Chapter 771: Reminiscing About the Past

Tang Xiaonan came in holding Rory. The kitten had just run outside, and she and Jim Thorne had chased after him. Madman smiled when he saw the little cat and gave Rory a pat on the head.

"Nice. Does he have a name yet?"

"Rory. Aunt Lowe picked it. It sounds nice, right?" Tang Xiaonan didn’t know Aunt Lowe’s surname. Even Madman didn’t know, and Aunt Lowe herself refused to say.

"Pfft. You might as well have called him ’Scram’."

Will chuckled. ’What’s so great about that name? If you ask me, something like Wealth or Treasure would sound much better. They sound so festive and auspicious.’

Madman shot him a look. "What the hell do you know? This is called refined taste. It’d be pointless to explain it to you."

Although he didn’t know Aunt Lowe’s family background, he’d heard from his buddy Titus that she was the daughter of a wealthy family. She had studied the four classical arts—zither, Go, calligraphy, and painting—since childhood, a true well-bred lady like one from the operas. She just had bad luck and didn’t live in the right era.

But then again, if things had been different, a simple gardener like Titus Lowe would never have had the chance to marry a well-bred lady like Aunt Lowe. Time, fortune... it’s all fate.

Just like his own meeting and parting with that woman—that was also fate.

A delicate and beautiful face appeared in his mind’s eye, but it was no longer as clear as before. It gradually blurred, transforming into Rosalind Green’s features. Madman chuckled to himself. ’Heaven has been pretty good to me. It saw how lonely I was and sent Rosalind Green to keep me company.’

’It’s just that Will is so useless; he still hasn’t found the beauty’s address. Once things are settled here in a few days, I’ll go look for her myself.’

"Uncle, have you had the Qingming dumplings and zongzi? My mom made the dumplings, and Aunt Green made the zongzi. They’re delicious!" Tang Xiaonan announced proudly. Though they were common snacks, they were a rare and heartfelt gesture from Phoebe Huxley and Rosalind Green.

"Boss, they’re really delicious. This savory pork zongzi is the best! I’m just going to eat this for dinner, and for breakfast tomorrow, too."

Will was already on his third zongzi. The ones Rosalind Green made weren’t very big, just a little larger than Tang Xiaonan’s fist; an adult could finish one in three bites. Madman watched him with disgust, as if he hadn’t eaten in several lifetimes. But the greatest thing about that kid Will was that he never gained weight no matter how much he ate. His appetite was much larger than Madman’s, and he insisted on having meat with every meal, yet he stubbornly never put on any pounds.

It was infuriating. Madman patted his own potbelly, growing even more irritated. He shot Will a fierce glare, but Will simply pretended not to see, continuing to relish his zongzi.

"I’m not fond of them. You eat them."

Madman gently pinched Tang Xiaonan’s cheek. ’I’m actually quite pleased,’ he thought. ’It shows this chubby little girl’s family knows their manners.’

"What do you like to eat, Uncle? I can ask Aunt Green to make it. She can make lots of different snacks." Tang Xiaonan didn’t recommend her own mother. Whether making meals or snacks, Phoebe Huxley had a "broadsword and battle-axe" style. For instance, the Qingming dumplings she wrapped were half again as large as anyone else’s; Tang Xiaonan was full after just one.

The Qingming dumplings they’d brought over this time were all made by Rosalind Green and her son. They were small and exquisite—just two bites each—and were as beautiful as they were delicious. They had kept the ones Phoebe Huxley made to eat themselves.

Madman smiled. "I’m a grown-up; I don’t eat snacks."

’Sounds like Adrian Hawthorne’s mother is quite capable,’ he mused. ’She’s probably just a little plain, which is why she couldn’t hold onto a guy like Ethan Hawthorne. And that Ethan Hawthorne is a real piece of work. He made all that money but never sent any back to his wife and son. Four or five years without a word—wasn’t he afraid something would happen to them?’

’He’s even more ruthless than I am. A real bastard.’

’Maybe all those young masters from wealthy families, like Ethan Hawthorne, are just that ruthless.’ Madman sighed softly. His thoughts drifted to someone else—a friend he had considered a brother for life, who in the end betrayed him and stole his woman.