At this moment, constables were already roaring loudly inside the building: “Who is the madam? Get out here! And everyone else inside, come to the main hall at once! We are here on orders from the Ying Tian Prefecture yamen to investigate a case and have questions for you all.”

Henry Thompson exchanged glances with the two people beside him, and each could see a trace of worry on the others’ faces. None of them had left the residence in a proper manner; if they were delayed here for too long, their fate would surely be miserable.

“Why don’t we just break out?” Thomas Bolton suggested a reckless idea.

Henry Thompson rejected it outright: “Break out? That chief constable in purple is Iron-Guts Edward Sutton, a man famous for his fiery temper. If we really try to force our way out, he definitely won’t let us off.”

In the end, Thomas Bolton and Richard Palmer could only helplessly follow Henry Thompson to the main hall of the Lan Yue Brothel, and not long after, the coffin from the donkey cart was also carried inside.

The coffin had no lid, and the scene inside made many present instinctively step back. Only a few burly men dressed as house servants, their faces deathly pale, remained rooted to the spot.

Henry Thompson also glanced into the coffin, and when he saw the swollen figure inside, he was momentarily stunned.

Although the corpse’s face was so bloated as to be unrecognizable, he still recognized it. This was Samuel Clark, the youngest son of the Princess of Boping and one of the most notorious playboys in Southern Zhili—a sworn enemy of his former self.

“About half an hour ago, a pleasure boat reported a case. They discovered this man’s corpse two hundred zhang downstream from the Lan Yue Brothel. After identification, the deceased is Samuel Clark, a scholar from Boling.”

Edward Sutton was already seated at a round table in a commanding manner: “Someone saw Samuel Clark enter the Lan Yue Brothel last night. I want to know if this is true. And when did he leave?”

“Sir, Young Master Cui drank here at the Lan Yue Brothel until midnight last night. Because it was so late, he stayed overnight in the building,” replied the madam of the brothel, her face extremely unsightly. “I arranged for him to stay in Room D on the fourth floor.”

Edward Sutton nodded slightly. “Did he have any conflicts with anyone in the building? Or did he encounter any enemies?”

The madam’s breath caught, and she covertly glanced at Henry Thompson.

Henry Thompson was also puzzled. Under normal circumstances, a seasoned investigator like Edward Sutton wouldn’t ask such a question—unless he already had a suspect in mind. This gave Henry Thompson a sudden sense of foreboding.

At that moment, a house servant carrying a sword stepped forward and angrily pointed at Henry Thompson: “Chief Constable Sutton, our young master has always had a grudge with Henry Thompson, and last night they had a quarrel in the building.”

Edward Sutton immediately raised his brows and locked his gaze on Henry Thompson.

“Are you Henry Thompson, second son of the Marquis of Sincerity, descendant of ‘Yi Han Divine Blade’ David Thompson, who once froze three hundred li of the Huai River with a single slash at the founding of the dynasty?

Where were you last night during the Chou hour? Do you have any witnesses? And—”

His gaze turned icy, as sharp as a blade: “Our coroner also found faint red palm marks on the corpse, suspected to be from a cold-type palm technique. How do you explain that?”

Before Edward Sutton finished speaking, the crowd gathered in the hall erupted in an uproar. Beside him, Thomas Bolton and Richard Palmer both looked at Henry Thompson in shock, and the pale-faced house servants all glared angrily at Henry Thompson.

Henry Thompson was even more bewildered. The Marquis of Sincerity’s family martial art, ‘Cold Breath Fiery Palm,’ was one of the most famous cold-type palm techniques in the world, passed only to sons, never to daughters, and unique to their family.

The Chou hour corresponds to 1:00 to 3:00 a.m. in modern time. But last night, he was already dead drunk by around eleven o’clock.

“Can’t answer, can you?”

Edward Sutton thundered, “Seize him!”

Chapter Two: Identity

With Edward Sutton’s thunderous command, in an instant, more than a dozen clawed chains flew through the air from the hands of the yamen runners, aiming to capture Henry Thompson.

This left Henry Thompson both shocked and furious, his whole body turning cold.

Before he could react, Thomas Bolton roared, “Edward Sutton, how dare you!”

He slashed out a series of blade lights in front of Henry Thompson, like flowing silk, cutting down all the clawed chains.

Richard Palmer also waved his hand, sending a total of nineteen throwing darts flying from his sleeve, knocking back the second wave of attacking chains and pinning them one by one into the surrounding beams and pillars.

“Can’t we talk this out? Edward Sutton, you have neither witnesses nor evidence, and you dare to convict my brother?”

Edward Sutton raised his brows, “So you intend to resist arrest? That suits me just fine.”

He calmly set down his teacup. At that moment, though he seemed motionless, a dense black fist aura gathered around him, fierce as a tiger, and struck Thomas Bolton’s blade with unstoppable force.

The latter couldn’t withstand it at all and was sent flying like a cannonball, crashing through more than a dozen wooden walls.

Richard Palmer was dumbfounded. In the past, they had always relied on him to hold the line and act as a shield—what were they supposed to do now?

Amid the flying debris, Edward Sutton had already flashed in front of Henry Thompson and Richard Palmer, once again unleashing the same black fist aura, this time targeting the chubby one standing in front.

Henry Thompson finally snapped back to his senses, a flash of anger in his eyes. He immediately pulled Richard Palmer to his side, gathered his strength, and channeled his palm to freeze the air, doing everything he could to block the incoming fist aura.