The first time the butler saw Mrs. Nixon, only two words came to his mind—"goddess."
Before arriving at the residence, she had imagined many possibilities. Maybe the house was full of rough, burly men, and she'd have to worry about her safety. Or perhaps it was a place filled with complicated, smoky dealings, and they'd only hired her out of necessity. Then again, it could be an extravagant mansion, with Mr. Nixon hiding his vast fortune behind its lavish walls. But she never could have imagined that in this secluded house, there was only a calm and gentle woman and a lively, fair-skinned boy.
The front yard was filled with many plants, resembling a small botanical garden. It was said that these plants were all personally planted by Mr. Nixon after she arrived. Where the butler had grown up, any land would never go to waste; it was always used for growing vegetables or raising chickens. But here, the vast front yard was entirely dedicated to various ornamental plants, including a sprawling lavender field, fiery red begonias, and soft pink mimosas... There were also several trees planted along the edge of the property, trees that seemed full of meaning. She didn't know what type of trees they were, but she knew that Mr. Nixon cherished them. She often took the young master under the trees, looking up at them, carefully trimming their branches, saying it was to "appreciate the tree."
Mr. Nixon loved to cook herself, and her skills were truly impressive. She spent large amounts of time in the kitchen, ensuring that the young master grew plump and healthy. On the young master's birthday, Mr. Nixon would personally bake him a cake. It was said that every year it was different, made according to the young master's preferences, changing every time. There was a time when the young master loved fresh cream, so she made it herself, saying she trusted her own creation. Another time, when he liked pears, she made pear jam and spread it delicately on the cake. In her memory, Mr. Nixon was always pictured standing in the kitchen with an apron on, her thin, peaceful back resembling a painting, deeply engraved in her mind.
Apart from Mr. Nixon and his family of three, there were also her, several servants, and a seasoned chauffeur. The chauffeur had a son, who was very lively. Mr. Nixon, noticing that the young master had no playmates, asked the chauffeur to bring his son along so they could play together. The two boys, who were of the same age, often chased and played together in the yard, adding a lively atmosphere to the peaceful house. The young master was very obedient, often following Mr. Nixon around, from the front to the back, his fair face always calling out "Ms. Mccann, where are you?," which was quite endearing. Later, when he became friends with that boy, Jack, the two boys, being mischievous, inevitably caused trouble, digging up the plants Mr. Nixon had grown to play with. The children were so absorbed in their play that they often lost track of time, missing mealtimes or bedtime, which became increasingly frequent. Mr. Nixon would personally come to remind them, but the young master would speak to her disrespectfully. Mr. Nixon, though, would appear unbothered, smiling and saying the children were just playing, and that it was no big deal. But when Mr. Nixon, who often stayed out overnight, came back and heard about it, he became extremely angry. He beat the young master severely and forbade him from playing with Jack in the future, blaming Jack for leading the young master astray.
The young master was resentful in his heart and became even more distant from Mr. Nixon, with whom he had already been somewhat estranged. The butler always felt that Mr. Nixon's return created pressure for the young master. Whenever Mr. Nixon came home, the young master would lose his smile.
According to the chauffeur, the young master attended a very special elementary school, one that was hard for most people to get into. The young master wasn't happy there, often trying to deceive the chauffeur into helping him skip school, but the chauffeur would always persuade him to return. The chauffeur said that while the young master didn't express it, he felt that his classmates looked down on him, and the reason for this was Mr. Nixon's business dealings outside.
Although the lady was calm, her thoughts were sharp, and she had sensed a little of the young master's concerns. The two of them had spoken several times, and she had heard the lady say to the young master, "Your grandfather came from a rural background, and at that time, he had no skills besides farming. But he had an aging mother to take care of, so he chose a business that required little capital. When I met your father, he was already working his way up from the bottom. He struggled too. When we were together, my family strongly opposed it. I saw his regrets, but all of that is in the past. Back then, he made a decision with no turning back. Everyone who followed him knew it was do or die, and they pushed him to keep going." At this point, the lady stopped, unable to continue, her eyes filled with bitterness.
In truth, the servants knew all too well about the arguments between the master and the lady. Many nights, the lady would quietly sob, and even when the master returned, she never let him hear it...
One day, the lady took the young master out, but was found lying in a pool of blood. They heard that her body had been stabbed so badly it was like a piece of rotten meat. They were shocked beyond belief, unable to comprehend! Only when the lady's coffin was brought back to the house did they confirm that the gentle and kind lady had truly passed away. The master was filled with guilt, blaming himself for not protecting the lady enough. The young master, still young but unusually mature, had somehow learned that the lady's death was due to someone seeking revenge on his father, and the situation had escalated to a point where even the roof seemed ready to collapse.
During that time, the Nixon's place was far from peaceful. The master's decline and the young master's cold war made the housekeeper feel sorrowful, but there was nothing she could say. She could only do her best to take care of the young master, hoping to comfort the lady's spirit, but many things were beyond her control as an outsider.
The flowers in the garden had long withered, yet no one bothered to change the soil or repot them. The nameless tree grew wildly, far from the vision the lady had once described. The Nixon's place had lost everything. It was so quiet that even the birds' songs seemed to have been forgotten, leaving only an eerie silence.
Not long after, the young master disappeared. They said he had run away from home. It had been many years since she last saw him, but one day, she came across a photo of him on the master's desk. The photo looked like it had been taken in a hurry. In it, the young master was sitting down, wearing just a thin sleeveless shirt. The tattoos on his back were striking—bold and shocking.
