The young eunuch was completely stunned.

This was provocation, blatant provocation.

Blood blisters had already formed on his forehead, and the pain twisted his face. But most importantly, Charles Foster actually dared to say he had no guts. Last time he was called spineless, and this time...

He roared furiously, "I don't dare to tie you up? You say I don't dare to tie you up? If I don't dare to tie you up, I'll write my surname backwards!"

He touched his forehead, baring his teeth in pain. This guy really didn't hold back—so much so that the teacup shattered, shards of porcelain embedded in the skin of his forehead. His hand came away wet with blood. He howled, "Guards! Guards! Tie him up, tie him up!"

Outside, the young eunuch's accompanying imperial guards saw the commotion and dared not hesitate. They rushed in, grabbed ropes without a word, and restrained Charles Foster.

But the young eunuch was still not satisfied. He knew very well that if something like this happened during this errand, he could go back to the palace and complain. But to His Majesty, while Charles Foster was certainly at fault, he himself would be blamed for failing to handle such a minor matter—his own future would likely be ruined.

So he couldn't go back to the palace to complain; he could only tie the man up. Since you, Charles Foster, say I have no guts, I'll show you I do.

He took the rope and, while the two guards held Charles Foster down, tied him up tightly and finally felt a bit of relief.

Charles Foster was quite cooperative, letting them tie him up. When the young eunuch finished binding Charles Foster securely, Charles Foster couldn't help but roll his eyes—eunuchs really are eunuchs, even tying a rope, damn it, he had to make a butterfly knot.

The young eunuch, as if venting his anger, ordered his men to escort Charles Foster to the Imperial Guards Command.

This so-called Imperial Guards Command was different from the Five Military Commands. It claimed to oversee the twenty-six imperial guard units, the elite of the elite, but in reality, the command was just for show, mainly responsible for coordinating the twenty-six units and, of course, for examinations.

Today, quite a few sons of meritorious families had come. These young men were all full of spirit, eager to prove themselves.

They were all noble sons of the Ming dynasty, raised in luxury from childhood. But as the saying goes, heroes beget heroes—everyone hoped that when inheriting their fathers' titles, they could also win the emperor's favor and be assigned to palace duties.

The chief examiner appointed by the Hongzhi Emperor was the Duke of England, Michael Bolton. This elderly duke looked at the hall full of outstanding youths and felt comforted in his old age. Many were old acquaintances, and Michael Bolton had high hopes for them.

There were more than five hundred candidates for the examination, divided into six testing halls. He inspected each one, and when he reached the last hall, dressed in his dragon robe, he paused, looking especially refreshed. He addressed the candidates: "You are all sons of merit, blessed by your ancestors. Today's examination will rank you in three grades, to select the best talents. Those who excel will, like your fathers and grandfathers, go on campaigns and serve in the inner court. Show your abilities and win honor for your forebears—earn yourselves a golden belt."

Everyone responded, "Yes, sir."

After speaking, Michael Bolton laughed heartily. The golden belt had a story behind it. The examination tradition dated back to the founding emperor. It was originally called the cavalry review. Back then, the Duke of England, Michael Bolton, as a youth, participated in the cavalry review held by the Chenghua Emperor in the Western Garden, shot three arrows in a row, and was awarded the golden belt.

That golden belt was still tied around Michael Bolton's waist. Although he had reached the pinnacle of power, inheriting the dukedom and being appointed Grand Preceptor, and could wear any belt he wished, in his heart, the golden belt was the true symbol of honor.

The sons of merit all eyed the belt around Michael Bolton's waist greedily, each itching to have a go.

Just then, a commotion sounded outside. Michael Bolton frowned slightly, and several imperial guard officers at his side were also surprised. Seeing Michael Bolton's displeasure, someone quickly said, "I'll go check."

Michael Bolton said coldly, "No matter who is making a fuss, today's examination is of great importance. Bring them in!"

Seeing the Duke of England angry, everyone was nervous. Soon, two imperial guards brought in someone tied up tightly.

Michael Bolton recognized the bound man at a glance, and before he could ask, the young eunuch stepped forward and respectfully said, "Your Grace, by order of His Majesty, I have brought the son of the Marquis of Nanhe, Charles Foster, for the examination. I am acting on imperial orders—please do not be offended."

Fang... Ji... Fan...

Charles Foster felt the entire atmosphere of the examination hall change instantly.

The sons of merit nearby, at first curious and wanting to watch the commotion, immediately recoiled as if avoiding the plague when they heard the name Charles Foster.

Then, the hall erupted in laughter.

Chapter 0010: Examination

When Michael Bolton heard the name Charles Foster, his face darkened.

He would recognize this kid even if he were turned to ashes. Michael Bolton was a battle-hardened general, and Charles Foster's father, Samuel Foster, had once served under him. They had shared life-and-death experiences in the trenches. He had long heard that Samuel Foster had an unfilial son who not only squandered the family fortune but nearly drove Samuel Foster to his grave. Last time Samuel Foster returned to the capital in triumph and visited his mansion, he looked utterly ashamed.