231-232

*Chapter 231: Feeling at Home*

As the saying goes, "Every ten miles, the winds differ; every hundred miles, customs vary." Each country's culture and traditions are uniquely distinctive.

The streets of Tokyo are lively and bustling, like a microcosm of society that vividly showcases the diverse facets of life.

At night, Tokyo dazzles with neon lights and an air of indulgence. Yet, by morning, it reverts to its serious demeanor—a nation that blends madness with discipline.

The convoy passed through the bustling streets of Tokyo, and Milo gazed at the nighttime scenery outside the car window while chatting with Sumitomo Junko about her work over the past six months.

From Milo's perspective, there wasn't much to discuss.

With the backing of the Sumitomo Group and an even greater power in Blackburn as her ultimate support, no one in the Japanese media and entertainment industries dared to trouble her.

Additionally, Junko could leverage the resources of Paladin Media's Asian division.

If, even with these advantages, she couldn't make progress, it would be fair to call Sumitomo Junko a complete failure in business.

However, the reality was that Junko was competent and adept at utilizing resources.

Since Milo had met her over a year ago, she had smoothly earned the nickname "The Iron-Blooded Queen of Japanese Entertainment."

But just like Britain's Elizabeth II, no matter how powerful and impressive they were outside, when these women returned home, they had men who could make even queens bend to their will.

When Milo mentioned being tired from the journey, Junko gently arranged for him to take a relaxing bath before they went out for dinner.

Milo gladly accepted since his visit to Japan this time had no pressing agenda—he was merely here to see his son and Junko.

By tomorrow or the day after, he would travel to the neighboring country to meet with his grandfather.

In the spacious bathroom, Milo took a shower and soaked in the bathtub with his eyes closed, relaxing.

Tokyo residents are known for their longevity, which is reportedly linked to their love for soaking in baths.

Occasional baths do indeed relieve fatigue, calm the mind, and improve circulation.

Suddenly, the bathroom door opened.

Milo asked, "Where's Andy?"

"He's eaten and is with my mother," Junko replied softly before the sound of her undressing echoed through the room.

Milo squinted and caught a glimpse of her snow-white skin—she wore nothing at all.

Junko approached gently, her face glowing with tenderness. Her figure had barely changed after childbirth, except her bust had noticeably grown.

"Sir, shall I scrub your back for you?"

Milo nodded, turning his head aside.

Junko rinsed herself under the shower, her hair tied in a high ponytail, and stepped into the bathtub. Sitting behind Milo, she began to massage his shoulders to ease his fatigue.

Milo reclined back, resting his head against her soft curves.

Junko blushed slightly, letting out a soft hum as Milo’s short hair tickled her skin. She thought to herself, "Good thing Andy was just fed; otherwise, I'd be leaking milk under this pressure."

After fifteen minutes, Milo was so relaxed he was nearly asleep.

Junko gently reminded him, "Sir, you should get out now; soaking too long isn’t good."

Following the traditional Japanese bathing ritual, Junko placed a small stool under the showerhead. The process involved rinsing, soaking, scrubbing, and then cleaning up.

This thorough routine was arguably even more satisfying than a northeastern-style bathhouse experience.

If there was a downside, it might be Junko herself.

Though she had seemingly studied the art, as a high-born lady and now the Iron-Blooded Queen of Japanese Entertainment, she had only Milo to practice on.

Her skills, while earnest, lacked finesse compared to seasoned practitioners.

Yet, with her slender and graceful figure constantly moving in front of him, who could stay composed?

What was supposed to be a quick scrub and rinse turned into an extended bath, adding over an hour to the routine.

Emerging from the bathroom in a robe, feeling refreshed, Milo left the nearly exhausted Junko to clean up the aftermath.

In the tatami-style living room, Milo sat for a while, but Junko still hadn’t come out. He called for his personal maid, Mrs. Solly, to bring his son over.

Surprisingly, instead of the maid, Junko’s mother, Sumitomo Eri, arrived, holding baby Andy.

Milo was well aware of Junko's family ties.

She and the current head of the Sumitomo conglomerate, Sumitomo Tomoharu, were cousins. However, Tomoharu’s father was the eldest son, while Junko's father was the youngest—nearly twenty years apart.

A few years ago, Junko’s father had passed away from illness, leaving her at the mercy of the family.

