America 1881: Legend of the West

Chen Jianqiu's actions were not without purpose.

Before arriving at Stanford's mansion, Hanif had already given him all the information about the founder of the Pacific Railroad.

This man was immersed in the pain of losing his son all day long, and he was depressed and couldn't extricate himself.

According to Hanif's report, he often had chest tightness and shortness of breath, and suffered from angina from time to time.

It seemed that the old man was not far from death.

Chen Jianqiu changed into a black dress and came to the door of the mansion where Stanford came.

He knocked on the door twice.

The butler opened the door.

He looked Chen Jianqiu up and down, and his eyes stopped on a small metal badge on his right hand.

That's the badge of the Border Detective Agency.

The badge appeared in Chen Jianqiu's hand for less than a second before its owner put it back into his pocket.

The housekeeper opened the door expressionlessly:

"come in."

Chen Jianqiu followed the housekeeper into the mansion and came to Mr. Stanford's study.

The old man was sitting in front of his large desk, holding a pen in his hand and writing something.

He kept sketching on the paper, but was never satisfied, until finally he picked up the paper on the table, balled it up and threw it into the trash can.

The old man sank slumped into his chair.

"Sir, the doctor is here." The housekeeper stood at the door of the room and said respectfully.

Stanford slowly raised his head.

A few strands of white hair were scattered across his forehead, making him look old and haggard.

When Stanford saw Chen Jianqiu next to the housekeeper, the muscles on his face twitched slightly at first, but he quickly regained his composure.

"How many times have I told you, there is no need to find a doctor, I know my disease myself."

The old man said in a hoarse voice.

"He said he doesn't cure diseases, but heals hearts." The steward said.

"But he doesn't look like a priest." Stanford glanced at Chen Jianqiu again.

As a Protestant, in his view, only religion and priests could heal his soul.

The butler said nothing.

Priests enter this mansion every month, but not seeing any of them makes Mr. Stanford come out of his sadness.

"Then let him in." The old man sighed.

The housekeeper withdrew, leaving only Chen Jianqiu and Stanford in the study.

Chen Jianqiu looked at the old man.

He saw a glass medicine bottle on the left hand side of the old man with some white pills in it.

They are nitroglycerin tablets, which are made by diluting nitroglycerin and adding some solid diluent to relieve the symptoms of angina pectoris.

Chen Jianqiu was a little sad.

If he could get this thing earlier, maybe Adam could live for another two years.

There were a lot of papers scattered on the large desk, and the trash can next to the desk was filled with paper balls.

"You are writing a will." Chen Jianqiu said suddenly.

The muscles in Stanford's cheeks trembled suddenly again.

He looked at the white paper on the table and the will that had been balled up in the trash can.

My health is getting worse day by day, and I may die one day, so I have been writing my will since last year.

But his only heir had died before him.

So Stanford himself didn't know how to write this will.

However, he never told anyone about making a will. How did the Chinese in front of him know about this?

Before Stanford could figure it out, Chen Jianqiu spoke again:

"Your son, little Stanford, was born in 1868. That year was the eighteenth year of your marriage to your wife."

He began to slowly tell the story of little Stanford's life, in such detail that it seemed as if he had been living beside them.

"When he was one year old, he watched in his mother's arms as you nailed the golden rail nail that symbolized the completion of the Pacific Railroad; he and you hung up the sign of the Shiquan Town Coal Mine."

Chen Jianqiu spoke eloquently, taking old Stanford to recall the life of young Stanford.

For him, it was actually about telling the information Hanif provided him in a more contagious way.

As for why Hanif was able to obtain such detailed information, you have to ask the old housekeeper at Stanford.

However, it works great.

When a person falls into an emotion and cannot get out, any slight stimulus can easily bring him in.

Mr. Stanford had closed his eyes.

".He knows French and has his own talents in music and dance! He is so outstanding and has great prospects."

".However, when he was 15 years old, he traveled to Italy and contracted typhoid fever. He never got sick again."

The old man had covered his face with his hands.

Chen Jianqiu knew that this was indeed a bit cruel for an old man in his dying years.

But his words did not stop.

".On that hazy morning, he never woke up again, and the night before, he said to you, 'Dad, am I never going to Paris again?'"

Mr. Stanford, who had lost his ability to distinguish, let out a howl like dust rising from dry land.

"My child! My child! Devil, why don't you just take my life? Instead, you are going to hurt my child!"

His body was heaving and he could no longer shed any tears.

"Oh God! Is my atonement not complete enough? Or have I committed another evil act? Let me lose little Leland!"

Chen Jianqiu looked at Stanford who was in pain and said coldly:

"Isn't there any?"

The old man raised his head and looked at Chen Jianqiu blankly:

"I think I have never done anything extremely sinful in my life. I have spent my life working for the welfare of the people of California and doing good things for them."

"I laid railroads to connect the east and west of the United States, allowing more people to enjoy the convenience brought by industry."

"What about the Chinese workers who were buried under the railway? They died of hunger, cold and whips. Does anyone remember them?"

Chen Jianqiu took a deep breath.

"They are also the children of countless other people's parents!"

Stanford looked at Chen Jianqiu.

Countless young faces with the same complexion as this one appeared in his mind.

Those faces were dull due to malnutrition and long-term heavy workload.

If it were more than ten years ago, he would not care at all.

Businesses should exist to extract profits for shareholders.

The construction period and cost are what he considers every day.

The deaths of those Chinese workers were just the inevitable price of railway construction.

But now, Stanford suddenly realized that those things were of little value to him.

When a man is about to die, his words are good, he admitted:

"Yes, without them, there would be no Pacific Railroad."

Chen Jianqiu looked at Stanford and continued:

"But you are still thinking of expelling us from this country! In Shiquan Town, Chinese workers receive only half the wages of white workers!"

"In California! In Washington Territory! In Colorado! In Wyoming and everywhere in the West, the Chinese are being killed and expelled like pigs and dogs!"

Stanford was silent for a long time before saying:

"who are you?"

"My name is Chen Jianqiu!"

The old man looked at the Chinese businessman in front of him and finally remembered his identity:

"Are you the famous Chinese businessman in New Mexico? The chairman of the board of directors of the Santa Fe Railway Company? We can be considered peers."

He smiled bitterly.

Chen Jianqiu nodded.

"Are you willing to take over all my shares in Pacific Railroad? I'll have my accountant calculate a price for you soon."

Stanford made a decision.

"Except for leaving part of the money from the sale as living expenses for my wife, the rest will be used to build a university in California."

"This university welcomes everyone to study, including those Chinese who are willing to stay in the United States."

"In addition, I will also donate to some Chinese schools in New Mexico. I will trouble you for this."

"can."

Chen Jianqiu's answer was very brief.

If the Chinese want to gain a foothold here, it will not happen overnight.

Of course it's not his fault.

It takes ten years to grow trees and a hundred years to cultivate people.