As one of the first colonists to cross the sea, Mr. Howlett possessed a strong, aggressive disposition—tough, stubborn, and oppressive.
He considered himself one of the pioneers of this great era. Yes, he believed he was not only an adventurer who came to chase his dreams but also a new noble who brought the torch of civilization to a barren land, even though his father was merely a first mate on an old deep-sea whaling ship.
This man had the capital for his pride.In 1763, Britain incorporated Canada into its colonial garden. In the early summer of 1802, Mr. Howlett, at only 17 years old, arrived alone in this still unsettled land with nothing but an old flintlock rifle inherited from his father and 3 pounds 15 shillings.
His elder brother, on the other hand, received the Howlett Family's second-hand whaling ship and the 'family' whaling business, accumulated by Old Howlett throughout his life.
Forty-odd years passed, and there was no one in Edmonton who did not know Mr. Howlett; he was the largest rancher and landowner in all of Western Canada, and one of the wealthiest among all British colonists.
For many years, people only knew him as Mr. Howlett, and few had heard his given name. He also referred to himself solely as Howlett, believing that only he could represent the true Howlett Family.
To this day, Mr. Howlett's biggest concern was the dwindling family lineage. Although he had exerted himself considerably with women in his youth, now at sixty, he only had one son, John, and a grandson, James, who was just over ten years old.
"Is Jamie doing any better?"
Mr. Howlett grumbled, biting on his pipe.
"Father Hans has seen him. He still has some fever, but he's not coughing anymore. He woke up for a bit just now, had some Water, and then fell back asleep," John carefully reassured his father. He knew how important James was in the eyes of his old father, who had already lost one grandson.
Mr. Howlett took two deep puffs, exhaled a long breath, and fumed, "When I was ten, I could already carry a whaling harpoon to the blacksmith for rust removal. You were sturdy as a child too, running around carrying forty-pound calves. How come Jamie is like a premature lamb?"
"Maybe children nowadays aren't as tough as before. Tony was so young when he..."
"He caught the plague! It was those damned black beasts who brought the filth from that evil continent! From then on, no black thing will ever serve the Howlett Family! Never again!"
Mr. Howlett stared at John, enunciating each word. His knuckles, gripping the pipe, were white. John regretted bringing up his deceased son, flushed, and assured his father and led Mr. Howlett to the living room to rest.
"James," lying in bed, heard the conversation in the corridor without missing a word, and decided it was safer to pretend to be asleep. After waking up, he instinctively asked for some Water, and then, with his eyes closed, he pondered his current situation in a daze.
If a person dies and is reincarnated, there should be a process, like a journey through the underworld, or being squeezed out of a mother's womb. But the current situation was like a transmigration. He tightly closed his eyes, trying to awaken from the nightmare, attempting to distinguish between illusion and reality.
Perhaps the young child's body was too weak after a severe illness, and he unconsciously drifted back to sleep, only with constant flashes of his past boxing training interweaving in his mind.
His weakened body struggling to breathe during life-and-death struggles, and the short childhood of this child named James, the lovely little maid Rose, the physically strong but somewhat bullying Victor whom he always envied, and his beautiful mother Elizabeth, with whom he didn't spend much time... The improvement in his beloved grandson's condition significantly brightened Mr. Howlett's mood, which in turn brought a deep sigh of relief to the entire estate. In fact, the servants and slaves were accustomed to this occasional oppressive atmosphere; Young Master James had always been frail and sickly, often suffering from high fevers and unconsciousness.
Whenever this happened, all the servants would act and speak cautiously, as even minor mistakes that were usually overlooked could easily lead to punishment.
However, such a situation rarely affected the older children, especially Victor, the son of the gardener Thomas creed, who loved to stay by James's side when he was ill.
Mr. Howlett believed Victor would be a loyal house servant in the future, and thus felt a greater fondness for the boy. However, James's father, John Howlett, greatly disliked Victor, not only because of his unkempt, grotesque long fingernails, but more so because of his father.
After dinner, Mr. Howlett heard that James had gotten up and eaten some toast and fruit, and went to visit him in high spirits. He pushed open the door and saw his little grandson, looking quite energetic, craning his head to survey his surroundings.
"Jamie, how do you feel? Are you still uncomfortable?" On the old man's face, perhaps only in front of this grandson, could such complex emotions be seen—he tried to maintain his usual serious and disciplined demeanor, yet he could not hide that urgent concern.
"Grandfather, I'm much better. My head doesn't hurt at all. I'm sorry to have worried you again..."
Mr. Howlett looked at his grandson, his eyes full of complexity. James strongly resembled his mother, Elizabeth; he was a 'beautiful' child, and also very sensible and polite.
This was completely different from the somewhat unrefined and rough appearance typical of the Howlett Family. His gentle and elegant personality was even less like him, though his deep, almost black hair and eye color were identical.
"Life should be stable now; a gentle temperament is good,"
Mr. Howlett mused to himself, then gave James a few more instructions and left the room.
Old Howlett seemed to sense an indescribable change in his grandson; simply his tone of voice was much more articulate, not hesitant as before. He muttered to himself, bit on his pipe, and went downstairs.
Having dealt with the old man, "James" collapsed onto the bed, a mix of emotions swirling within him. Looking at the 19th-century European-style decor around him, and his own pale, small hands, he silently accepted the reality of his new identity.
From now on, there would be no more Bai Feng of the previous life. The vendetta had been settled, and although he had sacrificed his frail body for a mutual demise, he had left no regrets and had not failed his teacher.
There was only a small Mr. Howlett, James Howlett.
Feeling that James's memories were filled with sickness, high fever, and a weak life, he felt indignant. Couldn't transmigrating through time and space at least grant him a normal, healthy body? Cursing silently, he heard a rapid sound of footsteps ascending the stairs, and the door burst open.
"James! I heard you're better?"
"I'm still quite uncomfortable, but I should be fine now. Thank you, Victor."
Victor creed swaggered around the room, clutching a small knife. He plopped down on James's bedside and began to trim his excessively long, thick fingernails, showing no politeness, nor the deference a servant would show in front of a young master.
James was not angry; he simply watched with interest as the older boy used the small knife to file away the overgrown tips of his nails, as if whittling wood.
"You're always like this, James, always so sickly."
Victor glanced disdainfully at the delicate, doll-like young man leaning against the bed. Victor, though only fifteen or sixteen, already had faint stubble on his temples and cheeks, and his large frame already looked like that of an adult man.
"I heard you were always sick when you were little too?" James asked instinctively.
Victor paused briefly with the knife he was deftly trimming with, but didn't reply. "A batch of fine foals will be arriving soon. If you stay like this, don't even think about riding. Mr. Howlett won't let you touch them."
Victor raised his head, stood up, patted the nail clippings off his trousers, and strode out of the room, leaving the door ajar.
James struggled to prop himself up, picked up a nail clipping that had fallen on the bed, and examined it closely, something faintly flickering in his eyes...