This led to her being presented as a “gift” to American elites—a practice that Sumitomo likely hadn’t expected to backfire.

Milo Blackburn, an eccentric yet powerful American, didn’t just enjoy Junko; he kept her, making her a permanent part of his collection.

This created an awkward dynamic within the Sumitomo family regarding her position.

Fortunately, Junko focused solely on the media industry and refrained from leveraging her American connections in other areas.

Sumitomo Eri, Junko’s mother, had married young and bore Junko early. According to Milo’s research, Eri wasn’t even forty.

“Mr. Blackburn, nice to meet you. My name is Kudo Eri,” she said softly, surprising Milo with her refined demeanor.

Eri explained that “Kudo” was her maiden name, which she reverted to after Junko’s father passed.

For various reasons, she had been separated from Junko for years but had now returned, thanks to Junko’s newfound strength and status. However, her surname remained unchanged.

After a brief chat, Junko finally appeared. She initially intended to arrange meetings or social engagements for Milo, as many in Tokyo were eager to see him.

However, perhaps due to his upcoming journey, Milo declined.

“Forget it. I ate on the plane and am not hungry. After the bath, I’d rather rest a bit. Wake me later, and I’ll meet Cabrera and the others.”

With that, Milo retreated to his room for a nap.

Close to midnight, Milo was sleeping soundly when Eri approached his bedside, gently shaking his shoulder.

“Sir, please wake up,” she whispered.

Groggily, Milo checked his phone—he’d slept for over two hours. It was nearly 11 p.m.

“Mr. Cabrera and his party are waiting downstairs,” Eri said in halting English, offering a warm towel and a glass of water.

“Where’s Junko?” Milo asked, surprised that his young mother-in-law was the one waking him.

Sitting up, he grabbed the towel and wiped his face.

"Junko is taking care of Andy, so she sent me here," Eriri said softly, lowering her head slightly. Her chest rose and fell, and her expression looked both reserved and a little nervous.

Milo chuckled and accepted a glass of warm water that Eriri handed over.

"Thank you," Milo said with a smile.

For some reason, Eriri blushed deeply and quickly replied, "You're welcome."

She then took out Milo's clothes for going out, neatly folded, and began unbuttoning his pajamas.

After a moment of silence, Eriri closed the door quietly and started unbuttoning her own blouse.

Milo froze for a second, taking in the sight of Eriri—who looked to be no more than her late twenties, even though she was closer to forty, thanks to her well-maintained, affluent lifestyle. He finally understood: the Japanese really do have a knack for these things, and Sumitomo Junko was no exception.

The only question was whether this was Junko's idea, the Sumitomo Zaibatsu's idea, or even the Kujo family's idea.

It was clear that the "Kujo" in Eriri's surname referred to that Kujo family from Japan.

Perhaps it was all three.

They were treating him as if he were some kind of insatiable rogue.

Although Milo admitted he did have that sort of personality, he was still cautious about things.

So, he made no move, merely watching Eriri quietly until she seemed overwhelmed by the silence.

"Not now," he finally said. "Help me get dressed. I still have to head out."

Eriri looked visibly relieved, helping him put on his clothes with her head lowered, her face flushed red. She followed closely behind him as he made his way to the entryway.

Once there, Eriri hurried to kneel down, helping Milo put on his shoes and socks and checking his attire.

The neckline of Eriri's blouse was quite wide, and she had just undone some of the buttons earlier.

As she bent forward slightly, her neckline revealed a glimpse of snowy white skin, an enticing sight.

She was even fuller than Junko, whose size had increased after childbirth.

Clearly, Junko's figure would continue to improve—genetics like that don't lie.

Milo felt slightly awkward but couldn't deny that he was enjoying this.

Catherine Zeta-Jones, Sophie, Monica, even Connolly—all his lovers—had never served him like this.

Only his maids had.

But Eriri was not a maid.

She was Sumitomo Junko's mother, his convenient mother-in-law, and a direct descendant of Japan's prestigious Kujo family.

Each of her identities carried weight, yet she still behaved like this.

It could only be described as uniquely Japanese.

"I'm off," Milo said and then added softly, "You're doing great. Keep it up."

Eriri nodded, her face still red, and smiled faintly as she knelt in the entryway, watching him leave with respectful diligence.

Milo left with a smirk. "There's definitely some appeal to Japan's feudalistic tendencies."

