Admittedly, compared to my small apartment, the General's Estate was vast.
I could walk around freely. Without lifting a finger, food and drink were provided.
But it was so boring.
Sometimes I'd pretend to enjoy the scenery, slip past the first ring of guards, and climb over the back wall—only to be caught by the second ring and brought back.
There were three layers of security here.
"The Young Marshal's orders: Miss Rose may not leave."
They were unfailingly polite. No matter how furiously I shoved, they didn't budge—iron-cast arms forming a "please" gesture, executing Victor's orders to the letter.
"Guarding me like I'm a thief."
I grumbled my way back to Grace, who was reading in the garden.
Grace smiled: "Who keeps a thief in their own home?"
As she spoke, a guard appeared, carrying a boy by the back of his collar. He set him down before Grace and snapped to attention:
"Miss, this little thief says he offended the Green Gang on behalf of the Young Marshal. He's afraid of retaliation and wants the Estate to pay him for safe haven."
Because it was a child, the guard didn't mistreat him, but the boy wouldn't leave no matter how many times they shooed him, so the guard had grown rough.
The child was nearly being strangled.
I quickly told him to let go.
"I know this kid. He's the one who warned us last time."
I steadied the soot-covered urchin and looked at Grace.
I'd already told Grace the whole story. She understood instantly, nodded, and smiled at the child: "You saved my family. Of course you deserve a reward. But you're too young—too much money isn't safe for you. Why not stay at the Estate..."
The boy caught his breath, then rubbed his grubby hands awkwardly: "Ma'am, I just want money. I don't want to stay here."
I explained: "If a child like you gets a lot of money, it's easy to be robbed. Better to let us take good care of you."
He was stubborn: "Really, I don't need that. Just give me the money."
But it wasn't up to him. The guard had already hoisted him by the collar and carried him inside.
Mrs. Lambertu gave him a thorough wash with soap and dressed him in Victor's childhood clothes.
When he came downstairs, he looked like a clean, well-kept little gentleman.
Mrs. Lambertu followed him down, reporting that while bathing him, she'd found the child was skin and bones—only his face had a little flesh for appearances' sake.
The butler prepared a meal and invited the boy to eat.
The boy introduced himself as Owen.
Grace observed the child with fascination as he wolfed down his food. His tiny frame held a bottomless appetite—he ate twice what Grace did.
I asked curiously: "How did you figure out something was wrong with the car that day?"
He swallowed everything in his mouth before answering: "One of our group heard the Green Gang people around the car saying the Young Marshal wouldn't live through today. Then two strange-looking men crawled under the car and tinkered for a long time..."
He was describing the mercenaries and the Green Gang—one group keeping watch, the other planting the bomb.
"Then I saw the Young Marshal was with you—you were the lady who scattered money to us. You seemed kind, and generous, so I wanted to help."
The boy spoke plainly and honestly. Belatedly, a chill ran down my spine.
This had nothing to do with him. He should have looked away. But because of my casual, unintentional kindness, he'd turned around and saved both our lives.
If he hadn't warned us, Victor and I would have been blown to pieces.
Whether he could resurrect was another question.
I, on the other hand, would certainly be dead.
Grace went pale, also shaken: "We must always travel with guards. Many guards."
Seeing everyone acknowledge his contribution, Owen quietly stuffed leftover pastries inside his shirt and tested the waters: "So, ladies, how much money can I get?"
Grace hadn't promised him money. Seeing he'd eaten his fill, she said gently: "Is there some difficulty you haven't told us about? Tell us—perhaps we can help."
Owen hesitated: "I know you're kind, but maybe even the General's Estate can't support this many of us."
He finally told the truth:
"I heard the Green Gang's Young Master Huang died at the Young Marshal's hands. They can't get back at the Young Marshal, so they're taking it out on us kids. I was the only one who tipped you off, but those thugs don't care which street kid you are. Every orphan on the streets is suffering. We're hiding out in an abandoned factory by the river. We can't sell papers or cigarettes on the street, we have no income, but we all have mouths to feed, so I came here for some money..."
I clenched my fists and stood up:
"This Green Gang—picking on a bunch of children, what kind of cowards are they!"
2.
Grace asked: "Owen, take me to that factory. I'll figure out how to settle you all. If the Green Gang is after you, this can't wait."
She was ready to leave immediately—three cars, bodyguards front and back.
I looked at Grace hopefully: "Grace, take me with you."
She was easier to negotiate with than Victor. She'd agree to take me out, but the guards outside feared Victor more and hesitated at the eldest Miss's request.
"Unless the Young Marshal personally approves, Miss Rose may not leave the Estate."
"What is he doing? It's not like I can run away from here!"
In this era, I had nowhere to go besides the General's Estate. Even if I went out, I'd have to come back at night. I didn't even have money—I couldn't go far.
But others seemed to think otherwise. The rumor that I could fly down from the third floor had spread silently through the ranks.
They didn't consider that if I actually had that skill, I wouldn't be pacing in frustration.
I went to call him. No answer.
"Never mind, Rose. I'll go—it's the same." Grace took her bag, held Owen's hand, and stood at the door, ready to leave.
I glanced at the bodyguards waiting by the cars outside and had an idea. I ran back to my room and changed into young Victor's military uniform.
I pulled the cap low and walked up to Grace and Owen.
"Let's go."
Grace sighed and helped me swap places with a bodyguard in the middle car, letting me drive.
I was elated: "You really are my sister!"
She shook her head helplessly: "Just stop fighting, you two."
There was no time to lose. Dusk was approaching. In this season, even a sudden cold snap could cost sickly children half their lives, no matter how tough they were.
Following Owen's directions, we drove to the riverbank.
It was the same abandoned factory I'd seen from the boat with Victor.
It had been empty then, silent.
Now it held over a hundred children.
Some tended fires, some cooked, some fetched water. Simple, but orderly.
The older children looked after the younger ones.
"Doesn't Shanghai have orphanages?"
I couldn't hold back, whispering to Grace.
There wasn't even a war, yet so many children were unaccounted for—it was staggering.
Grace sighed: "Look—half these children have disabilities or illnesses. The orphanage probably won't take them."
Owen said: "After my parents died, the orphanage came. They wanted to take me, but they said my sister wouldn't survive, so they wouldn't take her. I couldn't leave my sister, so I ran away with her instead."
Orphanages took children hoping they'd be adopted, or when they grew older, sent to factories. Otherwise, the numbers would accumulate year after year and become unsustainable.
So they preferred healthy children.
Among these abandoned-factory kids, some were born missing a hand but were mentally sharp, some were physically strong but slow-witted—hence the tradition of mutual aid. And there were children like Owen, perfectly healthy but unwilling to abandon sick family, who became leaders of the group.
Owen walked among the children, asking about the afternoon. Suddenly remembering something, he smiled and pulled out the pastries from inside his shirt.
A few squashed honey cakes were quickly broken into pieces by countless small black hands.
No fighting. They ate the hard-won sugar in tiny, careful bites, smiling with contentment, showing rows of little white teeth.
"Delicious. So delicious."
Owen explained: "We've had injuries lately and spent a lot on medicine. We haven't been able to earn anything. Everyone's been very hungry."
Grace's eyes reflected the firelight of the children cooking. She seemed to make a decision:
"I originally planned to renovate this place and post guards for your safety. But this factory is too old—it leaks wind and rain, and there are no railings. It's easy to fall from the upper floors at night."
She had always been kind. Seeing this with her own eyes, she'd help however she could—especially since these children had saved her only brother.