Passing through a corridor room, they arrived at the central courtyard, which featured a skylight in the middle. The ground was paved with blue bricks that had darkened over time. On either side of the courtyard were side rooms, with the main hall in the center. There were also rooms on both sides of the guest hall, usually serving as living quarters or dining rooms.

At this moment, more than a dozen people were standing in the courtyard. In the center, on the steps, there was a couch, upon which a middle-aged man sat cross-legged. He looked very much like Benjamin Johnson, so he was likely his father.

Several family servants stood around, along with a few young men dressed in white martial attire, about seventeen or eighteen years old, each holding a polo mallet, brimming with youthful spirit.

Before leaving, Mary Wood had specifically reminded Adam Thompson of some basic etiquette: there was no need to kneel, just bow with clasped hands. Generally, scholars with official titles only needed to kneel to Heaven and Earth, the Emperor, and their parents, while ordinary people had to kneel once more—to officials. As for servants, house staff, or tenant farmers, they also had to kneel to their masters.

Benjamin Johnson's father was merely a steward in a noble household, not Adam Thompson's master, so kneeling was unnecessary. Adam Thompson stepped forward, bowed, and said, "Junior Adam Thompson, greets Uncle Johnson!"

Benjamin Johnson's father was named John Johnson, with a long face and thin features. His eyes were especially bright, and his appearance suggested a shrewd man.

He stroked his beard and smiled, "Third son, is this the polo striker you recommended? Isn't he a bit too young?"

Benjamin Johnson had already moved behind his father and whispered, "Everything I told Father is absolutely true!"

"But I've already told you about the rules set by the Prince."

"Father—"

"Alright! Let's give it a try."

The rules set by Prince Sining required that polo players be chosen from among the prince's own household staff. Adam Thompson did not meet this requirement, but John Johnson still wanted to give his son some face, so he would let Adam Thompson withdraw through fair competition, leaving his son with nothing to complain about.

John Johnson beckoned to another young man dressed in black. The young man strode forward energetically and saluted. He was about seventeen or eighteen, with a sturdy build. From his gait, it was clear he practiced martial arts. He glanced arrogantly at the battered mallet in Adam Thompson's hand, his eyes full of mockery and disdain.

John Johnson smiled and said, "By the prince's order, I am forming a polo team, and we are still short one striker. I need to choose one of you two. Of course, the more skilled will be selected. It's very fair—do you have any objections?"

Both nodded. John Johnson smiled again, "My courtyard isn't big enough for a real polo goal, so we'll have to adapt. Let's do a bottle-hitting contest! I'll toss the balls for you, and whoever breaks more bottles wins."

Chapter 7: Rare Commodity

Everyone clearly understood the rules and was eager to try. Adam Thompson also had a hunch—it must involve hitting iron or stone balls.

At this moment, two servants carried over a table and set it down about twenty feet away. The steward placed three porcelain bottles on the table.

"Let's keep it at twenty feet!"

John Johnson stood up and walked down the steps, now holding several stone balls the size of ping-pong balls.

He smiled slightly at Adam Thompson, "I'll toss the stone balls, and you hit them. Whoever breaks more porcelain bottles wins. Understood?"

John Johnson glanced at the young man and said with a smile, "Andrew Warren, you play often, so you go first! Show Brother Thompson how it's done."

The young man took off his outer robe, revealing a strong upper body. He stretched his muscles, the muscles on his arms especially full and firm.

"Andrew Scott, show us your real skills!"

Several polo players cheered him on. They were all household staff who practiced martial arts together and knew each other well.

The young man picked up the polo mallet and got into position. John Johnson suddenly tossed a stone ball, much like a baseball pitch. The young man swung and hit it; the stone ball shot out, and—bang!—one porcelain bottle was smashed to pieces.

Everyone cheered, "Well done!"

Adam Thompson nodded as well. It was a good hit, clearly the result of hard practice. Benjamin Johnson, on the other hand, was especially nervous. This Andrew Warren had been recommended by the prince's household that very morning and ranked third among the prince's polo players. He had real skill, and Benjamin Johnson was worried that Adam Thompson wouldn't be able to match his presence.

"Again!"

John Johnson tossed another stone ball. The young man swung and hit it. There was a clang as it struck the bottle, but the bottle didn't break—just wobbled a bit.

These were coarse earthenware bottles specially used for polo practice. Though crudely made, their walls were thick and sturdy. Only a direct hit to the front would shatter them; a glancing blow would just slide off.

"Andrew Warren, that one doesn't count!"

"I know. Please toss again, Steward Johnson!"

The young man swallowed nervously, gripping the mallet tightly, his body swaying slightly. He was getting a bit anxious.

John Johnson tossed a third stone ball. The young man swung hard, sending the stone ball flying in a straight line with great force, but it just barely missed, grazing the porcelain bottle.

The young man's face immediately fell, unable to hide his disappointment.

Several polo players encouraged him, "One out of three is already good. That kid won't hit even one."

John Johnson sighed inwardly, a bit disappointed himself. The striker he had in mind was the prince's top-ranked Victor King, who could hit seven out of ten bottles.

"Brother Thompson, it's your turn!"

Adam Thompson nodded, picked up his somewhat worn mallet, and stepped forward, half-squatting in a horse stance, his mind calm and clear.