Everyone tensed up—this was what they cared about most.

Adam Thompson said calmly, “If we win, you pay me twenty strings of cash for medical expenses, and from now on, when we’re on the field, you can’t come!”

Sarah Parker had gone to court just to demand twenty strings of medical expenses from the other side, but she lost the case and didn’t get a single coin—instead, she had to pay two strings for the lawsuit.

“And if you lose?” James Mason asked coldly.

“If we lose, we’ll never set foot on this field again, and the grudge over the iron rod is wiped clean!”

James Mason looked back at the others. Several rich young men shouted together, “Take the bet!”

“Alright!”

James Mason agreed at once, saying proudly, “I’ll take your bet!”

……

Little Yellow Hair and the others looked at Adam Thompson with complicated expressions. They’d been fighting since they were kids, and Adam Thompson was even known as the king of brawls. But today’s scene was hard for them to get used to—no fighting, but a polo match instead. What was this?

“Could it be that Old Li’s injuries haven’t healed yet, so…” William Black guessed, thinking himself clever.

“Could be!”

Little Yellow Hair regretted, “If we’d known, we shouldn’t have egged him on to come.”

“It’s fine, Old Li is great at polo too—he’ll never lose to him!”

Little Michael Bolton knew full well that this big brother was even better at polo than at fighting.

The positions on the field were set. The goal-shooting contest had three lines: ten paces, thirty paces, and fifty paces. At fifty paces, you usually had to charge on horseback to hit the ball, or you wouldn’t have enough power.

“I’ll go first!”

James Mason stepped forward, smugly saying, “I can’t beat you in a fight, but in polo, you’re just asking to be humiliated!”

Adam Thompson said calmly, “Just don’t go back on your word if you lose!”

“Go back on my word?”

James Mason sneered, pointing outside the field, “I have thirty strings of cash over there. If you win, I’ll give it all to you!”

Adam Thompson smiled but said nothing.

James Mason walked up to the polo ball, took a deep breath, glanced at the hole in the wooden board, then swung hard. The ball flew in an arc and—‘pa!’—hit the board, missing the hole by just a bit.

“Damn it, what rotten luck!”

James Mason cursed under his breath and stepped aside.

There were more than a dozen polo balls on the ground. At the thirty-pace line, Adam Thompson lined them up in a row. He used his own mallet, which was very old—Sarah Parker had bought it for him from a street stall for ten coins.

Adam Thompson stepped forward, calmed his mind, and cleared his head. He struck swiftly and cleanly—“pa!”—the ball shot straight and true, landing perfectly in the hole.

The three—Little Michael Bolton and the others—cheered, hugging and jumping, “We won!”

James Mason’s face instantly darkened. Damn this guy’s dumb luck!

Adam Thompson shot him a sidelong glance, snorted coldly, and kept swinging at the balls on the ground. One after another, the balls flew out—thirteen in total, every single one landing perfectly in the hole.

The field fell silent. Everyone’s mouth hung open in shock.

Adam Thompson said calmly, “If you’re still not convinced, bring fifty more polo balls. If I miss even one, I’ll admit defeat!”

James Mason clasped his fists and bowed, “I lost, and I admit it wholeheartedly!”

He quickly left the field, and together with his companions, brought up three bags of money, placing them in front of Adam Thompson. “Here are thirty strings of cash. From now on, we won’t come here again!”

Adam Thompson smiled slightly, “No need to see you off!”

James Mason waved his hand, “Let’s go!”

The rich young men led their horses away. The thinnest among them gave Adam Thompson a deep look before following.

Once the rich kids were gone, the three friends ran up and surrounded Adam Thompson, faces full of envy. “Big bro, you’re amazing at polo! We want to learn too—teach us!”

“You guys don’t want to fight anymore?” Adam Thompson smiled.

Little Michael Bolton scratched his head, embarrassed. “Thinking about it now, fighting is really pointless. You hit someone ten times, you get hit eight times yourself, end up with a bruised face, and get a beating from your mom when you get home. Playing polo is way more fun—seeing them lose so badly is so satisfying! And more importantly, you can make money!”

That last part was the real point.

Adam Thompson hefted the three money bags. “Pretty heavy—almost two hundred jin!”

He asked, “Does anyone know where Little Qilang’s new home is?”

William Black raised his hand, “He’s my cousin—I know where he lives!”

Adam Thompson handed him a bag of money, “Little Qilang had his arm broken by those bastards. Please take these ten strings of cash to him!”

William Black was moved, nodding repeatedly, “I’ll go soon—his new home is just in the next neighborhood.”

Adam Thompson took out another bag, “You three split these ten strings—you got beaten up too, so take it as compensation!”

The three immediately jumped for joy. Little Michael Bolton gave a thumbs up and praised, “Big bro really knows how to take care of people—eating meat and still letting the little brothers have some soup!”

“Excuse me, Young Master Li, may I have a word?” Suddenly, someone spoke behind them.

Adam Thompson turned around and saw a man standing not far away, in his thirties, dressed like a servant. Adam Thompson remembered—when the rich kids were playing polo, there were a few servants sitting below, and this man seemed to be one of them.