The Rowling Family's ancestral home stood in the southwest of the Rowling Plain, beside a tributary of the Rowling River. Farms and towns dotted the fertile banks, and farther downstream the river passed through a beautiful valley.

This was where the Rowling Family had begun. Centuries earlier, when its ancestors were minor nobles ruling no more than a village, the family's bloodline had first taken root on this land.

The carriage emerged from a dark forest onto a level road. A small valley lay to the left; to the right, a tall tower rose in the distance above the ancestral castle.

The original village had long vanished. After centuries of rebuilding, the old manor had grown into a formidable estate: a castle of white stone surrounded by crimson walls. The stone had been quarried from the nearby valley, which, according to local legend, had once been a hill before generations of excavation hollowed it out.

The family head's eldest son received an elaborate welcome. Three hundred soldiers of the territorial army waited in their finest equipment beneath the red walls. Their horsemanship, posture, and discipline impressed Du Wei. He later learned that they had been selected from the best private troops across the Rowling Plain and trained to a standard rivaling the Empire's regional forces. The black forest outside the castle served as a hunting ground and an additional training field.

Two towers dominated the castle, one rising even higher than the nearby hill. Du Wei knew its history. A former family head, though a military commander, had been fascinated by astrology and married a female astrologer. He built the tower so she could observe the night sky.

A red carpet stretched from the castle gate to the carriage. As Du Wei stepped down, a tall, silver-haired old man in an immaculate gray suit bowed deeply.

“Young Master, I am Hill Rowling, steward of this residence. We received word of your arrival three days ago. Everyone in the castle is prepared to welcome your inspection. Please follow me.”

Hill's manners were faultless: respectful without flattery, humble without servility. He led Du Wei along the carpet while walking beside it himself.

Inside the entrance hall, an enormous family banner covered the facing wall—crossed swords entwined with irises, crowned above and wreathed in red flame. Rows of uniformed servants waited beneath it.

Du Wei had little interest in being inspected in turn. “Mr. Steward, please take me to the study. Everyone else may return to work.”

Hill obeyed at once and led him to a room Du Wei would sooner have called a library.

The circular chamber had a high vaulted ceiling, old plaster ornamentation, and statues of distinguished Rowling ancestors. Two-story bookshelves lined the walls, holding tens of thousands of volumes. Iron cabinets contained genealogies and ancient documents.

Even here, the family's martial character was unmistakable. A massive two-handed sword and executioner's axe hung crossed opposite the entrance, their edges carefully maintained. Other cabinets displayed antique weapons: century-old military bows, old knightly swords, sabers, and black ironwood bows.

“These belonged to outstanding ancestors of the family,” Hill said. “They preserve the glory of those who came before us.”

The shape of the chamber gave his words a deep echo.

Du Wei ran a hand over an old black-rosewood desk. Everything had been meticulously cleaned, yet centuries of use had polished the shelves and furniture smooth.

Hill explained that the study had once been the center of Rowling power. Although the family now governed from the Imperial Capital, tradition required every visiting family head to spend his first night here rather than in a bedroom, as a reminder of the family's history and his responsibilities.

“You have come as the Count's eldest son and representative,” Hill said. “May I ask whether tonight you intend to—”

“Tradition must be observed,” Du Wei replied. “I will spend the night here.”

The steward's expression softened. He then asked when Du Wei wished to begin inspecting the estate's finances. The annual accounts had already been prepared.

Du Wei took his place behind the great desk. “After the journey, I am hungry. Bring me something to eat. Then I will begin.”

He had barely finished a southern nobleman's afternoon tea and wiped away the last trace of pumpkin pie when Hill returned with two servants pushing a cart piled high with ledgers.

“All of that is for this year?” Du Wei asked.

Hill solemnly listed their contents: land surveys, acreage under cultivation, income and expenses from six towns, supplies and wages for the private armies stationed at three locations, weapons consumption, harvest records, construction budgets, and preliminary estimates for the coming year.

“And this is only part of it,” he added. “The remainder may take you a week.”

Du Wei studied the steward. Did Hill truly expect a thirteen-year-old to understand all this? Was he testing the exiled young master, protecting his own authority, or hiding corruption behind a mountain of figures?

Any explanation seemed possible.

Du Wei asked no questions. He lifted the top ledger, blew dust from its cover, and calmly began reading. After a while, he glanced up to find Hill still waiting.

“Is there something else, Mr. Steward? I prefer not to have anyone beside me while I read.”

Surprise flashed in Hill's eyes. “As you command, Young Master.”

When the heavy doors closed, Du Wei set down the ledger, stretched, and smiled to himself. “Perhaps something interesting really is about to happen.”

Hill returned twice before nightfall, once with tea and once to light the study's twenty great candelabra. Each time, he found Du Wei genuinely working. Several ledgers lay open, and the young master appeared to be comparing figures. Du Wei even asked a handful of precise questions that went straight to the heart of the accounts.

Was this truly the eldest son whom the family in the Imperial Capital called an idiot?

Du Wei noticed the steward's astonishment but said nothing. In truth, he was not checking the arithmetic or hunting fraud. With no practical knowledge of the estates, he could not have judged whether the figures were false.

He was reading the ledgers in a different way.

Their categories revealed what histories and family chronicles did not: the true extent of the Rowling Family's power.

Within its territory, the family operated almost as a government unto itself. It controlled taxation and effectively appointed local officials. Although Imperial law set the nominal tax rate, the family could alter it through exemptions and special levies, forwarding only a fixed share to the central treasury.

The military accounts revealed even more. The Empire maintained only two small reserve infantry regiments along the territory's outskirts—and even those were supplied by the Rowling Family rather than Imperial Headquarters. Across most of the land, order was enforced by the family's private army.

From these ledgers alone, Du Wei gained a clear picture of the family's economic, political, and military position.

Two facts mattered most: the family controlled taxation, and it controlled the troops.

In Du Wei's former world, the authority to tax and station armed forces were fundamental signs of sovereignty. Here, both belonged almost entirely to the Rowling Family. The Imperial government had nearly surrendered control over half of Cote Province. For all practical purposes, this was a small independent kingdom.

The realization disturbed him. When a central government began losing its authority, turmoil was rarely far behind.

The study fell silent except for the occasional pop of candlewick.

Suddenly, Du Wei rose and spun toward the wall behind him.

Nothing seemed amiss. Books filled the shelves, and above them hung a row of portraits depicting generations of Rowling family heads.

Yet for one fleeting instant, Du Wei had felt someone watching him.

His unusually strong mental power made his senses sharper than most. The sensation had been unmistakable: a hidden gaze fixed upon his back.

At the far left hung the oldest portrait, depicting the Imperial Marshal who had won the Rowling Plain for the family. The painted man wore a military uniform and possessed the same cold, resolute eyes as Count Raymond.

Those eyes seemed to stare directly at Du Wei.

He stepped back and moved from side to side. The gaze appeared to follow him. Then he smiled and sighed. “Perhaps I am too sensitive. It is only a painting.”

He turned away and picked up another ledger.

Behind him, the Marshal's painted eyes blinked.

Life and curiosity entered the rigid portrait as it watched Du Wei's back.

Without warning, Du Wei whirled around.

Boy and painting met each other's gaze.

“You can stop pretending. I know you are watching me.” Du Wei raised one hand. Between his fingers was the polished silver spoon he had used with his pumpkin pie.

“While you watched me, I watched your reflection in this. Spying on someone from behind is terribly impolite, don't you think?”

The portrait remained silent.