to follow the dining etiquette his mother had taught him, quickly swallowing the small pieces of veal without making much noise, to soothe his growling stomach.

After sitting down, he hardly looked at the old man at the other end of the table.

At the other end of the dining table, Mr. Al Hunterlar ate slowly, occasionally sipping the red wine by his side, seemingly focusing on his plate. However, the butler, Hans Alber, who was serving nearby, could tell that his old master's gaze was often on his grandson, a few meters away!

The butler's lips curved into a small smile.

Ten minutes later, as John finished his third piece of veal, their silent dinner ended. Mr. Hunterlar, who had been waiting, wiped his mouth with a white napkin and said coldly to his grandson, whom he was meeting for the first time, "The long journey must have been tiring. Go and rest now!"

The words were a concern, but the cold tone made one's heart chill.

"Alright."

John did not feel much about it. He simply nodded, stood up, and bowed politely to his grandfather, saying, "Good night, sir!"

"Good night."

Mr. Hunterlar nodded to Hans, and the loyal butler immediately walked to John's side, smiling and said, "Sir, your room is ready. Miss Lina will show you up."

"Thank you."

Nodding slightly, John turned and went upstairs, guided by the servant's kerosene lamp.

"A very well-mannered child, isn't he?"

When the butler Hans returned to Hunterlar's side, his face showed a complex expression. He hesitated and said in a low voice, "Sir, please forgive my boldness, but every graceful movement and every polite word of his is a reflection of Miss Elizabeth. And as you heard, he is excellent in English, German, and Latin..."

"Elizabeth..."

Mr. Hunterlar did not pay attention to Hans' words. When he heard his beloved daughter's name, a look of pain flashed in his eyes. He murmured her name and slowly stood up.

"Sir, are you going to your room?"

Hans sighed inwardly and asked in a low voice, his face expressionless.

"Um."

Mr. Hunterlar responded softly, paused slightly, and then said, "Hans, John seems taller than we expected and a bit thinner... Tomorrow, take him to Mr. Smith to have a few more sets of clothes made. Wearing ill-fitting clothes is quite impolite."

"Yes, sir."

Watching Mr. Hunterlar go upstairs, Hans remained silent for a moment, then blinked, and his eyes finally showed a hint of warmth...

...

"Sir, if you need anything, please ring this bell, and I will come immediately."

After lighting the kerosene lamp in the room, Lina explained again to John, somewhat worried, and then bowed lightly and left the room.

"Phew!"

After locking the door and confirming that he was alone in the room, John let out a heavy sigh and turned to look around the room.

From the servant's words, he knew this was where his mother used to live.

Perhaps because it had not been occupied for over a decade, the room was sparsely furnished. A large bed, a bedside table, a wardrobe, and a desk made up the entire room. The only thing that caught John's eye was a one-meter-square oil painting on one of the walls.

Walking up to the painting, John carefully examined the smiling girl in the picture.

The girl was about sixteen or seventeen years old, standing sideways in the painting. Her thick brown hair was tied up and hung down her back. Her long, fair neck and round shoulders were below a classical white dress adorned with green patterns, perfectly showcasing her tall figure. In the center of the painting, the girl's clear facial features turned to face John, revealing a smile as gentle as a spring breeze.

Looking at the painting, a hint of sadness flashed in John Hunterlar's eyes.

Although the person in the painting was much younger and looked quite different from the face in his memory, he immediately recognized her—Elizabeth Hunterlar, his mother, and perhaps the only person in the world who truly loved him.

After staring at the painting for a long time, John sighed softly and lay down on the soft, comfortable bed.

A wave of intense fatigue washed over him!

Only now did John fully relax. The accumulated fatigue of nearly two months began to take control of his mind and body. However, even though he was mentally and physically exhausted, he could not fall asleep, just as he had on the carriage in the afternoon. This was partly due to the unfamiliarity of the new environment and partly because of the grandfather he had just met.

Al Hunterlar, 62 years old, a righteous but rigid Prussian gentleman who left Europe during the German Revolution and settled in New York City.

As a businessman, Mr. Hunterlar was undoubtedly successful. With some capital from the European continent, he spent nearly twenty years building a substantial fortune in New York City. According to Mr. Slack, Mr. Hunterlar's annual net income was at least four to five thousand dollars, enough to comfortably support a three-story house, a butler, a cook, a maid, and a footman.

But as a father, Mr. Hunterlar was undoubtedly a failure.

John did not know what had happened between his mother and his grandfather. He only knew that his mother, Elizabeth Hunterlar, had fled New York thirteen years ago to Beijing, China, and then had him. For over a decade, they had never communicated, until a year after Elizabeth Hunterlar's death, Mr. Slack suddenly appeared and forcibly brought him back to New York.

As a traditional European gentleman, his daughter Elizabeth's actions were a great disgrace to Mr. Hunterlar, so John's cold reception was understandable.

Thinking of his grandfather's silent face, John's head ached even more. No matter what he thought, he would have to live in this house for a long time and be raised by Mr. Hunterlar!

And...

"What about after that?"

Staring blankly, John Hunterlar felt lost: "How will I survive in New York at the end of the 19th century?"

At this moment, John Hunterlar, or rather, Liu Zecheng, an ordinary person from the 21st century, was seriously considering this crucial issue that would affect his life for the next few decades...

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