After the Fake Young Master Betrayed the Australian Farmer - Chapter 1

“Tsk, not a bad physique at all.”

The scorching sun hung high overhead. The intense heat, reaching nearly 40°C, left the hardworking farm employees covered in dust and grime; however, one person was an exception.

Han Yan casually wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. His skin looked almost luminous under the sunlight.

“Julie, I’ll move this crate of blueberries over first.”

He bent down to lift a crate overflowing with blueberries. Beside him, a red-haired girl squatting to pick fruit gave him an “OK” sign. As Han Yan carried the blueberries toward the factory, he looked at them and could not help but sigh inwardly.

Half a year ago, he was abruptly informed that he was not of the Han bloodline but a child swapped at birth in the hospital. Now that the “Real Young Master” had been found, he, the “Fake Young Master” who had usurped the nest, naturally had to return everything.

The Han family cut him off.

Before the cutoff, Han Yan was a textbook rich second-generation youth. He spent money without restraint and demanded the best of everything. He even insisted on renting an apartment next to the Opera House so he could overlook a Tier-1 ocean view from his high-rise every day.

As the former only son of the Han family, he had been the center of everyone’s world since childhood. Whatever he wanted, someone would hand it to him on a silver platter. He never worried about money, relying entirely on the unlimited supplementary credit card provided by his father.

Now, that card was frozen. The wealthy socialites who once called him “brother” stopped associating with him the moment they realized he no longer offered any material benefit. They had all unilaterally deleted him from their contacts.

Thinking of this, Han Yan felt a wave of melancholy.

In the past, who would not call him “Young Master Han” upon seeing him? People scrambled to flatter him, and there was always someone rushing to pay his bill when he went out. If he pointed east, no one dared mention west. Now, not a single person was willing to lend him money. He had to rely on his own strength to work on a farm just to feed himself.

He looked at the long, smooth muscle lines on his arms, and the frustration in his heart dissipated slightly. He nodded with some satisfaction.

Fine, it’s not all bad. At least my physique looks much more attractive now than those “dead muscles” built on protein powder in the gym.

He had been working on this farm for a week. Though it was just a farm, many people fought tooth and nail to get in. This land was managed by the Wilson family, Australia’s most famous wool suppliers. They held farms across various regions of Australia with a total area exceeding ten million hectares, which was larger than the territory of some countries.

The Wilson farm was famously wealthy and treated its employees excellently. Not only was the hourly wage high and the meals filled with meat, but the accommodation consisted of single rooms with private showers. Most importantly, everything was free.

Usually, Australian farms require employees to pay for their own food and lodging. While the prices are cheaper than the market rate, employees often have to share a room. The thought of squeezing into a room with others made Han Yan feel like ants were crawling all over his body; it was an unbearable prospect.

Fortunately, he wrote his resume to sound pathetic enough; otherwise, he might not have stood out among the many applicants.

Thank you, Wilson. Thank you, Lord. God bless the Wilson family.

Since arriving, Han Yan had been fed so well he looked sleek and healthy, finally escaping the misery of gnawing on discounted, near-expired bread to save money. As images of a fragrant, sizzling steak flashed through his mind, his mouth watered. He swallowed his pride along with a large amount of saliva.

Just as he resolved to eat three large steaks for lunch today, a figure began approaching him at high speed.

He squinted his eyes. Using his 1.5-diopter nearsighted vision, he realized the figure did not look quite human. After all, what normal person could jump that high?

The figure leaped directly over a fence taller than a man and bounced straight toward him. The powerful muscles of its hind legs shimmered under the sun. With a forward-leaning torso and upright ears, every step thudded heavily against the ground.

Han Yan’s pupils contracted, and he involuntarily cursed.

“Holy shit, that’s a kangaroo!”

Recalling news reports of people being beaten into the hospital by kangaroos, he decisively dropped the crate and turned to bolt.

Damn it! Why is a kangaroo chasing me? What is the point of this fence if it cannot even stop a kangaroo? Useless!

The commotion behind him grew louder and clearer. The distance between the two shadows on the ground closed rapidly. Han Yan had a gut feeling he was finished.

He closed his eyes and steeled his heart, intending to turn around and duel the kangaroo for a slim chance at survival. However, just as he turned, a tall figure suddenly sprinted past him. Without hesitation, the man raised his arm and threw a punch at the kangaroo’s stomach.

The well-developed biceps on the man’s bronze arm bulged, and beads of sweat slid down the grooves of his muscles, sparkling in the light. With just one punch, the kangaroo was knocked to the ground.

If the timing were not so wrong, Han Yan would have wanted to whistle.

Impressive, man.

After confirming the kangaroo could not get up for the moment, the man turned toward him. It was only then that Han Yan noticed the man was tall; he was so tall he nearly blocked the sun, casting Han Yan completely into shadow.

Han Yan was 182 cm tall, which was considered tall among men, but the man before him was more than half a head taller with broad shoulders. The vigorous muscles visible under his tank top made a flash of admiration cross Han Yan’s eyes.

Tsk, not a bad physique at all.

“Are you okay?”

The perfectly accented Mandarin made Han Yan freeze. His gaze accidentally met the man’s emerald-green eyes. The deep, handsome features and brownish hair all pointed toward a foreign heritage.

