Adam Thompson tore half of the flatbread and handed it to the old lady. Mary Wood smiled and waved her hand, saying, “Good child, I’m not used to having lunch. You go ahead and eat!”

She sat back down to do the laundry.

Adam Thompson simply grabbed a small stool and sat beside her, eating the flatbread while asking, “Auntie, do we have any relatives in Chang’an?”

Adam Thompson was thinking about what Benjamin Johnson had said that morning—someone had paid back thirty taels of silver for him.

“Your mother said we don’t. Why are you asking?”

“It’s nothing, I was just curious. Auntie, my grandfather…”

Adam Thompson turned his head and found that Mary Wood had already gotten up and gone back to her room.

“Auntie!”

“I’m going to recite scriptures now, very busy, don’t ask me these things!”

Adam Thompson truly had no temper left.

He stuffed the last piece of flatbread into his mouth, but his stomach was still uncomfortably hungry. Adam Thompson took out some silver from his pocket and weighed it in his hand. A thought flashed through his mind—since coming to the Tang Dynasty, he had never actually strolled through the streets!

The last time he bought medicine was at night, there were hardly any pedestrians on the road, and they were hurrying along, not paying attention to anything.

Why not go to the West Market today and see if there’s anything tasty?

He went to Mary Wood’s room again, and heard the sound of a wooden fish being struck from inside—the old lady had started chanting scriptures.

“Auntie, I’m going to practice playing ball.”

‘Dong! Dong!’ The wooden fish was struck twice, heavily, indicating she had heard him.

Adam Thompson immediately returned to his own room. He needed to change clothes and bring some small change. Of course, he couldn’t take twenty taels of silver out with him—he wouldn’t even be able to get change for a bowl of noodles.

He was too lazy to change clothes anyway; they were all coarse cloth short jackets and old cloth shoes—the standard for a poor family’s child.

Adam Thompson pulled out a small wooden box from under the bed. He had found it the day before yesterday; it should be his predecessor’s money box, with over a hundred copper coins inside, all kept in a small cloth pouch.

He took out the small pouch, put the twenty taels of silver into the wooden box, and after thinking for a moment, took out another ten taels to keep with him—maybe he could buy a few books.

At that moment, Adam Thompson suddenly noticed something strange that made him freeze. There was actually a slip of paper on the bed. Their family might have anything, but they would never have paper.

Who had been in here?

Adam Thompson hurriedly got up and walked around the courtyard, but found nothing.

He went back to his room and picked up the slip of paper. On it was written a single sentence: “Same time, same place!”

This was definitely not written by Little Michael Bolton—that guy was illiterate. The handwriting was bold and powerful, clearly that of an adult man.

Someone had paid back thirty taels of silver for him, and then this note appeared.

Adam Thompson felt as if he was about to unravel a mystery. Perhaps this was the real reason he had run to the community temple at the first watch the previous night.

……

The strange appearance of the note left Adam Thompson with no mood to go to the West Market. While he and Benjamin Johnson were talking outside, someone had entered his room. The old lady was still in the courtyard doing laundry. Who could it have been?

He grabbed his polo stick and headed to the community temple. The temple had a caretaker, an old Taoist who was a drunkard, always dead drunk, and no one knew where he got the money for wine.

In the large courtyard, an elderly couple was burning paper offerings. Adam Thompson looked around and headed straight for the backyard.

The community temple wasn’t very big. Entering the gate was the main courtyard; the main hall was for the local deity, with the God of Wealth’s hall on the left and the Guanyin of Fertility’s hall on the right. Originally, these two weren’t there, but since the people needed them, they appeared.

The room next to the main hall was the caretaker’s quarters, and beside it was a small door leading directly to the backyard.

The backyard was large, actually a stretch of wasteland, covering four or five mu, right next to a small river. The old Taoist had planted some vegetables here, and there was a well in the corner.

Adam Thompson felt very familiar with this place, and memories from his predecessor slowly surfaced. It seemed he had practiced polo on this wasteland before.

Not far from the riverbank, he found an abandoned clay statue, fixed to the ground. The surface was mottled, and the face was broken—clearly the result of years of being struck by stones during his polo practice. But from where had he been hitting the balls?

Adam Thompson noticed something odd. If the statue was fixed and couldn’t move, then the spot where he swung his stick was actually in the river. How could that be?

He quickly walked to the riverbank. The water was very shallow, and he couldn’t help but frown. You couldn’t expect the slum’s river to be clean, but there was indeed a pile of stones in the water—the very stones he used to practice polo every day.

Could it be that he had been standing in the water to play? Hitting stones in the water would have a lot of resistance; it would take a lot of arm strength.

Adam Thompson began to understand—his ability to lift over two hundred jin wasn’t innate.

At that moment, Adam Thompson suddenly felt a surge of anticipation for the mysterious person who had arranged to meet him that night.

……

Sarah Parker came home very late. She had helped deliver a baby today and was utterly exhausted, but delivering babies paid well—just showing up earned a hundred copper coins, and if it was a smooth delivery, she’d get a red envelope of three to five hundred coins.

If it was a difficult birth or the baby died, if she was lucky, she’d be thrown out with nothing; if unlucky, she’d get a beating.

But most births were smooth. There wasn’t much oil or meat in the slum’s food, so big, chubby boys were rare—Little Michael Bolton was an exception.

Sarah Parker was in a good mood. Though she’d been tired all day, she’d earned four hundred coins and could buy a few jin of mutton for her son tomorrow.