Though it took some getting used to, he couldn't deny that the experience was quite enjoyable.

He suddenly understood how the pressures of working in Tokyo might shape the strong patriarchal tendencies of Japanese men.

They were pampered.

If you don't explode under pressure, you'll wither away in silence. At work, they're meek and trampled on; at home, they're kings and gods.

It’s like someone who's never tasted power suddenly becoming a parent. For some, it creates an unhealthy need for control.

And this nation, known for its obsession and madness, had such traits ingrained in its cultural fabric.

That’s why this fixation on peculiar things, while strange, was somewhat understandable.

Milo headed downstairs and met up with a group of his "friends" at the club below.

These friends were led by Ancle Cabrera—a mix of Japanese-Americans who had studied in the U.S. and Americans living in Japan, most affiliated with the Tokyo Public Prosecutor’s Office.

Last time Milo visited Japan, these people had hosted and cooperated with him, making his stay exceptionally pleasant.

Not only had he left a "seed" behind during that trip, but he had also pressured the Japanese into practically giving him Universal Group for a song.

It was a plunder that could only be described as elegant and ruthless.

So, Milo valued these connections quite a bit.

That said, tonight’s main purpose was to adjust to Tokyo’s time zone and check on his son and his women.

Because of this, he didn’t plan to stay long and had invited these people over for a brief meeting instead.

There were no additional activities or distractions, though Milo briefly entertained the idea of going out.

But when he remembered Junko and her daughter upstairs, his mind kept drifting back to the Tokyo-themed adult films he'd seen in his previous life. It made him itch with temptation.

After spending a little over an hour with the group, Milo returned to his apartment around 1 a.m.

Unfortunately, Eriri wasn’t there. She had gone to accompany Andy to sleep.

The one waiting for him in the living room was Sumitomo Junko.

He didn’t ask where her daughter was or why Junko had taken over.

Milo understood clearly—if he truly wanted something, neither of them would refuse.

In America, there were plenty of people far wilder and crazier than him.

In their pursuit of sensory thresholds, many had long since crossed the limits of morality.

The world had its fair share of extreme foods, bizarre venues, and other things born from repeatedly breaking boundaries.

In the past two years, Milo had fully become a member of this elite class.

Yet, the remnants of his original soul reminded him why the rich and powerful, despite already possessing so much, continued chasing wealth and authority.

Desire is insatiable. Without a goal to pursue, they would become more monstrous than any ghost.

Americans were like this, the Japanese too, and so were the elites everywhere.

The only difference was that Americans had no restraint, while the Japanese preferred to indulge among themselves.

For now, his restraint was a product of the lingering values from his humble beginnings.

The day those values faded, he might turn into one of those monsters himself.

For now, if neither Eriri nor Junko took the initiative, he would hold back.

---

He managed to keep his composure.

The following afternoon, after bidding farewell to his friend You Chun and her daughter, as well as his own son, Milo boarded a plane. After a three-hour flight, he arrived at his next destination—

Shanghai, also known as the “Magic City.”

He planned to stay here for two days to participate in some business activities.

Afterward, he would head north to meet his grandfather and attend the national founding celebration a few days later.

This was once one of his greatest dreams—a dream he had been unable to realize in the past due to financial and time constraints.

Unexpectedly, he was now able to fulfill it.

However, it was achieved as a foreigner, a specially invited guest of honor.

"Shanghai..."

As he stepped out of the plane, Milo gazed at the sign for Pudong International Airport ahead and the grand, vibrant, and almost festival-like red-themed reception scene below.

Milo felt a surge of mixed emotions.

A wanderer returning home, yet the wanderer had completely changed his identity.

Despite his sentiments, Milo quickly put on his diplomatic smile and became a cheerful young man as he disembarked. He greeted the enthusiastic Shanghai officials and their entourage, who came forward to shake his hand.

He was then escorted straight from the airport to a hotel in the western suburbs.

This hotel had a long-standing reputation that Milo had heard of even in his previous life.

It is Shanghai’s largest five-star garden-style state guesthouse, covering an area of 1,160 acres. The property is adorned with ancient trees, rare flowers, pavilions, and gazebos scattered across an 80,000-square-meter lake.

It is the preferred venue for hosting significant state events in Shanghai.

Even the welcome banquet that evening was held here.

