America 1881: They Call Me Legend

Chapter 411

Chen Jianqiu was not aimless.

Before coming to Stanford's mansion, Hanif had sent him all the information about the founder of the Pacific Railroad Company.

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

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 gate of the mansion where he came to Stanford.

He knocked 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 Frontier Detective Agency.

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

The butler opened the door expressionlessly:

"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 with a pen in his hand, writing something.

He kept sketching on the paper, but he was still not satisfied, until he finally picked up the paper on the table, turned it into a ball and threw it into the trash can.

The old man slumped in the chair.

"Master, the doctor is here." The butler stood at the door and said respectfully.

Stanford raised his head slowly.

A few strands of white hair strewn across his forehead made him look old and haggard.

When Stanford saw Chen Jianqiu next to the butler, the muscles on his face twitched slightly, but he quickly recovered his composure.

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

The old man said in a hoarse voice.

"He said he doesn't cure the disease, but heals the heart." The butler said.

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

As a Protestant, in his opinion, only religion and priests can heal his soul.

The butler didn't make a sound.

Every month, priests entered the mansion, but none of them was seen, which brought Mr. Stanford out of his grief.

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

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

Chen Jianqiu looked at the old man.

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

That is nitroglycerin tablets, which are made by diluting nitroglycerin and adding some solid diluents, which can relieve the symptoms of angina pectoris.

Chen Jianqiu sighed a little.

If he had gotten this thing sooner, maybe Adam would have lived another two years.

There were a lot of papers scattered on the large desk, and the trash can beside the desk was already full of paper balls.

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

Stanford's cheek muscles shuddered again.

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

My body is getting worse day by day, and I may die someday, 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 the will.

However, he didn't tell anyone about his will. How did the Chinese in front of him know about it?

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

"Your son, little Stanford, was born in 1868, the year you and your wife married No.18"

He began to tell little Stanford's life slowly, in detail as if he had been living beside them.

"When he was one year old, in his mother's arms, he watched you drive down the gold rail nail that symbolized the completion of the Pacific Railway; he hung the sign of the Stone Spring Coal Mine with you"

Chen Jianqiu talked eloquently, recalling the life of little Stanford with old Stanford.

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

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

However, it works great.

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

Mr. Stanford has closed his eyes.

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

".However, at the age of 15, on a trip to Italy, he contracted typhoid fever and has never been able to recover from it."

The old man had covered his face with his hands.

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

But he didn't stop talking.

"...he never woke up that gloomy morning, and the night before, he said to you, 'Dad, is there no way I can go to Paris anymore'."

Mr. Stanford, deprived of his sense of discrimination, uttered a wail like dust rising from parched land.

"My child! My child! Devil, why don't you take my life directly? Instead, you want to hurt my child!"

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

"God! Is my atonement not thorough enough? Or have I committed another crime? Let me lose little Leland!"

Chen Jianqiu looked at Stanford who was in pain, and said coldly:
"Isn't it?"

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

"I have never done anything heinous in my life. I have spent my life working for the benefit of the people of California and doing good things for them."

"I laid the railway, connecting things in the United States, so that more people can enjoy the convenience brought by industry."

"What about the Chinese laborers 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 parents!"

Stanford looked at Chen Jianqiu.

Countless young faces with the same complexion as this face came to his mind.

Those faces are dulled by malnutrition and long-term heavy work.

If it was changed to more than ten years ago, he would not care at all.

Businesses are supposed to exist to capture profits for shareholders.

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

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

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

People who are about to die speak well, he admitted:
"Yes, there would be no Pacific Railroad without them."

Chen Jianqiu looked at Stanford and continued:
"But you are still thinking about driving us out of this country! In Shiquan Town, the wages received by Chinese workers are only half of that of white workers!"

"In California! In Washington Territory! In Colorado! In Wyoming, everywhere in the west, the Chinese are being mutilated and deported 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 that well-known Chinese businessman in New Mexico? The chairman of the board of directors of the Santa Fe Railway Company? We are also considered colleagues."

He smiled wryly.

Chen Jianqiu nodded.

"Would you like to take over all my shares in the Pacific Railroad? I'll have the accountant give you a price soon."

Stanford made a decision.

"I will use the money from the sale to establish a university in California, except for a part of it as my wife's living expenses."

"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 with these."

"can."

Chen Jianqiu's answer was very brief.

It is by no means a matter of time for the Chinese to gain a firm foothold here.

Of course it's not just him.

It takes ten years to grow trees, and a hundred years to cultivate people, and the merits will last forever.

(End of this chapter)