As it were, through Mr. Anderson’s introduction, Wang Guan had now made the acquaintance of a Saudi Prince.

Abdul, the quintessential wealthy, handsome, and successful man—the object of desire for the vast majority of women globally and the target of envy and resentment for countless men. Their envy wasn't just for his wealth but even more so for the fact that he was permitted to have four wives...

The allowance for a married man to take four wives, supposedly a legal stipulation in Saudi Arabia. This single regulation alone was likely enough to make most men in other nations grit their teeth, seething over not having been born in Saudi Arabia.

Of course, a rule is a rule, but whether one could afford it was an entirely different matter.

However, being a Saudi Prince, there was certainly no need to worry about that issue. According to what Yu Feibai had revealed, members of the Saudi royal family each received a minimum annual stipend of one and a half million US dollars, and many even held key positions in the petroleum economy, reaping substantial kickbacks from those roles.

They weren't short of money; four wives or forty wouldn't make a difference. The only consideration between more or fewer would be whether one’s body could handle it.

Drifting off track, let’s return to the main point.

It was evident that Mr. Anderson had quite a good relationship with Prince Abdul. Through his introduction, Prince Abdul shook Wang Guan’s hand with a smile, exhibiting impeccable manners.

Simultaneously, Fang Mingsheng approached with Mr. Hill, necessitating another round of introductions. Yet, as soon as he engaged Prince Abdul in conversation, Fang Mingsheng instantly took the lead, subtly sidelining Mr. Hill and engaging the Prince in lively, cheerful dialogue.

One should not doubt Fang Mingsheng’s social prowess. Moreover, as he intentionally or unintentionally let slip his status as a major magnate, Prince Abdul became noticeably more interested, entertaining thoughts of fostering a connection. The two seemed to hit it off instantly, conversing with great warmth.

Seeing this, Mr. Hill maintained a polite smile, but inwardly, he must have been displeased. Perhaps this was the true reason he had wanted Fang Mingsheng gone in the first place.

After all, they were both pragmatic businessmen, fundamentally no different from each other, and naturally understood the value of a "rare commodity" like a Saudi Prince. In contrast, their previous "good friend" relationship was nothing more than paper pasted over a window—easy to tear through. At least for Fang Mingsheng, knowing Prince Abdul was sufficient. As for Hill, who cared what sort of minor figure he was.

Setting aside the two men's subtle maneuvering, Wang Guan and Mr. Anderson were also enjoying their conversation.

"Mr. Anderson certainly has an extensive network," Wang Guan remarked with a slight sigh at this juncture. "To even know a Saudi Prince."

"Prince Abdul is also fond of collecting. We met at a Sotheby's auction," Mr. Anderson chuckled. "I didn't know he was a Saudi Prince at the time; I only learned his identity later."

Wang Guan blinked and asked quietly, "Then does he know your identity?"

"What?" Mr. Anderson looked slightly confused.

Wang Guan smiled and whispered a subtle reminder: "Israel!"

Israel was a nation established by the Jewish people, and relations with Arab countries were generally poor. The reasons were manifold, but undeniably, the largest issue stemmed from the lingering conflicts and contradictions rooted in religious beliefs. Religious matters had always been the most complex, sensitive, and intractable conflicts in the world. Determining right from wrong in such matters was fundamentally impossible.

Mr. Anderson was Jewish, and Prince Abdul was a member of the Arab royalty; the fact that they could be good friends somewhat surprised Wang Guan.

"Wang, you might be mistaken."

Mr. Anderson gave a sly smile at this moment. "You must understand, I am Italian; I have no connection to Israel."

"I see."

Wang Guan paused, then smiled knowingly, letting the topic pass. In truth, in friendships, unless one party explicitly reveals details, who would bother delving into the background of their associate?

Furthermore, as Mr. Anderson stated, he was Italian. As long as he didn't overtly support Israel, Prince Abdul should not hold it against him. After all, this was no longer the era of World War II, where various motivations drove the need to exterminate the Jewish people...

"Remember to keep this confidential for me," Mr. Anderson said with a light smile, then called out, "Wang, Mr. Hill is inviting us for afternoon tea. Shall we go together?"

Wang Guan turned and saw that Prince Abdul, surrounded by his entourage, was already moving toward the exit. Fang Mingsheng was accompanying him, not even calling out to Wang Guan—truly, merchants prioritized profit.

Wang Guan shook his head and then, following Mr. Anderson’s lead, sauntered slowly toward the castle.

Soon after, everyone returned to the castle. This time, the guards certainly did not obstruct them; instead, spotting the group from afar, they had already opened the main gate. Not only was the gate open, but servants were lined up on either side of the entrance, extending the full courtesy reserved for honored guests.