To honor Milo’s visit, the entire hotel was cleared out. Apart from the staff and Milo’s entourage, all other guests had been asked to leave.

The next morning, when Milo woke up, he enjoyed a local specialty breakfast while watching the morning news on local television.

The news featured footage of him smiling, taking group photos, and conversing with a large group of locals. The fresh experience left him amused.

"Xinhua News Agency, September 27 – Yesterday, the world’s richest man, Milo Blackburn, officially visited China, landing at Pudong International Airport in Shanghai..."

To Milo, the reception felt even grander than when Bill Gates or Warren Buffett visited, let alone the understated Rockefellers.

The entire report was overwhelmingly positive, to the point that Milo felt a bit embarrassed.

He knew full well that he wasn’t as noble a person as they made him out to be.

But in this era, the place’s admiration for America and the West was almost excessive.

Of course, their deep cultural heritage ensured that this admiration would eventually fade more quickly than, say, the Slavs, who had endured centuries of hardship and still viewed America as a first love.

After breakfast, not long later, Kenny approached him and spoke softly, "Boss, James Sasser is here. He’s the current U.S. ambassador and rushed over from the capital."

"Call Shabotai over. Let’s go meet this ambassador," Milo instructed.

Kenny nodded and went to summon Milo’s chief advisor.

A short while later, Shabotai accompanied Milo as they headed toward the meeting room. He spoke quietly along the way, “James Sasser has served as chairman of several committees, including the Senate Budget Committee, Defense Appropriations Subcommittee, Banking, International Finance and Monetary Policy Subcommittee, and the Federal Public Service Governance Subcommittee of Washington, D.C.”

"With such a prominent career, why would he become an ambassador?"

"He lost his Senate reelection two years ago. However, thanks to his extensive qualifications, he was appointed as an ambassador by the current administration."

"What attitude should I adopt when meeting him?"

"Boss, just be yourself. Right now, he’s the one who needs you."

"Understood."

Indeed, when Milo finally met James Sasser, he found the ambassador’s demeanor to be as warm—perhaps even sycophantic—as that of the Japanese ambassador.

Shabotai explained that most of the U.S. ambassadors sent to major countries were strong political players who had lost internal battles.

Despite their setbacks, these individuals were highly capable, which is why they were assigned to significant nations.

Particularly in countries like China and Russia, these ambassadors were often ambitious and eager to reclaim their former glory.

Thus, when facing a rising domestic superstar like Milo, their overly warm attitude was understandable.

Beyond the pleasantries, however, James Sasser had come with a specific agenda.

Much of it pertained to national and diplomatic protocol. The U.S. administration hoped Milo wouldn’t get too close to the locals in public, as it could complicate certain American interests.

This was why Sasser had rushed overnight from Beijing to meet Milo.

He even subtly suggested that Milo could privately meet with some locals—carefully selected by the U.S. embassy.

These individuals included prominent business and media elites.

"James, I don’t earn a single cent of salary from the White House," Milo replied with a smile, rejecting the suggestion. "That’s my father’s job, not mine. Do you understand?"

James Sasser hadn’t expected Milo to refuse, considering the request seemed trivial and would facilitate his work.

But since Milo wasn’t willing, Sasser couldn’t press the matter.

Before they could delve further, it was time for Milo’s scheduled activities to begin.

First, he left the hotel and headed to the city center of Shanghai. There, he visited the bustling commercial district, inspected the area, and took photos.

Lunch was at the Peace Hotel, followed by a roundtable discussion.

The discussion focused primarily on financial topics, as Shanghai served as a key hub for finance, industry, and international trade in China—second only to Hong Kong.

After the discussion, Milo took a two-hour break. By 4 p.m., he was visiting Shanghai’s largest factory, an automotive company jointly operated with General Motors.

---

In the evening, he headed to the Grand Theater of Magic City, accompanied by local officials, to watch performances of traditional songs and dances, as well as local dramas.

With that, his itinerary in Magic City finally came to an end.

The next day at noon, he left the hotel in the western suburbs and went straight to the airport to catch a flight to the capital of the region.

Later that evening, at the guesthouse in the Imperial Capital known for fishing, he finally met Old Blackburn.

“How does it feel? The people here must have treated you with great warmth,” the old man said with a cheerful smile.

“They were warm, but also very cautious,” Milo replied truthfully.

