The group finally left.
Benjamin York's gaze lingered on the tea set, reluctant to look away. He cleared his throat, feigning nonchalance. "You must be tired after working all day. There's some leftover rice in the pot—just scraps from my meal. Don't think I saved it for you!"
Sophia Sullivan glanced at the food. Steam rose from the freshly cooked dishes.
She didn’t call out his transparent lie.
Benjamin carefully packed away the tea set and brought over a table. The three of them sat together, surrounded by a spread of delicious dishes, the atmosphere unexpectedly warm.
The old man was in unusually high spirits today, even bringing out his treasured rice wine. He took a sip, his cheeks flushing. "Girl, you finally made an old man’s dream come true! But you youngsters always want to wander. This courtyard—I meant to leave it to you. Having a place to call home is better than drifting like duckweed."
Sophia picked up a piece of fish. The flesh was tender, and she savored it slowly, offering no reply.
"What? Still not good enough for you?" Benjamin huffed.
"Wouldn’t dare," Sophia chuckled. "Everyone knows this courtyard is a golden ticket. The legacy of Potter’s Town—priceless."
Benjamin’s name carried weight in the ceramics world. If Sophia accepted, any porcelain she crafted bearing the mark of Potter’s Red Clay Studio would be like sitting on a gold mine—financial security for life.
Having lived most of his years, the old man only truly understood today how hard her life had been. Orphaned, married to a scoundrel, and now freshly divorced. He genuinely wanted to give her stability.
Yet she dodged the offer with jokes.
Benjamin shook his head and turned to Ethan Sullivan, placing a piece of braised pork belly on his plate. "Kid, you did well today. Consider this your reward."
A flicker of something complicated passed through his eyes. That wretched couple had dared to act high and mighty in his home, yet this young man had shut them down. In the end, money and power still ruled the world. The boy had a fraction of Sophia’s talent, but in this materialistic society, that was what mattered.
"Girl, I’m not pitying you," Benjamin sighed. "I’m just afraid these old crafts will die out."
Most ceramics today were mass-produced by machines. Few young people had the patience to learn traditional craftsmanship. And one by one, the old masters were passing.
In their youth, they’d fought tooth and nail for their craft’s legacy. Now, watching his peers fade away, the loneliness was something outsiders couldn’t comprehend.
Sophia read his expression.
She set down her utensils, calm. "I understand your intentions. I know the importance of preserving pottery. But this courtyard is too heavy a responsibility. I’m too wild—I can’t be tied down."
"But I promise you, I’ll carry on the craft. As for the courtyard, leave it to your family."
Benjamin opened his mouth to argue, but Sophia smoothly changed the subject.
"Old man, do you really think I’m that pathetic? That a divorce would break me? I got the villa at Blue Whale Bay. I’ve just been too busy cleaning up the mess to go back—it disgusts me right now. I’m staying with a friend temporarily. Far from being homeless."
"Staying with friends isn’t ideal," Ethan interjected. "If you need a place, I have properties. Consider it payment for today’s guidance."
"Such generosity, Mr. Sullivan," Sophia smirked.
"Alright, it’s getting late." Benjamin pushed himself up with a groan. "Old age is catching up. Just cooking wears me out."
Sophia almost laughed. The old man wasn’t tired from cooking—he’d thrown his back out from excitement over the tea set.
Caught, Benjamin harrumphed. "It’s going to rain tonight. Since you’re freeloading, go gather the bamboo shoots drying on the back hill."
Ethan looked down at his wheelchair and paused.
"I’m disabled."
"You’ve got arms and legs—that’s enough!" Benjamin pointed at the wheelchair. "That chair’s sturdy. You could haul a pig with it, let alone a few baskets of bamboo shoots!"
Sophia glanced at the wheelchair. Rumored to be custom-made by a top medical team, worth a fortune. In the old man’s eyes, no matter how expensive the vehicle, its ultimate purpose was farm work.
Ethan didn’t seem bothered. The old man reminded him of his grandfather—gruff but kind. Though he’d been calling him "brat" these past two days, his care was evident.
"Fine. I’ll go."