Reform? Well, after all, he is a new man of socialism, but he fears that before any reform can happen, the Sui Dynasty will already have perished. Besides, everyone says Yang Guang was a foolish emperor, so foolish he couldn’t be any worse, only interested in women. Li Yuan is also said to be a debauchee, and it’s hard to understand how he managed to seize the empire. Li Shimin seems pretty good, but waiting until the Tang Dynasty to reform seems a bit too far off. And even if he wanted to make changes, whether others would listen to him is still a question.

Practice medicine? As the saying goes, “If you can’t be a good prime minister, be a good doctor.” He doesn’t seem to have the makings of a good prime minister, so he can only aim to become a good doctor. But even when he has a headache or a fever, he still has to seek out the so-called miracle doctor in the mountain stronghold. The miracle doctor is indeed miraculous—he just picks some wild grass and withered vines from the mountain and acts very authoritative. Adam Carter feels a bit envious, but when he sees the doctor boil a huge bowl of soup, and everyone drinks it with results that are hit or miss, he gives up the idea of learning medicine from him.

Invent something? Maybe he could tinker a bit, but when it comes to serious inventions, even if he has the theory, he lacks the tools for practice. He’d love to invent a computer, to make China the first in the world to invent one. “What’s your calculation worth? China invented the world’s first computer a thousand years ago!” Just thinking about this idea excites him, but let’s not even talk about transistors, integrated circuits, or microelectronics—he can’t even get electricity, unless he borrows it from the God of Thunder.

Helplessly shaking his head, he stops thinking about it. Adam Carter stands up, walks to the big tree, and pulls out the steel saber.

Of course, the saber didn’t grow from the tree; he left it there.

Over the past few months, he has met all the heroes in the mountain stronghold and found that they all have some skills, but even from his perspective, none of them are particularly impressive.

He learned a few moves from others, and picked up some horsemanship from Peter Carter. But while he can achieve unity between man and horse, he can’t achieve unity between man and blade.

Every day he runs to the mountaintop and strikes a thousand blows with his saber—this is the task he set for himself.

Although he hasn’t seen much progress, he has no other way.

Now, after a few months, his saber skills may not be much better, but his legs and arms have grown stronger, which gives him some peace of mind.

Relying on oneself is better than relying on others—this has always been his style.

With the steel saber in hand, Adam Carter focuses his mind and swings the blade, sending wood chips flying from the big tree in an instant. He chops more than five hundred times in one go, sweating profusely, his arms numb, but he doesn’t stop.

He knows the human body has its limits—break through, and you improve; fail, and you’re held back.

When he reaches seven hundred and twelve strikes, he finally pauses for breath. At that moment, he just wants to collapse and sleep, but before he’s caught his breath, he insists on finishing the thousand strikes before stopping.

Sitting on the ground, panting and drenched in sweat, Adam Carter smiles bitterly to himself. His kung fu is truly clumsy, but clumsy kung fu is still better than no kung fu at all.

By the time he descends the mountain, dusk is falling, and the sun is setting behind the opposite peak, painting half the sky red.

Adam Carter is lost in thought, but unconsciously finds himself in front of his own room. When he pushes the door open, not thinking much, he hears a woman’s startled cry, which snaps him back to reality. Instinctively, he steps back and closes the door.

In a flash, he realizes this is his own room—he didn’t go to the wrong place. He opens the door again, hears no scream, and only sees the woman shrinking into a corner, looking at him in alarm.

Once again, Adam Carter is struck by her beauty. The woman is simply dressed, with small sleeves, a high-waisted long skirt, and a silk sash tied at her waist, just enough for a gentle grip.

The skirt is tied above her chest, the silk sash accentuating her graceful, slender figure. Her hair is styled in overlapping clouds, her skin is white as jade, her neck long, her eyes dark and shining like lacquer, making her beauty all the more breathtaking.

Though her long skirt is mostly intact, it is torn in several places, revealing a pale blue undergarment beneath. Adam Carter doesn’t want to look too much and averts his gaze.

He never considered himself a gentleman, but neither did he think of himself as a scoundrel.

He had eagerly announced to everyone that this was his woman—not because he hadn’t been with a woman for months and was overcome with desire, but more out of a sense of protection.

“You don’t need to be afraid.” Adam Carter smiled and said, “I’m a good person.”

The woman said nothing, looking at Adam Carter with a very strange expression.

Adam Carter realized that the concept of a “good person” didn’t apply—she had seen him kill without mercy. How could such a person be considered good?

“Where are you from?” Adam Carter sat down on the floor, which was customary here—most people in the mountains did so.

The woman still didn’t answer, watching Adam Carter warily.

Adam Carter thought to himself, it seems you’re not my woman, but my enemy. “Why did the Turks capture you?”

“Do they need a reason to capture people?” the woman finally spoke, her voice soft and pleasant.

Adam Carter thought that was true—the Turkic soldiers were even more brutal than the bandits, killing and capturing without reason.

“Then what’s your name, so I know how to address you?” Adam Carter asked again.

“Grace Miller.” The woman finally gave Adam Carter a proper answer.

“Grace Miller? That’s a very nice name.” Adam Carter murmured, suddenly remembering something. “Have you eaten yet?”