Han Yan deeply doubted whether that Mandarin sentence was just a hallucination born from missing his compatriots. In the week he had worked here, he had not met anyone who could speak Chinese. Any Asian-looking colleagues were ABCs or ABKs.

With a nervous heart, he asked tentatively, “You speak Chinese?”

The man nodded and explained, “My grandmother is Chinese. She taught me.”

Han Yan’s eyes lit up. He reached out and patted the man’s shoulder.

“That’s great! We can practically consider each other fellow countrymen then. Thank you so much for just now. My name is Han Yan. How should I call you, brother?”

The man glanced imperceptibly at the hand on his shoulder. It was like a piece of fine mutton-fat jade, warm and translucent, though the fingertips were stained with blueberry juice, slightly marring that flawless beauty.

“Adams.”

Seeing that Han Yan was full of energy and clearly uninjured, Adams turned and knelt to check on the kangaroo. Han Yan observed him curiously from the side.

“So, what happens to the kangaroo now?”

“It’s fine. I held back my strength. The ribs aren’t broken. I’ll find someone to haul it away later.”

Adams withdrew his hand, pulled out his phone, and made a call. He gave the specific location and told the person on the other end to bring help. He also instructed them to temporarily block the road to prevent the kangaroo from hurting anyone else.

Hearing his tone, Han Yan realized Adams seemed to have quite a high status on the farm; he did not seem like a temporary worker.

After hanging up, Adams told Han Yan to be careful on his way back. He stayed behind to wait for help and keep an eye on the kangaroo to prevent it from causing more trouble.

It was not until Han Yan returned to the dormitory for lunch that he realized he had thrown that crate of blueberries aside. He did not know which corner it had landed in, but they were likely crushed into jam by the kangaroo. He wondered if his wages would be docked.

Whatever. At least his life was saved. If they docked his pay, so be it; he would just carry a few extra crates tomorrow to make up for it.

Han Yan pushed the worry to the back of his mind and buried his face in his meat.

Mmm, delicious!

That night, after showering, Han Yan lay on his single bed scrolling through his phone.

The chat history with the contact labeled “Mom” had stopped six months ago. Her last message asked if he had enough money and told him not to be stingy while away, insisting he eat and dress well. He had replied: I know. You know your son’s personality; I never mistreat myself.

His mom—or rather, Mrs. Song—had not contacted him again after he learned he was a fake young master. He had tried calling her, but there was never an answer. Eventually, it went straight to voicemail. Clearly, she did not want to face him, or perhaps she did not know how.

After all, anyone who had devotedly raised a child for eighteen years only to be told the child was not theirs—while their biological child had suffered for eighteen years—would feel overwhelmed.

He did not expect the Han family to remain responsible for him. They had provided for him as a pampered young master for eighteen years. When the truth came out, they did not ask him to pay anything back, which was already more than fair. Besides, as an adult with his own hands and feet, he would not starve.

However, if asked if he felt any resentment, perhaps there was a little. He felt that even though there was no biological connection, the feelings of all those years were not fake. Maybe they could have stayed in touch or sat down for a meal during holidays.

He heard the “Real Young Master” had grown up as an orphan in a foster home all those years, meaning his biological parents were likely no longer in this world. Since he had no parents of his own, why could he not treat the Han parents as his biological ones and fulfill his filial duties alongside the real son?

But clearly, the Han family now avoided him like the plague. They wanted nothing to do with him, focusing all their heart and soul on the newly returned biological son.

After a brief moment of melancholy, Han Yan quickly pulled himself together.

Fine. If this place will not keep me, I’ll find somewhere else.

Since the Han family was no longer willing to accept him, he would not shamelessly push himself on them. They would each live their own lives without bothering one another.

The next day was Thursday, which was also the weekly payday. In Australia, wages are generally paid every week or two. Han Yan, as a temporary worker, was paid weekly.

Han Yan woke up early and excited. When he did not lack money, he never felt this way, but the feeling of earning something with his own hands was different; it brought a great sense of achievement.

He opened the Commonwealth Bank app and stared at the newly arrived amount. He felt something was wrong. After checking it several times, he realized the money was much more than his original salary.

Not only did they not dock his pay for the crate of blueberries, but they actually gave him extra.

Han Yan caught the white elderly woman in charge of finance to ask about the situation. She pushed her glasses up her nose and replied with a smile, “Don’t worry, I did not make a mistake. The extra is the mental distress compensation Mr. Wilson paid you.”

“Mr. Wilson expressed deep sympathy regarding your encounter yesterday and stated that he will strengthen protective measures to prevent it from happening again.”

She looked Han Yan up and down with an affectionate expression. “Poor child, use this money to buy something delicious. Look how pale your little face is. You must have been so frightened yesterday.”

Being called “pale” by a white person felt strangely eerie to Han Yan.

However, he had not expected this farm owner, Mr. Wilson, to be so humanitarian. Presumably, Adams had reported the incident to him yesterday.

The image of those emerald eyes suddenly flashed through his mind, and he tapped his fingertips lightly against his phone screen.

Adams, he is actually quite alright.