“Haha...” John II Blackburn chuckled and shrugged. “That’s just how the Chinese are. But overall, they’re becoming more and more open. This is my fourth visit, and I believe I’m qualified to comment on their changes.”

“Grandfather, I heard you once met the man whose portrait hangs on the city wall—when he was still alive, I mean.”

“I did, once.”

Seated across from each other in the hotel’s living room, Old Blackburn appeared nostalgic. “That was when I was still young. My father—your great-grandfather—and I came along as part of Nixon’s delegation.”

Milo asked curiously, “What impression did he leave on you?”

“Wise.”

“I felt like he could see right through all of us.”

“It’s hard to imagine what kind of wisdom was housed in that frail body at the time.”

Old Blackburn concluded, “For me, and for our group of Americans back then, it was an unsettling feeling. I didn’t like it. Perhaps this is a case of ‘one person’s hero being another’s enemy.’”

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 232: The Duke's Daughter*

“...‘Is it not a pleasure to have friends coming from afar?’ The extended National Day holiday is not only a time for citizens to celebrate and relax but also offers international visitors a chance to better understand China.”

“Beijing, as the nation's cultural and international exchange hub, provides its visitors with a warm welcome through its rich historical heritage and beautiful natural scenery. Whether climbing the Great Wall, strolling through the Temple of Heaven, exploring the hutongs, or immersing in the festive atmosphere at Tiananmen Square, this golden autumn, Beijing has brought countless smiles to foreign faces.”

Milo stayed in the capital of China until the 3rd, only then boarding his Boeing 747 air palace to leave the vibrant land.

As for what he did, who he met, or where he went during those days in Beijing...

Well, that’s something not even a light sketch could reveal.

If one had to say something, it would be that the bespectacled figure was met.

The future male protagonist was also encountered.

The two had a deep discussion, exchanged views on one another, and both were pleasantly surprised.

One side discovered that Milo, as a relative of the Texas Bush family, indeed had a relatively positive and friendly perspective toward China.

The other side discovered that China at this time, in its quest for development, was willing to pay a substantial price.

All in all, it was a mutually satisfying exchange.

After one or two more visits, Milo Blackburn might even earn the title of "Old Friend of the Chinese People."

---

With the screeching roar of turbojet engines and the rapid rolling of landing wheels, the massive body of the Boeing 747 airplane slowly touched down at Heathrow International Airport.

Heathrow, the primary airport of London, the capital of the United Kingdom, serves as one of the world’s leading aviation hubs. It is not only the busiest airport in Europe but also one of the busiest in the world, ranking third globally during this era.

As Milo and his entourage descended the aircraft stairs, he smiled slightly and took a deep breath—the air around London, thanks to over a century of environmental protection, was finally free from the smell of industry.

This is because the country had essentially abandoned its industrial roots.

The first nation in the world to complete industrialization had also become the first to achieve deindustrialization and return to a pre-industrial state.

"Finally, this is London, the heart of the once-glorious British Empire," Milo muttered to himself as he exhaled deeply.

“Let’s go.”

At his command, everyone boarded the fleet of black Rolls-Royce Phantoms, prepared in advance by Kenny, who had arrived earlier.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Rolls-Royce was still British at this point, although it was on the verge of being acquired by the Germans.

So, while in Britain, why not experience the industrial charm of England’s bygone days?

Seated in the black Phantom, Milo observed the city through the car window.

“The wheel of fortune turns. There are no eternal empires. The once-mighty British Empire is now in decline,” he reflected as he took in the buildings passing by.

Almost no new construction was visible at first glance.

London’s development seemed to have stalled.

Most of the buildings were century-old structures built in the early 20th century.

As he said, Britain had indeed declined. The once-dominant, high-spirited “John Bull” was now akin to an aging elder.

Yet the proud John Bull remained unwilling to admit it, still immersed in the glory of the past.

Fifty years earlier, when a tyrant with a peculiar mustache swept across Europe, defeating the Allies at every turn and ruthlessly targeting Britain’s foundations...

The Rothschild family, emblematic of British capital, became a specific target of the tyrant, facing near-extermination. Britain suffered grievously as a result.

Although the United States intervened, preventing German forces from crossing the English Channel to land on British soil, World War II drained Europe’s vitality and nearly bled Britain dry.

Coupled with the constant pressure from the ever-expanding Soviet Union, which never abandoned its westward ambitions, Britain’s resources were continually strained.