Prince Abdul said nothing outwardly about this display, but the smile on his face indicated his satisfaction with Mr. Hill’s arrangements. As a representative of the privileged class, he naturally paid close attention to ceremony and could not behave casually like ordinary people; such behavior would be beneath his station.

The so-called democracy was merely the sweet talk politicians used to coax votes. Looking across the world, which head of state traveled without an entourage? Even the elaborate receptions they received were merely manifestations of privilege.

Those who couldn't enjoy privilege would certainly condemn and curse such behavior, but once they attained privilege themselves, they would vigorously defend its existence, even concocting myriad justifications for its legitimacy. In a way, this was a fundamental flaw in human nature, one not expected to be easily overcome...

While Wang Guan was inwardly grumbling, Mr. Hill adopted the air of the castle master, inviting everyone into the ancient edifice with a cordial, gentle, and polite smile.

Under Mr. Hill's guidance, everyone formally entered the castle. The first thing visible was a long corridor leading to the drawing-room, the walls of which were lined with numerous portrait paintings.

At that moment, Mr. Hill appeared invigorated and excited, speaking volubly and gesturing frequently toward each painting, presumably detailing the origins of the portraits.

"These are ancestral portraits of the Hill family."

Mr. Anderson whispered the explanation, confirming Wang Guan’s suspicion. Wang Guan began to examine them with curiosity. He saw that Mr. Hill’s earliest ancestor, or perhaps the first to attain noble status and found the family line, was a knight clad in armor, bearing a long spear...

The subsequent portraits showed a progression: some plump, some thin, some bearded, some clean-shaven, some young, some aged—all exuding aristocratic bearing. There were over twenty portraits in the line, sufficient proof of the Hill family’s antiquity.

This was one advantage of Western countries: even if defeated and taken prisoner, a ruler, provided a sufficient ransom was paid, could be released and returned home.

In the East, specifically after the Qin Dynasty, and certainly after Xiang Yu spared Liu Bang at the Feast at Hong Gate, such a scenario was utterly unimaginable. Enemies, unless they submitted, faced confiscation of property and annihilation of their clans. And even among those who submitted, only generals were spared; rulers of equivalent standing often met tragic ends.

Among the relatively fortunate was Liu Shan, the latter ruler of Shu Han, who at least lived out his days as the Duke of Anle after surrendering—a relatively good outcome. The epitome of tragedy was Li Yu, the last ruler of the Southern Tang, who was granted poison and died alone, buried in Mount Mang without even a person to tend his grave.

In contrast, Western nobility enjoyed greater longevity. As long as they were lucky enough not to be killed by peasant uprisings, their families could continue to pass down their lineage. Even if one line died out, heirs could often be found among relatives, resulting in many families spanning over a thousand years, and hundreds more spanning several centuries.

According to his own account, Mr. Hill’s family history stretched back at least seven or eight hundred years, if not a thousand. Their ancestor was an attendant to a powerful noble who saved that noble's life during a certain war, earning a knighthood. Through the diligent efforts of two or three subsequent generations, the family gradually prospered.

Then, the tenth-generation ancestor fortuitously acquired a fiefdom, and after another seven or eight generations of effort, they finally established this castle, becoming one of Britain’s great noble houses.

In Mr. Hill’s narrative, his family's development mirrored a rags-to-riches success story—a poignant and classic inspirational legend of a poor boy rising to become a powerful, wealthy magnate.

Naturally, Mr. Hill made absolutely no mention of how they plundered peasants, oppressed the common folk, or squeezed the life out of the populace after achieving noble status; he simply acted as if those things never happened.

It was a case of 'since life is hard, why expose the truth?' Everyone understood implicitly, and there was no need to call him out. On the contrary, as Mr. Hill spoke, everyone offered polite compliments, occasionally praising him to express their reverence for his ancestors.

Mr. Hill responded with gracious thanks and continued leading the way with a smiling demeanor. They proceeded this way, stopping and starting, and after nearly half an hour, they finally completed the long corridor and arrived in the spacious drawing-room.

There was no need to elaborate on the luxurious décor of the drawing-room; it was pure English royal style—resplendent, magnificent, and opulent, complemented by a massive crystal chandelier, making one feel as if they were standing in a hall crafted from gold and jewels.

However, everyone present was accustomed to grand scenes; none showed any unusual reaction. Instead, they acted naturally, as if accustomed to such surroundings, and settled down leisurely onto the soft, luxurious sofas at Mr. Hill’s polite invitation.

The moment everyone was seated, Mr. Hill gestured, and servants immediately appeared bearing coffee, black tea, and other beverages, presenting different selections according to individual tastes. Everyone nodded their thanks, courteously raised their cups in salute, and took light sips of their drinks.

For a moment, the hall settled into a strange, peaceful atmosphere...