Chen Jianqiu is not without purpose.

Before arriving at the Stanford mansion, Hanif had already sent 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 couldn't extricate himself.

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

It seems that the old man is not far from death.

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

He knocked twice.

The butler opened the door.

He glanced Chen Jianqiu up and down, his gaze resting on a small metal badge on his right hand.

That's the badge of the Border Detective Agency.

This badge appeared in Chen Jianqiu's hand for less than a second, and then it was retracted into his pocket by its owner.

The butler opened the door with a blank face:

"Come in."

Chen Jianqiu followed behind the butler, entered the mansion, and came to Mr. Stanford's study.

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

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

The old man sank into his chair in a daze.

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

Stanford looked up slowly.

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

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

"How many times have I told you, you don't need to go to a doctor anymore, I know my illness myself."

The old man said in a hoarse voice.

"He said he didn't heal, but he healed." So said the butler.

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

As a Protestant, it seemed to him that only religion and priests could heal his heart.

The butler was silent.

Every month, the priest entered the mansion and did not see any of them, bringing Mr. Stanford out of his grief.

"Then you 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 old man's left hand side, with some white pills in it.

It is nitroglycerin tablets, which are diluted with nitroglycerin and added with some solid diluent, which can relieve the symptoms of angina.

Chen Jianqiu was a little embarrassed.

If he had gotten his hands on it sooner, maybe Adam would have lived another two years.

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

"You're writing a will." Chen Jianqiu said suddenly.

The muscles in Stanford's cheeks shuddered again.

He looked at the white paper on the table and the will in the trash can.

My body is not as good as day by day, and I may die one day, so since last year, I have been writing a will.

But his sole heir had died before him.

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

However, he didn't tell anyone about making a will, how did the Chinese in front of him know about it?

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

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

He began to tell the story of Stanford Jr. in such detail that it seemed as if he had been living with them all along.

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

Chen Jianqiu told the story, taking the old Stanford to recall the life of the little Stanford.

For him, it was actually to tell the information provided to him by Hanif in a more contagious way.

As for why Hanif was able to get such detailed information, he had to ask the old butler at Stanford.

However, it works well.

When a person is stuck in an emotion and can't get out, any slight stimulus can easily bring him in.

Mr. Stanford had closed his eyes.

He knows French and has a talent for music and dance! He's so good and promising."

However, when he was 15 years old, he traveled to Italy and contracted typhoid fever, and he never fell ill again.

The old man had already covered his face with his hands.

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

But he didn't stop.

He never woke up on that gloomy morning, and the night before he had said to you, 'Daddy, I'm never going to Paris again.'"

Mr. Stanford, who had lost his ability to discern, let out a wail like dust raised from a parched earth.

"O my child! O my child! Devil, why don't you just take my life? But to hurt my children! ”

His body was heaving, and he couldn't shed any tears.

"Oh God! Is my atonement not thorough enough? Or have I committed evil again? Let me lose little Leland! ”

Chen Jianqiu looked at the painful Stanford and said coldly:

"Isn't it?"

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

"I've never done anything heinous in my life, I've spent my life working for the good of people in California and doing good for them."

"I built railroads to connect things in the United States and allow more people to enjoy the convenience of industry."

"And what about the Chinese workers who were buried under the railway? They died of hunger, cold, and whipping, 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 of the same complexion as this one came to his mind.

Those faces were deprived of spirit because of malnutrition and long-term heavy labor.

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

Businesses are supposed to exist for shareholders to make profits.

The construction period and cost are the things he considers every day.

The death of those Chinese laborers is only the inevitable price of railway construction.

But now, Stanford suddenly realized that none of those things were of much value to him.

A man is dying, and his words are good, and he admitted:

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

Chen Jianqiu looked at Stanford and continued:

"But you're still thinking about banishing us from the kingdom! In Shiquan Town, the Chinese laborers received only half the wages of the white workers! ”

"In California! In Washington Territory! In Colorado! Everywhere in Wyoming in the West, the Chinese are being mutilated and banished like pigs and dogs! ”

Stanford was silent for a long time before he said:

"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? Chairman of the Board of Directors of the Santa Fe Railroad Company? We're kind of peers. ”

He smiled wryly.

Chen Jianqiu nodded.

"Would you like to take over all of my shares in Pacific Railroad? I'll ask the accountant to convert a price to you quickly. ”

Stanford made the decision.

"The money from the sale, in addition to keeping part of it for my wife's living expenses, will be used to establish 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 some Chinese schools in New Mexico, which will trouble you."

"Yes."

Chen Jianqiu's answer was very brief.

It is not an overnight thing for the Chinese to gain a foothold here.

Of course, it wasn't his own business.

Ten years of trees, a hundred years of people, the merit is in the future.

(End of chapter)