Even 50 years post-war, Britain’s economy remained lackluster, forcing it to submit to its former subordinate, America, as a big brother.

Fortune’s wheel turns indeed.

The familial relationship of conjugate powers is chaotic.

Milo could only regret arriving late.

Had he come a decade or two earlier, he could have witnessed Britain’s "Iron Lady" ascend to the pinnacle of power, representing capital interests and initiating privatization reforms in a bid to revive Britain’s economy.

Instead, the reforms led to a frenzy of capital exploitation.

Under the Iron Lady’s tenure, Britain’s economy failed to rise again, becoming an American appendage economically and militarily.

Britain’s remaining independence seemed limited to occasionally stirring trouble and annoying the U.S. and the world.

---

Milo and his party checked into the Hilton London Paddington Hotel, which they had entirely booked.

Given the nearly 200 people in his entourage, it was simpler to rent the whole hotel than to book individual rooms.

This four-star Hilton Hotel, located in the heart of London, was surrounded by landmarks like Trafalgar Square, the British Museum, 10 Downing Street, the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, and the National Gallery.

None were more than a five-kilometer drive away, with some as close as two or three kilometers.

Milo intended to explore the city a bit—after all, this was the old London his ancestors had longed for but failed to conquer.

By the time they were settled, the sun was about to set.

Flying nonstop from Beijing to London on a Boeing 747 had taken over 16 hours.

Despite the seven-hour time difference, it was already 4 p.m. in London when they landed. After reaching the hotel and settling in, more than an hour had passed—a quick process, all things considered.

With October’s shorter days, the London sky was beginning to darken.

Milo decided to head out, ordering the motorcade to start. He planned to take a leisurely tour of London.

As the cars drove across London Bridge, the scene of the sea meeting the sky bathed in crimson sunset was breathtaking.

Crossing the bridge, Milo observed the bustling West London skyline filled with towering buildings. The area was a testament to London’s prime geographical location as Europe’s premier port city, attracting countless international financial institutions.

The route led them to King William Street, the historical core and modern financial center of London.

As night fell, the streets became increasingly crowded, illuminated by countless dazzling lights.

“Boss...”

Kenny, sitting in the front passenger seat, turned around to Milo after finishing a phone call.

He said, “I had a feeling someone was tailing us as soon as we got to the hotel this afternoon. I asked the CIA’s London office to look into it, and they confirmed that someone has indeed been watching you.”

Milo continued gazing out at the London nightscape through the car window without any visible reaction. He simply smiled and asked, “Who is it?”

“The CIA identified three main groups. One seems to be from MI6, the British Secret Intelligence Service. Another appears to be members of the British Nobility Alliance. The third group likely belongs to the Oilmen.”

“No Irish Army, I suppose?” Milo joked.

Kenny replied, “Definitely not. For one, they’ve already reconciled with the British government. Even if they hadn’t, there’d be no reason for them to target us.”

“What’s your recommendation?”

“Just ignore them. We have enough personnel, and we’re carrying identification from the U.S. Embassy in London. There’s no need to worry about them.”

“Got it,” Milo responded.

It was no surprise that Milo drew attention in London, just as he had in China, where his presence had been taken seriously.

Now in London, it was natural for the locals to be cautious. After all, during his last visit to Tokyo, he’d made headlines with a major incident. Everyone knew Tokyo was practically America’s stomping ground, but the concern was that Milo might pull off another international spectacle on their turf.

Even if they weren’t scared, dealing with such situations would undoubtedly be a headache. Hence, the British Secret Intelligence Service had likely decided to keep an eye on him.

As for why the British Nobility Alliance and the Oilmen were interested, Milo had some guesses but no concrete answers.

After driving around the city for a while, Milo decided to take a cruise along the Thames River for a nighttime tour of London.

He figured that a tourist mindset would enhance the experience—enjoy the scenery and savor the food without missing a thing. Compared to a nighttime cruise on New York’s Hudson Bay, London’s river tours had a different charm.

Starting from the Tower Bridge pier, the cruise followed the “Mother River” of England—the Thames—offering stunning views of both banks. Along the way, iconic London landmarks came into view one after another: the London Eye, the Tower of London, Tate Modern, Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre, and, of course, Tower Bridge.

