“I remember you telling me something like this…” Feng Bujue repeated, looking at Barton, “You said, ‘When I was young, I had a bright future.’ But…you never mentioned the details of that ‘future.’ Instead, you described your experiences in prison in vivid detail.” He turned and continued pacing. “At the time, I was a little puzzled…logically speaking, people are always more willing to talk about glorious and beautiful memories, but you…bypassed the topic just as you were about to bring it up.”

Jue-ge shook the fax paper in his hand and continued, “And after getting this, I understood everything. It’s not that you didn’t want to talk about it, but that you couldn’t.” He paused. “That bright future of yours when you were young was closely related to your father.”

Feng Bujue turned to face the crowd, walking as he spoke, “When Mr. Barton was seven years old, his mother committed suicide due to depression. I think…if that lady could have held on for a few more years, she might have become the second mistress of this house, and John could have rightfully taken his father’s last name.”

“Unfortunately, there are no ‘ifs’ in this world.”

“We can imagine Ms. Barton’s situation back then…year after year, she waited for the man she loved to give her a proper status, but he had no intention of divorcing, and even had a second child with his legal wife; when she took her son to register for school, the child asked her, ‘Why do other students have both a mom and a dad accompanying them?’ She couldn’t answer; she couldn’t even explain to her son why he had to take her last name.”

“But she didn’t have the ability to leave that man and live on her own either, she was just a lowly mistress, all she could do was wait bitterly, cry, and issue silent protests from the depths of her heart.”

“Therefore, in that winter, she chose to end her own life in order to gain liberation, and to forever occupy a place in that man’s heart.”

Sitting on the seat by the wall, Korston covered his face with both hands, deeply burying his proud head.

“Later, that remorseful father sent his illegitimate son to a boarding school abroad,” Feng Bujue continued, “Keeping the child far away from himself, and supporting him as he had supported his mother.”

“The child grew up day by day, he learned to be independent very early, and was excellent in all aspects, with a more mature personality than his peers, but…in his heart, he always harbored hatred.”

“He didn’t thank his father for everything he gave him, in his opinion, these were all deserved, earned by his mother’s life. In the end, his father only wanted to atone with money, without giving any affection.”

“So, at an appropriate age, the rebellious streak in young Barton finally erupted. A highly educated, handsome, and promising young man became a master thief.”

Feng Bujue pointed his palm upwards at Barton, “Everyone, please pay attention to my wording—master thief.” He curled his lip. “Although Mr. Barton himself told me that he was just a ‘petty thief who picked locks,’ who ‘spent two years in Pandenville prison’ when he was thirty…but according to the file in my hand, he is definitely not some second- or third-rate petty criminal, but a top expert who could be ranked among the Ocean's Eleven (a film produced by Lewis Milestone in 1960, with a remake of the same name by Steven Soderbergh in 2001).”

“Thank you for the compliment,” Barton replied coldly.

“You’re welcome,” Feng Bujue looked at Barton and replied naturally, and continued, “As for the days you spent in prison…it wasn’t two years either, but ten years, a full ten years.” He sighed. “You went to prison in your twenties, and didn’t finish your sentence until eight years ago, you have no job, no friends, and your father knows this, as your only relative in this world, he took you in. But his legitimate children are all grown up, he couldn’t bring a person of unknown origin home and casually say, ‘Hey! Come and meet your half-brother, who just got out of prison.’”

“So…your identity became the gardener here.”

Feng Bujue had reached the window as he said this, he stopped and paused for a moment, seemingly to give everyone behind him some time to think.

“The moon is really beautiful tonight,” After a while, Feng Bujue spoke again, sighing as he looked at the night sky outside the window.

The others in the dining room were in no mood to admire the moon, their hearts were filled with mixed feelings, and they didn’t know how to face these sudden changes.

“So…let’s talk about this will,” Feng Bujue turned around. “As I said, I’ve already read it, and it was because I read it that I basically confirmed…Dennis is not Korston’s son.”

“Dennis’s name isn’t on that will?” Scofield asked, following Jue-ge’s train of thought.

“Of course not,” Feng Bujue pointed to Korston by the wall. “Mr. Lovecraft has always been very good to his relatives. For example, Master Jack and Miss Nancy, no matter what their life choices are, Korston always tries to support them as much as possible, never stingy with money and patience.” He tilted his head. “If Jack was my son, he might have starved to death in the first year of ‘pursuing his dream.’”

