Uncle Peter's house felt like a living hell, with Aunt Rosa acting as a vicious overlord. Young Henry Williams endured daily torment, akin to being suffocated by a relentless pressure.
It had been ten days since Peter and Rosa inexplicably turned their ire on him, unleashing verbal and emotional abuse. Henry was now confined to a storage room measuring less than ten square meters on the roof. The space was cluttered with all kinds of putrid debris, housing nothing more than a small, rusty bed. This morning, he had drifted into a deep sleep, only to be woken abruptly by Rosa's shrill voice.
"Broom star, get up and do the housework!!!" she bellowed.
"Don't think you can eat and sleep here for free! If you don't clean the house today, you can forget about food!!!"
Henry winced, rubbing his sore shoulders, feeling the familiar throbbing of blisters on his hands. He had spent the previous day washing Peter's filthy work clothes and tidying up the disheveled house. What gnawed at him more than the toil, however, was Rosa's relentless pursuit to find fault with him and unleash her tirade of demands.
Despite his discomfort, Henry gathered himself, putting on his worn clothes before stepping out of the cramped storage room. As he emerged into the hallway, he was met with a venomous glare from Rosa.
"Mrs. Rosa, my hands are blistered. What do you want me to do today? Wash? Clean? Chop wood? You know I did all of those yesterday!" Henry asserted coldly. "I need my day off now!"
"Have you tidied up?" Rosa retorted sharply, her eyes flaring with triumph as she noticed the weariness on his face. The source of her enjoyment stemmed from the power she wielded over him; the previous disappointment of not obtaining the £100,000 ransom was channeled into their newfound means of controlling Henry.
Yet Henry didn't flinch. Instead, he laughed loudly in Rosa's face. If he were just a regular ten-year-old boy, perhaps her provocations would have crushed him.
But he was far from ordinary.
Inside him was Qin Muliang, a network engineer transported from the year 2015 after an unfortunate accident. He had lived a complete life before being thrust into this one. On the day of the car crash, the original Henry Williams had perished, enabling Qin Muliang to start anew.
"Mrs. Rosa, it brings you joy to exploit a child, doesn't it? Perhaps I should call Officer Charlie to inquire if your actions qualify as child abuse under British law," Henry challenged, displaying his palms, revealing the blistering injuries.
Rosa's expression shifted from anger to flustered guilt, her pride crumbling under the weight of his revelation. For a brief moment, she looked like a defeated hen.
With a snicker, Henry brushed past her, heading downstairs and finally stepping outside into the overcast day.
Though Rosa was temporarily intimidated by Henry's audacity, he was acutely aware that as a dependent living under their roof, he had little choice but to endure. The disdain of his "family" was palpable, and even if he had the means to escape, fear kept him tethered, at least for now. Yet, deep inside, as Qin Muliang reincarnated as Henry Williams, he was quietly seething, planning his resistance.
For the last several days, Henry had utilized his time in the storage room to prepare for his rebellion. Money was the key, he recognized; with sufficient funds, Peter and Rosa would be more inclined to treat him like family.
Seizing upon his distinct situation, he had started scribbling a novel, inscribing the title "Harry Potter" across the pages. It was remarkable how closely Henry's circumstances mirrored those of the protagonist. Both were orphans raised by unsympathetic relatives—coincidentally, both living close to a railway station in London. The parallels were uncanny, giving Henry the impression that fate had destined him to write this story.
He also marveled at how vividly his past life remained within him. A blend of his previous experiences as a network engineer with his newfound wisdom made it easier for him to compose despite being just a boy. Henry had deep-seated passions for storytelling, film, and music that drove him forward.
After his morning quarrel with Rosa, clutching the manuscript tightly, he ventured out, navigating the streets to a small publishing house called Giraffe Press that lay just two hundred meters from Peter's home.
Once inside, he looked around but received little attention. A young man in a snazzy suit was flirting with the receptionist, who seemed infatuated with him, her gaze soft and attentive as they exchanged laughter.
As Henry contemplated interrupting their interaction, an editor emerged from the elevator. Dressed sharply in a business suit and holding a neatly organized folder, he moved toward the two.
The young man perked up, quickly approaching the editor. "Hello, Editor-in-Chief Pulis. I'm Kane Bill, author of 'North Wind.'"
"Ah, hello!" Pulis responded warmly, shaking the man's hand. "Your novel has been accepted for publication. We're calling you in today to sign the contract."
Henry's ears perked up at the mention of a deal, feeling a flicker of hope.
As Kane beamed with joy, veins of jealousy coursed through Henry; he had come to the publishing house with aspirations of his own.
When Pulis caught sight of young Henry, he raised an eyebrow. "Well now, who do we have here?"
"Mr. Pulis, hello!" Henry greeted cheerfully, but his gaze was determined.
Pulis initially mistook Henry as a relative of Kane. "Hello, young man."
"Mr. Pulis, can you consider my novel for publication?" Henry asked earnestly, his blue eyes filled with sincerity and optimism.
Pulis blinked in surprise, taken aback by the presence of a child boldly asking for publication. "How old are you, and what is your name?"
"I'm ten years old. My name is Henry Williams!"
"Oh, the little nephew of Peter?" Pulis inquired, recognition dawning.
"I suppose if Peter is a filthy, lazy, and ill-tempered mechanic," Henry replied pointedly, feeling petty satisfaction in voicing his disdain.
Pulis chuckled. "Yes, you have a point. I've heard of your uncle and that he recently adopted you."
Henry seized the opportunity. "Mr. Pulis, I really want you to look at my novel!" He thrust the manuscript into the editor's hands.
Pulis took a quick glance at the pages, flipping through without any real engagement. After a perfunctory review lasting merely a minute, Pulis set the manuscript aside. "Little Henry, I'm sorry, but your work is too naive for our publishing house."
Naive? The first entries of "Harry Potter" may require some refinement, but to label it wholly naive bordered on absurdity! A wave of contempt washed over Henry, simmering just beneath the surface.
Talent is often overlooked, he mused; no wonder J.K. Rowling faced such hardships on her path to recognition. It must take someone with a real eye for talent to appreciate the intricacies of storytelling.
In the meantime, Kane Bill took the opportunity to gloat. "Not everyone can be a novelist, Henry. A lack of experience and style limits your writing."
Henry's annoyance grew, but he kept his cool. "You can't judge someone on their age! A young writer can certainly craft a brilliant story!" he asserted, defiance brimming in his voice.
Kane chuckled dismissively, and even Pulis frowned, signaling their disapproval.
Seeing his hopes dwindle before their dismissive attitudes, Henry clutched the manuscript tightly and turned to leave. As he crossed the threshold, Pulis muttered, "Naive and ignorant!"
Kane chimed in, "Indeed, it's no wonder that such a child's novel wouldn't be taken seriously."
Once outside, the sting of their words sank deep into Henry's heart, swirling with frustration and determination. While he had expected challenges, rejection from an editor built up an insatiable ember of resolution within him.
"Just you wait," he whispered under his breath, "My story will shine brightly one day!"
With that, Henry returned to the old storage room, ready to assess his plans and prepare for the battles ahead, not fostering anger in vain but igniting his quest to reclaim his destiny. Little did he know, the world needed to hear his tale, and he would survive the trials ahead.