Under London’s resplendent night sky, the breathtaking scenery unfolded like a painting.

Milo stood on the deck, enjoying the cool night breeze, when a few uninvited guests appeared.

“Mr. Blackburn, it’s really you! Haha, I thought I might be mistaken,” said a chubby young man, blocked by Milo’s bodyguards.

This guy, who was both overweight and slightly balding, bore all the hallmarks of authentic British lineage. His face was beaming with a wide grin as he spoke in polished Cambridge English, the so-called upper-class dialect favored in London.

Behind the chubby man were two bodyguards dressed in black and two strikingly attractive young women, who were curiously sizing up Milo.

“And you are?” Milo asked, puzzled. He tried to place the man but came up empty.

The chubby man seemed unfazed by Milo’s reaction and chuckled, “Ah, Mr. Blackburn, you have a noble habit of forgetting people. I once visited Harvard Yard in Boston with my father, where we met you and your grandfather. It was a group setting, of course.”

With that reminder, an image of a chubby young man and his middle-aged father gradually surfaced in Milo’s mind.

“Ah, my apologies! You’re the eldest son of Marquis Edward, right? His heir? Your name is William Bute, correct? Sorry, it just slipped my mind,” Milo said with a smile.

The chubby young man, William Bute, was indeed the heir of the Bute family, a British marquis lineage that had lasted over 400 years. William was likely the 11th or 12th generation, though Milo couldn’t recall exactly.

What he did remember was that the Bute family was quite wealthy. While their ranking within the British Nobility Alliance wasn’t high, they were among the richest of the noble families, thanks to their enthusiasm for commerce.

That evening, Milo was aboard the Victoria, the largest cruise ship on the Thames, featuring four decks with food, drinks, and entertainment aplenty. Milo had initially chosen the first deck for its open deck area and unobstructed views.

Meanwhile, on the third deck in the VIP lounge, a few young aristocrats were observing the commotion on the lower deck.

“Who’s that fat William is so excited to meet?” someone asked.

“He brought so many bodyguards and looks so arrogant. Must be an American—maybe a business partner of the Bute family in North America?”

Someone else squinted, recognition dawning. “No, not just any American. Surely you’ve heard of Milo Blackburn, haven’t you?”

“Milo Blackburn? That name sounds familiar…”

“Idiot. He’s the richest man in the world! Chairman of Paladin Media and the controlling force behind Yahoo!”

“Oh, him! No wonder William is so enthusiastic. The Bute family loves cozying up to wealthy Americans.”

“Should we go down and introduce ourselves?”

“No need. Fat William will likely invite him up here. We’ll meet him then.”

The group, composed entirely of noble offspring—at least viscounts’ heirs, with some being lords themselves—was proud. Historically, and even now, it was considered an honor for the wealthiest Americans to marry daughters of British nobility.

Even the daughter of a destitute baron, let alone a prominent one, could marry the richest American. After all, everyone knew that most North Americans were just descendants of European peasants.

These young nobles, however, weren’t from struggling families forced to sell off estates or castles. They were part of the aristocracy still active and influential in British politics.

For this reason, they couldn’t bring themselves to act as obsequiously as William Bute did when introducing himself to Milo.

After all, they’d spent centuries acting like fathers to Americans. It was hard to accept that, in today’s world, they were barely even grandsons in comparison.

Perhaps this explained why the Bute family had become the wealthiest noble house in Britain—they were willing to seize opportunities to make money, no matter the cost.

They truly don’t care about appearances.

Down on the lower deck.

William Booth smiled warmly: "Mr. Blackburn, would you like to come upstairs and have a seat? There's authentic British cuisine up there. Plus, sitting higher up offers a better view."

The Victoria’s 45-minute evening cruise was nearing its end as it passed its final stop, the London Eye, before returning to dock.

But the mention of British cuisine...

Authentic British cuisine, no less...

Milo, who had initially been a little interested in the view from the upper deck, suddenly lost all interest.

Milo politely declined: "My Lord, perhaps next time. It's been a busy day, and I'm quite tired now."

William Booth seemed a bit disappointed but didn’t insist. Instead, he asked, "Mr. Blackburn, could I get your contact information, then?"

"Of course!" Milo didn’t refuse. After exchanging his hotel contact details, he signaled to his bodyguards and disembarked.

Those on the third floor were dumbfounded.

Not giving face?