“Hey!” Jack shouted unhappily.

“Hehe…” Feng Bujue smiled. “But…how is this gentleman to others?” He turned to Henderson. “A man who had an affair with his wife, nearly seventy years old, still works as his servant, and even engages in heavy physical labor, is this just a coincidence? Dennis’s name is not on the will, did he forget to write it?”

“You…you know…” Nancy immediately understood, and then looked at her father in surprise.

“Yes, I’ve always known,” Korston replied in a hoarse voice. “I knew shortly after Dennis was born, but I never told his mother or Henderson about it…”

“Henderson, feeling deeply guilty, devoted the rest of his life to atonement, even though his body could hardly handle the work of a butler, he still didn’t want to retire. He just wanted to work in this villa…in the place where that lady and his son lived, until his life was exhausted,” Feng Bujue continued. “Korston’s dignity was trampled on, he couldn’t let go of it, therefore, he didn’t stop Henderson.”

“Huff…” Jue-ge sighed. “After reading the will, I understood why Henderson fainted when he saw the body. Because…the one who died was his son.”

“I’m sorry, Henderson,” Barton turned to Henderson at this time and said, “I have no grudges against you, but I had to do it.”

Henderson didn’t respond, just sat silently at the table, his face still as pale as paper.

“Yes, you had to do it,” Feng Bujue took over the conversation. “Because this afternoon, you heard Korston and Dennis talking in the room on the second floor.” He walked back to the table and stuffed everything in his hand back into the paper bag. “You naturally wouldn’t stand in the hallway, sticking to the door to eavesdrop, that would be too easy to be discovered. So, you went to the utility room to get the pruning shears and ladder, came outside, and climbed the tallest tree closest to that room to eavesdrop. This way, even if someone saw you, you could immediately pretend to be doing pruning work.”

Jue-ge picked up the last bit of red wine on the table and poured it all into the goblet. “However, the height that the ladder can reach, or rather, the place that ordinary people can climb to, is still quite a distance from the windows on the second floor. In other words…even if an ordinary person climbs a tree, they won’t be able to hear the conversation in that room. Unless…”

“Unless it’s someone with special skills,” Scofield interjected, he had also read Barton’s file and knew a little about his abilities.

“You climbed to the high branches where only a cat can stay, and used your superior hearing to successfully eavesdrop on the conversation in the room,” Feng Bujue said. “Obviously, the reason Dennis and Korston were arguing was not to have Korston remove Mrs. Odette’s name from the will…” He picked up the glass and took a sip. “But to have Korston remove everyone’s names from the will, and then add only one…‘Dennis Lovecraft.’”

Jack, Nancy, and Odette, the three direct heirs, all changed their expressions upon hearing this.

“I think Dennis must have learned the contents of the will through some means…such as bribing Korston’s lawyer,” Feng Bujue continued. “Then, as long as he spends money to hire a few private detectives to investigate, he can easily find out Barton’s true identity.” He drained the wine in his glass. “A suicidal lover, an imprisoned illegitimate son, a wealthy man with several marriages…giving this story to a gossip tabloid would be enough to serialize for half a year. Dennis undoubtedly used these to threaten Korston to make him submit.”

“No! You’re lying! My Dennis wouldn’t do that! Why would he push his father to this point? What is an inheritance? He already married me, our family…” Carol said excitedly.

Feng Bujue interrupted her. “You are indeed very pathetic.”

Carol’s eyes widened, tears flashing in her eyes, she seemed to have realized something, but still couldn’t accept it.

“Dennis must have known long ago that he was not Mr. Lovecraft’s biological son,” Feng Bujue said. “His mother must have told him this before she passed away, meaning…he knew when he was still a child. He must have vaguely hated his biological father, hated his origins, so he was very cold to Henderson. He was also very indifferent to his younger brother and sister.”

“He married a wife from a family higher in status than the Lovecraft family, in order to leave himself a way out. He would investigate Korston’s will, one because he understood his identity, and two because he understood what kind of person the old man was.”

“Dennis had no feelings for Korston, his nominal father, the inferiority complex buried in his heart far surpassed anyone in this room. When he discovered that ‘Barton’…please forgive my wording…that bastard’s name appeared on the will, while he, who had been someone else’s son for decades, couldn’t get a single cent, it’s normal for him to take such action.”