Philip Brooks didn’t say much more, directing Mr. Franklin to arrange for these people to find rooms and settle in. Only then did he say to Brian Brooks, “Little Ethan, I’m afraid this chaos won’t be resolved anytime soon. What’s more, I worry that if the rioters outside the city break in, things will get even worse. If they see through our situation here, I fear we won’t be spared either. I plan to go out and assess the situation, and see if I can find a way out of the city.”

Section Eleven: Passerby A · The True Little Brother—Jonathan King

Brian Brooks didn’t respond for a moment.

There were so many people in the Brooks residence now. Mr. Franklin and his wife were old and frail, while he and Nathaniel were just boys of eleven or twelve. As for these newcomers, the merchant surnamed Xue and his attendant clearly looked like seasoned travelers, and the one called Joseph Carter seemed to be a scholar, likely with some background.

The problem was that neither group’s background was clear. Although it could be roughly assumed they weren’t connected to the bandits, in such circumstances, it was hard to say if something unexpected might happen.

But in this situation, if Philip Brooks didn’t go out to scout, should he go himself?

Brian Brooks glanced at the dark, skinny boy beside him who didn’t talk much.

If only this kid could go out and help gather some information. But the problem was, his perspective was different, and he might not know what information was needed right now. Even though he was familiar with the area and the people, he could only help out a little.

“Uncle Philip, that’s all we can do. I only regret that I can’t be of more help and have to trouble you,” Brian Brooks said, cupping his hands in salute.

Philip Brooks, surprised, quickly returned the salute. “Little Ethan, you’re too polite. This is what I should be doing. As for the people in this courtyard, I’ve observed them. Though their backgrounds are unclear, they shouldn’t be related to the bandits. Of course, we must remain cautious and keep our guard up. I’ll try to be back within an hour.”

He glanced again at the dark, skinny boy, hesitating for a moment. “I was thinking of taking this kid with me. He knows the area well, but I’m worried…”

“No one in Linqing knows this city better than I do. I’m not afraid of those people. Worst case, I’ll slip into an alley or jump into the river. They don’t have bows and arrows—they can’t catch me…” The skinny boy was clearly a bit defiant.

“Oh? Not convinced, are you? What’s your name?” Philip Brooks chuckled, sizing him up.

“Jonathan King!” The boy puffed out his chest.

It wasn’t until Philip Brooks left with the skinny boy and Mr. Franklin closed the door again that Brian Brooks still felt a bit dazed.

Jonathan King?! Jonathan King?

Although Brian Brooks wasn’t a history major, he had once been quite interested in late Ming history. When “1587, A Year of No Significance” and “Those Ming Dynasty Stories” were all the rage, he’d read them for fun. In his previous life, although his ancestral home was Linqing, he’d never actually lived there—his father was from Linqing, but after joining the army, he never returned.

Still, being from Linqing, he naturally knew a few local celebrities. The Jonathan King who once commanded the Southern Ming army at the end of the Ming dynasty was indeed from Linqing. If this was really the second year of Yonglong, around 1600, the age seemed to match up.

But the Ming dynasty was long gone—now it was the Great Zhou. Could it be that the inertia of history’s wheel would keep rolling forward, crushing everything in its path, and all that was meant to happen would still happen?

Perhaps not.

At least, as far as Brian Brooks remembered, the late Ming Linqing uprising was caused by a tax supervisor surnamed Ma, but that was under the Wanli Emperor, and had nothing to do with the current Great Zhou emperor. Or maybe history’s wheel would roll on regardless, and whichever emperor was in power, the same ruts would be carved?

“Sir, it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t wanted a lion cat, none of this would have happened…” Just as Brian Brooks was still pondering the completely different image of Jonathan King and what era they were really in, the little girl standing in the side room quietly apologized.

“All right, don’t blame yourself. No one could have predicted this. Who would have thought something like this would happen right under the noses of the Linqing garrison?” Stephen Carter shook his head and sighed.

The girl had lost her mother not long ago. Though she’d had an old maid to care for her along the way, her mood had been gloomy. He’d wanted to cheer her up, so he’d told her that the naturally amber-eyed Linqing lion cat was a royal tribute, much loved by all, which had piqued her interest and led them ashore to try to buy one.

He had once served as a prefect, and as a scholar who had always sought reinstatement, he was no stranger to the current political situation.

In his impression, Shandong had always been relatively peaceful—no threat of Mongol raids from the three border regions, no Japanese pirate attacks along the southern coast, and no growing menace from the Jianzhou Jurchens in the northeast. It was the most prosperous and stable region in the north, as evidenced by the bustling splendor of Linqing city.

He never expected that less than an hour after coming ashore, a sudden uprising would pierce this illusion, leaving Stephen Carter with a sense of unease.

Could it be that the Great Zhou, not even a hundred years old, was already in danger of collapse? But this thought only flashed through Stephen Carter’s mind and was not taken seriously.