"Master... Welcome home! Karl, you have worked hard too."

"Haha, let's get in the car."

Hut stood beside the car, performed a very gentlemanly gesture toward Allen, and looked at his young master with a smile.

It's because of this facial feature that he always feels that the young master seems to have lost a lot of weight after returning from his trip to Hong Kong?

"I'm not going back, Master. I'm just transferring here. As for America, it's time to start the follow-up plan after I return."

"Um... OK! Contact me as soon as possible if you have anything."

Alan nodded, and with Hut's help, he got into the car first.

Carl and Huth, who raised his head, looked at each other and smiled. Carl bent down slightly and saluted Alan, imitating Huth's just-handed behavior.

"Haha, you two old guys, go away!"

Hutt's appearance is pretty good. He is gentle and elegant, and looks very pleasing to the eye when he does some etiquette movements.

But old Carl...

This guy looks like a catfish spirit, short and strong. There is no aesthetic feeling in the way he salutes. It feels a bit weird.

…

After being away for more than half a month, Alan returned to the manor. Although there was no change from before he left, Alan still felt a little emotional.

This was the first time he had been away from home for such a long time since he ascended the throne.

No place is better than your own home!

When he was outside, he had to be a little cautious in his actions and be restrained in everything he did.

But as soon as he entered Carmarthenshire, Alan felt confident enough!

Here, he can do whatever he wants, and even if he makes a mistake, no one dares to do anything to him. At most, he will be scolded.

Now, as the Bentley drove into the manor, Alan's first thought was whether he should have someone capture one or two Welsh troublemakers and send them to him to cheer him up and have them dance for the returning Master Alan.

…

As soon as he got off the car, Alan's attention was attracted by several servants carrying sacks.

Seeing that they seemed to be moving things to the warehouse, Alan asked curiously, "What did they buy again? So much?"

"Master... these are all the letters and gifts written to you by fans. They were sent to the town office, but they couldn't hold all of them. I had someone bring them back and put them in the warehouse. I'll deal with them when you come back."

"oh!"

Alan nodded. After Hut's words, he understood. Alan was very familiar with the situation before him. Many years ago, when he received a love letter from the opposite sex, the scene was almost the same.

Nowadays, besides making phone calls and sending telegrams, writing letters is still a very mainstream way of communication.

Whether it is private communication or program teams, TV stations, or various companies, they often receive letters from users and viewers.

If you are brave enough, you can even write a letter to the Queen, but whether the Queen can read it is another matter.

Foreigners like to do this. For example, if they are satisfied with some TV programs, they will write letters of encouragement or even send gifts to the program team. If they are not satisfied, they will even write letters of abuse.

…

Alan, who hadn't opened a gift for a long time, couldn't help but feel itchy when he saw the current scene. He thought about how he used to be a man who was known to have thousands of female stooges!

Every time I go home, I will selectively open some letters and gifts for fun.

This was also one of his favorite ways to relax before he joined the army a few years ago.

Is there any man who can refuse to make a cup of tea, sit quietly in the afternoon sunshine, and slowly read the love letters sent to him one by one?

"Ah, I miss you so much, Hutt. Do you remember when you always helped me clean up the mail?"

"Yes, young master. In the blink of an eye, you have inherited the master's title. I still remember the way the master got angry and asked us to throw all those letters out."

Speaking of the old count, Hutt felt a little sad. After all, he was his old master whom he had served for so many years.

But right now, people have to look forward. Don't we still have the Second Young Master? Hut only hopes that the Second Young Master can live a peaceful life.

"Haha, have someone send a few packages to my study. I want to open them and try them out!"

Alan didn't want to continue talking about this topic. He was just simply reminiscing about the past, not like an old man like Hut, reminiscing about his father.

…

A large silver thermos cup with a straw.

Alan crossed his legs and the maid placed his feet on her thighs and trimmed his toenails.

Looking at the envelopes and parcels that filled the entire desk, Alan picked one out and opened it.

The letter was from Bristol, which is quite close to Wales.

Hmm... Alan skipped the sender's name and opened the letter to read the contents.

"What kind of shit are the movies you make! I wish your mom goes to Gambia every day, hahahaha, fuck!"

“…”

Alan, who had a smile on his face, froze after reading the first sentence in the letter.

This is……

Were you scolded?

How many years has it been?

Since he traveled through time, only his father had scolded him, but he had never scolded him in such a harsh way.

Even when he was serving, the captain who knew his identity didn't dare to treat him like this!

Now, the first letter I opened when I just got home is like this?

Fuck you!

Alan clenched his fist, put down the letter, picked it up again and looked at the sender's address.

Hmm…it was indeed from Bristol, but the sender’s name was – Santa Claus?

"???"

What the hell is this.

Panting, Alan felt somewhat helpless and furious. There was no doubt that a letter signed by Santa Claus must have been a spoof by the sender. He couldn't find anyone to vent his anger on.

After swallowing a breath, Alan picked up a large mail package that looked like a gift.

He used a knife to cut the yellow tape on the outer packaging. As soon as he opened the carton, a slightly stinky grassy smell hit him in the face. Alan was even a little familiar with this smell.

Pulling the box closer and looking at the large piece of black and yellow that had been dried but was extremely familiar, Alan's face turned pale!

Especially since there was a piece of paper stuck on that thing.

"I'll give you a piece of cow dung to try, you bitch!"

This thing is exactly the same as the poop produced by the Scottish Highland cow he used to raise that was dyed into a Shamatte style!

The taste is so similar!

I turned the box around and sure enough, on the other side of the box, there was the sender's address.

Inverness, Scotland.

This place is the origin of Highland cattle!

These Scottish barbarians are traitors!

Moving his feet, Alan lowered his voice and asked, "Is it fixed?"

"There's another toe, Master."

"Hurry up!"

Alan was quite annoyed. This was more direct. The signature was just a bunch of randomly spelled letters. Damn, how were these things sent?

I can't find anyone I want.

I used to be happily opening letters, but now all I see is this?