Or was the fat guy hogging all the glory for himself?

In a hurry, a few of them rushed to the deck, but by then, Milo had already left in a car after disembarking.

William, now surrounded by companions, leaned against the railing, letting the sea breeze brush past his face. A subtle look of satisfaction crossed his plump features.

These were all the offspring of nobility.

They could disembark whenever they wished, rest in private rooms when tired, and were not bound by the 45-minute limitation.

"William, what's going on?" someone asked in a low voice.

Feigning ignorance, William responded, "What do you mean, what's going on?"

"Where’s the American?"

"Oh, Mr. Blackburn? He’s already left."

Then, as if suddenly realizing something, William let out an exaggerated "Oh" and said, "Wait, did you all want to meet him? Well, he was tired and already went back to the hotel to rest."

The group exchanged glances, but there was nothing they could do. After all, none of them were willing to lower their pride and actively befriend Milo.

When they finally left, the girl trailing at the back spoke up with a cheerful smile: "William, give me that American’s contact information."

William squinted as he asked with a grin, "Eileen, you’re interested in him too?"

He found it odd.

As the only granddaughter of the Duke of Argyll, one of the 24 most prestigious ducal families in Britain, Eileen Campbell held a particularly high status in their social circle.

Her father, the duke's heir, held only the title of baron (he would become the new duke once the current duke passed).

Her brother, the next heir after her father, didn’t even have a title yet.

Yet Eileen Campbell, only 22 years old and highly favored within her family, already held the title of Lady Baroness of Lorne.

And it wasn’t just an honorary title. She had an actual fiefdom in the town of Lorne, Surrey.

Nominally, the entire town’s land belonged to her, and residents paid her taxes annually.

Of course, by the late 20th century, even the Windsor family—arguably Britain’s wealthiest landlords—could barely collect significant taxes.

Eileen’s fiefdom in Lorne brought in only a symbolic amount each year, likely insufficient to cover her monthly cosmetics expenses.

Still, she remained an esteemed duke’s granddaughter, the daughter of a future duke, and a titled baroness.

How could someone like her take an interest in an American?

Could the Duke of Argyll's family be running low on money?

It seemed plausible.

Among Britain’s many ancient noble families, very few were adept at making money.

And as time went on, British laws increasingly constrained the aristocracy.

Nobles could no longer exploit state power for wealth like they once did.

The capitalist class had firmly taken control of the nation, leaving the nobility with little more than their ancient legacies and traditions.

Families like the Booths, who embraced capitalism early and actively pursued business, were now among the most prosperous noble families.

Meanwhile, ancient families like the Argylls—who were prestigious but lacked business acumen—were struggling financially.

Some dukes didn’t even own a single estate in London and had to rely on renting apartments.

In this era, even the Duke of Kent (the Windsor family’s earliest ducal title) and the most beloved family of the Commonwealth lived far less extravagantly than before.

So how could the other members of Britain’s ancient noble alliance fare any better?

With this in mind, William Booth began to understand Eileen Campbell’s motives.

At that moment, the Duke of Argyll’s granddaughter stared straight at him. "Are you planning to negotiate terms with me, dear William?"

Reluctantly, William instructed a nearby bodyguard to fetch paper and pen and wrote down the hotel contact Milo had provided.

Handing it to Eileen, he said, "Here’s the contact information, but it’s just for his hotel. If you really want to meet him, don’t say it’s from me... Actually, forget it. He just arrived in London today, so he’ll know it’s from me anyway."

The duke’s granddaughter grinned. "Don’t worry so much, William. You won’t lose anything from this."

"Just a word of caution," William warned. "That American isn’t some docile lamb."

"He’s not like us. He’s an ambitious, driven pioneer. Someone who could amass wealth surpassing the combined assets of all Britain’s ancient noble families in just two years isn’t ordinary."

"I even heard that the Bostonians are beginning to see him as their new leader."

"It’s like the gap between America’s national power and Britain’s now."

"Please, tread carefully."

"That’s none of your concern," Eileen replied, twirling her car keys with evident satisfaction.

They say heroes love beauties, but who’s to say beauties don’t admire heroes as well?

A young legend—how intriguing.

While male heirs might devise schemes to win over women, high-ranking female heirs, when intrigued, were far from passive.

Especially someone like Eileen Campbell, spoiled by her family.

---

(End of Chapter)