Chapter 134: The Favored Nephew's Debt

Old Mrs. Harris scattered corn kernels into the chicken feeder, muttering under her breath, "The Wards are pressing hard for the wedding. We need to hurry with the preparations. I've got enough for the dowry, but the appliances, gold jewelry, new clothes..." She counted on her fingers, her frown deepening.

Old Mr. Harris squatted on the doorstep, puffing on his pipe, the embers flickering in the bowl.

"If we can't manage, we'll have to go to town and find our second son," he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Derek's getting married—his uncle can't just stand by and do nothing."

Mrs. Harris set the empty basket down with a thud. "That ungrateful wretch! How long has it been since he last came home? Doesn’t he care about our struggles?" Her voice rose with anger. "Who are we doing all this for? For him! Won’t Derek have to take care of him in his old age? If he doesn’t treat Derek well now, who will?"

"Enough of that!" Mr. Harris rapped his pipe sharply against the step. "All these years, hasn’t he built us a house and bought land? Derek’s his nephew, not his son!"

Before Mrs. Harris could retort, the courtyard gate crashed open.

"Quick, help!" May Young rushed in with four or five strong young men, carrying a figure wrapped in a quilt. Mrs. Harris took one look and nearly collapsed—it was James Grant!

"Take him inside!" May Young directed them toward the west room. But when they lifted the door curtain, they found Derek sprawled across the heated brick bed, snoring loudly.

Mrs. Harris panicked. "This—this room is for Derek’s wedding—"

"There’s no time for that!" May Young’s eyes were red-rimmed. "Let’s put James in your room for now."

Once they settled James Grant onto the heated brick bed in the main room, Mrs. Harris finally got a clear look at her son—sunken cheeks, pale lips, his whole body gaunt and wasted.

"Mother..." James Grant’s voice was barely a whisper. "Loan sharks came demanding payment... said Derek owes two thousand... they smashed up the shop... my back..." He broke into violent coughing before he could finish.

Mr. Harris shot to his feet. "Drag that little bastard here right now!"

Mrs. Harris blocked him desperately. "What good will that do? Can he magically produce money?" She turned back to tuck the quilt around James Grant. "Son, I’ll make you some ginseng soup..."

James Grant closed his eyes, his heart sinking. He had planned to feign illness to test his family’s reaction, but then real loan sharks had shown up. The thugs had been ruthless, shattering glass counters, and though he’d taken a few blows to the back, he was far from incapacitated.

That night, after discussing it with May Young, he decided to play along. But seeing his mother’s blatant favoritism, a heavy weight settled in his chest.

If Derek were his own son... James Grant clenched the quilt, his nails digging into his palms. He’d have broken the little bastard’s legs by now!