Blackstone Code-Chapter 441: Wounds Can Heal, But Not the Heart
The shattered cup still spun on the floor, its clear, trembling sound lingering in the air. For a moment, the atmosphere in the room seemed to freeze.
No one sitting next to Mr. Simon spoke. This was Simon’s family matter; they had no right to intervene.
The boy snapped out of his dizziness. Even as the world spun black before his eyes, he stood firmly, ignoring the warm trickle running down his forehead. He kept his humble, careful, hopeful smile.
“Father, I’ve brought you tea and pastries. It’s been over two hours.”
Mr. Simon glanced at the nearly empty kettle on the table, then coldly said, “Put them on the rack next to you and leave. No one is allowed inside without my permission—not even you.”
The boy carefully placed the tray, which had spilled some tea, on the nearby rack meant for small parts—a shallow basin-like holder where small items wouldn’t scatter.
It wasn’t meant for trays, but it was the only place to hold it.
“I’ll leave now, Father, and gentlemen…” The boy bowed and left silently, the door closing without a sound.
Just as the door was about to shut, the boy looked up. Through the narrow crack, his eyes met Simon’s.
Simon’s gaze was full of disgust. He had never liked the boy. If it weren’t for needing to build good relations with the locals or to downplay his foreign identity, he wouldn’t have married a native woman or had this child.
In his eyes, the boy was a bastard, a bastard or whatever—just a tool to maintain his image among locals.
But with outside forces coming in—the federation’s merchants, the fleeing from Preyton—those things lost all meaning. His hatred for this unpleasant child grew even stronger.
Compared to Simon’s intense hatred, the boy’s eyes were simpler—filled with hope, humility, sadness… and despair.
He never understood what he lacked to make his father like him. If he wasn’t liked, why was he born?
Repeated efforts only brought repeated despair. He seemed to have realized that no matter how well he did, he would always be an unloved child.
As the door almost closed, he bowed his head, as he had countless times before. Only then did Simon look away.
“Young master…” The butler stood outside, aware of what had happened but powerless to intervene.
He actually felt more sympathy for the young master than for Mr. Simon, probably because the boy carried at least half Nagaryll blood.
The boy looked at the butler, his face already stained with blood. He forced a smile. “Father still hates me.”
The butler pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it against the wound, softly comforting him. “That’s not true, young master. Actually…” He wanted to lie, but no excuse could change the truth.
“Master’s been in a bad mood lately. You know, the Preyton business collapsed, and the Baylor people are coming to steal business.”
The boy remained unmoved, silencing the butler with one sentence: “I’m his son.”
No matter how bad one’s mood, no one would do this—smash a cup on his own son’s head and order him out, especially in front of outsiders.
No explanation could hide the brutal truth: Simon, head of the household, did not like his son, no matter how capable he was.
The butler dared not say more. The boy pressed harder on the handkerchief.
“It’s okay, Butler. Don’t worry about me. It’s been like this before, and it will be like this in the future. I’m used to it; it’s not scary anymore.”
“Your head…” The butler was pained. He had watched the young master grow, and the boy’s polite “Butler” earned the man’s sympathy.
But the problems between father and son were too deep. The butler chose silence.
Seeing the boy’s bleeding head, the butler felt a sudden urge to ask Mr. Simon why he had done this.
“It’s mostly stopped bleeding…” The boy loosened the handkerchief slightly. The wound wasn’t big, just bleeding a lot, which was scary. After a short while, the bleeding stopped.
The butler still worried. “Young master, go to the courtyard. I’ll have someone tend to your wound properly.”
The boy nodded. “Thank you. And please don’t tell my mother.”
The butler nodded quickly and left. The boy went to a corner of the courtyard and sat down. Soon, a maid in her thirties hurried over, carrying a medical kit.
Sitting in the shade of a tree, the boy calmly watched the distant street scene, his sorrow dissolving even the remaining sunlight.
“Thank you!” After she treated his wound, he turned to thank the maid. She knew the family’s situation and offered some comfort before leaving. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺
As he prepared to return, commotion came from outside.
A group of young men gathered, arguing about something related to the foreigners.
He watched briefly, then lost interest and went back inside.
He knew Simon hated him most for mingling with those disreputable people. He had almost no friends his age.
He didn’t know how Simon saw him now.
“A native bastard after all…” Simon removed the cigarette from his mouth, exhaled thick smoke, and turned to the others.
The disliked child was quickly forgotten. Simon’s focus was on the federation merchants and what they might bring him.
“The Nagaryll Joint Development Company refuses our investment. Without shares, we won’t get quotas…”
The speaker was also a foreigner, a local resident merchant. “I heard from some connections they plan to monopolize all import and export trade, like the Preyton company used to.”
“Major shareholders can import and export anything freely; minor shareholders must follow quotas. Their management is stricter than Preyton’s.”
“If we can’t join and get shares, our goods won’t go out, and outside goods won’t come in. We’ll immediately lose our profit channel.”
Another man knocked on the table, poured water into a cup, and drank greedily. “Have you contacted Lynch? I heard some of his men are assigned here. How does he compare to those conglomerates?”
Others looked at Simon. He smoked by the window, the boy he hated disappeared into the yard, and Simon’s gaze returned outside.When asked by those behind him, he immediately nodded and replied, “I’ve already sent a message. No matter what, I’ll find a way to meet him.”
“As for why he can stand on equal footing with the big conglomerates, it might be because he represents the interests of the Federation’s president.”
His words stunned the others. “Do you have new information?”
“No new information, just a guess.” Mr. Simon stubbed out his cigarette and returned to the sofa. Pouring himself some water, he said, “Lynch has a close personal relationship with Truman, and also a good connection with the president.”
“That naturally leads one to wonder if there’s some kind of mutual interest between them. You know, without the president or Truman backing Lynch, those large conglomerates wouldn’t even acknowledge him.”
Another asked, “So you mean the chances are slim? After all, what we’re really after isn’t Lynch’s share, but the share held by the president or Truman?”
Mr. Simon smiled without confirming either way. He took a long drag from his cigarette, clearly thirsty. Setting his cup down, he said, “Regardless of whether my guess is right or wrong, this is our last chance. I will do my best to fight for it, but we must also be prepared.”
He paused thoughtfully. “If the situation turns against us, we must withdraw from Nagaryll.”
His serious expression unsettled some.
After a few seconds, someone broke the tension. “That’s unlikely. Remember, we’re not like these natives. If they act against us, the Federation will be the ones losing face.”
Mr. Simon considered this and seemed to agree, but remained cautious. “I hope they’ll consider their own and the country’s reputation, but I’m always worried.”
“We have earned a fair amount of money over the years. If worse comes to worst, stepping back isn’t impossible.”
“Being an expatriate back home might lack excitement, but it’s stable. Besides, I’m starting to miss home…” He looked up at a photo inside a cabinet—his wife and child.
They shared the same bloodline, skin color, eye color, spoke with the same accent, received the same education…
That is his family!
That is his child!
