137: Chapter 137 Samuel Finch-Harper and Zhang Jing

August in London was always wrapped in cold, damp fog. Eighteen-year-old Zhang Jing clutched the gold-embossed admission invitation from the International Butler Academy, though his fingertips were frozen stiff. He leaned against the cold, hard, and slippery metal, with only three crumpled twenty-pound notes left in his pocket.

Half an hour ago, his mother's crying on the phone still echoed in his ears. His father had broken his leg at the construction site, and the tuition fees they had scraped together had all gone toward medical expenses. "Jing, you... you first find a way to hold on for a few days, Mom will go borrow some more..." The static on the other end of the line mixed with the sound of the rain, finally leaving only a busy signal.

He had been hiding from the rain at a bus stop on Oxford Street for three hours. The wheels of his black suitcase had long since been soaked by the standing water and wouldn't turn, and his mud-splattered shirt clung to his back like a garment made of ice, continuously draining the last of the warmth from his body.

The streetlights stretched his shadow thin and long. Passing taxis splashed water, soaking the admission letter he held in his hand, and the words "Welcome to the Legacy of Gentlemen" on it gradually blurred.

Zhang Jing crouched down and buried his face in his knees, tasting despair in a foreign land for the first time—he couldn't even find a place to stay tonight, let alone the academy where he was supposed to report in a week.

A gentle, aged voice came from nearby.

"Young man, do you need to escape the rain? In such heavy rain, I don't think playing in the water at a bus stop is a good choice; it might make you unwell."

Zhang Jing looked up and saw an old man wearing a dark gray bespoke suit, his silver-white hair combed meticulously. He leaned on a carved wooden cane inlaid with sapphires, and the edge of his umbrella was precisely tilted toward him, blocking the pouring rain.

On the old man's chest was a mother-of-pearl lapel pin emitting a soft glow, with an exquisite family crest faintly engraved on its edge. Rainwater dripped down the umbrella ribs, refracting fine light onto the crest.

Zhang Jing's voice was hoarse, and he hid the soaked admission letter behind his back. "I... I don't have money to stay in a hotel."

The old man smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes forming a gentle curve. As if he hadn't heard Zhang Jing's low words, a discreet ruby ring on his left ring finger flashed, and he invited:

"My name is Samuel Finch-Harper. I live not far from here, and there is a spare room in the attic. I live alone and often feel a bit lonely. With such heavy rain, it's not easy for you to find a place to shelter from the wind and rain. If you don't mind, could you keep this old man company and chat?"

Samuel's home was in a three-story building with a courtyard in the old Kensington district of London, with the "Finch-Harper" family emblem engraved on the iron gate. A high-quality oak fire burned in the living room fireplace, the air was filled with the aroma of Darjeeling black tea and freshly baked handmade scones, exquisite oil paintings hung on the walls, an antique grandfather clock in the corner ticked away, and the royal warrant of the British monarchy was printed on its dial.

Zhang Jing held the hot black tea, his gaze inadvertently sweeping over the financial newspaper on the coffee table. The front page clearly displayed "Guangyao International Headhunting Group: Global High-End Talent Layout Expands Further," while the interview photo in the corner of the newspaper was covered by a book.

The old man slowly sat on a recliner, holding his teacup, the gilded cup shimmering with a golden-red luster under the firelight. "Everyone encounters difficulties at times. I am older, so perhaps you can tell me about your difficulties, and I might be able to offer you a good idea."

Zhang Jing looked at the old man's peaceful and gentle gaze, which seemed to overlap with the figure of his grandfather back home. He finally couldn't help but tell his story, from the pride of the whole village when he received the invitation, to the panic when his father had the accident, and finally to the embarrassment of being stranded on the street at this moment. As he spoke, his eyes turned red, and he buried his face in the cup: "I know it's ridiculous, maybe... I'm not qualified to be a competent butler at all. After all—I can't even afford the tuition fees right now."

Samuel didn't speak. He got up and retrieved a leather folder with a gold-embossed crest from the study. He opened the first page, where the yellowed paper read: "British Royal Patent of Nobility: Conferring the Title of Baron upon Samuel Finch-Harper." He then took a book with a gold-embossed cover from the bookshelf and opened the title page, which bore vigorous handwriting: "The core of a gentleman is protection and empathy—Finch-Harper Family Motto."

The old man's fingers brushed over the pages, and his hoarse voice spoke unhurriedly: "I almost gave up when I was young, too." "I was studying at the academy back then when my father suddenly passed away. I had no choice but to drop out, exhausted my family fortune, and even went into debt to start a headhunting company. How many times did I hit a wall at the negotiating table? It was this tenacity of not giving up that got me through."

"I believe that everyone has their own destination and value. The suffering you are enduring now may be a path full of thorns laid out by God, but I believe that at the end of the path will be a vast plain filled with tulips." He looked up at Zhang Jing, his eyes full of gentleness but also unmistakable firmness, "Adversity is never a reason to give up, but a mirror that allows us to see our own hearts clearly."

That night, Zhang Jing slept in the attic, the bedding made of top-grade linen with a faint scent of lavender. The next morning, he found a set of bespoke shirts and a silk tie on the bedside table. In the newspaper next to it was information about a part-time job at a nearby café, with a note in the remarks column: "I have already spoken to the owner; just mention my name to get the job," and "The Butler Academy accepts tuition deferment; you can pay the outstanding tuition fees when you graduate."

What surprised him even more was that the back of the newspaper actually featured a photo of the old gentleman from yesterday.

The following days were like magic. Zhang Jing spent all his free time working at the café, he was at the top of his class in every academy lesson, and Samuel would always leave a light on when he returned home, with warm milk and neatly organized notes placed on the table.

Once, Zhang Jing mentioned that the academy required an expensive uniform fee and muttered, "I heard that custom fabrics take three months to wait for." The next day, a package with the logo of a Savile Row tailor shop appeared at the door. Inside was a brand-new black butler uniform with a tag that read, "Unused item, donated to those in need," but the size of the clothes fit his figure perfectly.

He gradually discovered Samuel's uniqueness: when the old man taught him how to set the table, he could accurately describe the differences in dining etiquette among European nobility; when chatting about tea temperature, he could casually recite the tea preferences of royal family members; once, the dean of the academy even came to visit, and when he saw Samuel, he respectfully addressed him as "Baron Finch-Harper."

Until the day of graduation, the dean held Zhang Jing's hand and said: "You must thank Baron Finch-Harper. Three years ago, he anonymously donated your tuition fees through the group's foundation and specifically instructed us to pay attention to your growth as if we were training a family heir."

Zhang Jing stood there stunned, turning his head to see Samuel standing in the crowd, the mother-of-pearl lapel pin on his chest shining brightly in the sun—that was the Lifetime Achievement Medal specially awarded by the British Butler Association to recognize his contributions to the industry. The old man smiled at him, the ruby ring on his left ring finger shining, just like that rainy night three years ago, warm and full of strength.