“Almost, he probably didn’t add any extra.” John Brooks nodded and said, “The authority to appoint official positions is in the hands of Zou Fang, the Grand Commander of South City. If it’s less than three hundred taels, there’s no way you’ll catch his eye.”

He immediately continued, “Actually, I can pay this regularization fee for you.”

“No need.” George Lambert refused without hesitation. “I can’t pay you back.”

“It’s not a loan, it’s a gift.” John Brooks said, “You know, although my family is just a collateral branch managing business in the clan and our status isn’t high, we’ve never lacked money. Lending you a hand is nothing to me—after all, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Really, there’s no need.” George Lambert still refused. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’ll never buy an official post with money… I just don’t think it’s right.”

“Hm?” John Brooks was taken aback, a bit surprised. “I thought you were a smart person, someone who would know how to adapt.”

“Some things can be flexible, some things can’t.” George Lambert said firmly, “Even if the whole world goes along with it, if it’s not right, it’s not right.”

“You…” John Brooks seemed a bit moved and was about to say something more when George Lambert suddenly pressed his arm under the table, his gaze fixed sharply ahead, as if he’d noticed something.

Ahead.

A man with the plain look of an old farmer was pushing a small cart, hawking his wares: “Iced sour plum juice… cool and refreshing sour plum soup…”

Winter had just passed, and it was common for some farmers to store ice in their cellars and brew iced drinks to sell in the city—they were quite popular.

At a street corner ahead, a travel-worn man wearing a bamboo hat called out to him, “Give me a bowl of sour plum soup.”

“Coming right up.”

The old farmer opened the thick quilt covering the ice bucket, scooped a bowl of sour plum soup for the man, took three copper coins, and then pushed his cart toward the street corner.

After turning into a small alley, he pulled out a large chunk of ice from the bucket and suddenly tossed it into the backyard of a nearby shop.

The movement was quick—there was no one in the alley, and on the noisy street, no one noticed at all. It looked like no one would ever know.

But George Lambert, watching from a distance, suddenly had a sharp glint in his eyes and shouted in a low voice, “Move!”

The three of them immediately drew their swords from under the table and rushed toward the old farmer with the cart in the alley. John Brooks shouted as he ran, pushing back the crowd, “Longyuan Imperial Guards, make way!”

But just as they reached the center of the main street, something unexpected happened!

……

The man in the bamboo hat who had just bought the sour plum soup at the opposite street corner saw the three armed men charging in his direction. Suddenly, he looked up, his eyes fierce and wild like a beast!

“Die!”

He shouted angrily, flinging his bamboo hat from his head, revealing a face with a jagged scar—fierce and menacing.

The bamboo hat flew straight at the tallest, Daniel Parker, hitting him square in the chest. With a bang, the tower-like David Clark was sent flying by the blow, soaring five or six zhang before crashing heavily to the ground like a kite.

The man’s sudden outburst caught the three completely off guard. What was going on? Was he an accomplice of the arsonist?

Either way, he showed no mercy, so the remaining two had to fight back.

John Brooks immediately drew his sword. He was a second-realm martial artist; with a single swing, his blade carried the rhythm of martial arts, as if guided by spirit, sharp and fierce.

George Lambert cooperated from the side, sweeping at the man’s legs with a low kick.

Clang!

A crisp sound rang out—the man caught John Brooks’s blade with his bare hand, producing a metallic clang. Then, with his right palm, he struck out, sending a blast of force that knocked John Brooks flying from several feet away.

“Pff—” John Brooks spat out a mouthful of blood and was sent hurtling backward, seriously injured on the spot. Even in midair, he managed to warn, “George Lambert, be careful, he’s at the Gang Qi Realm!”

The Gang Qi Realm is already the fourth level for martial artists—external energy leaves the body, fierce and violent. Who would have thought such a master was hiding on this busy street, or that he would launch a sudden attack on the three of them?

But by the time George Lambert heard the warning, it was already too late.

His sweeping kick struck the man’s shin, but it was like hitting an iron pillar—pain shot through his own leg bones, while the other man seemed completely unfazed.

After sending John Brooks flying, the man lowered his head, glaring down at George Lambert, and his palms came crashing down like twin demons at the door, vicious and merciless.

George Lambert’s level was even lower than John Brooks’s. If those palms landed, his head would probably explode on the spot! In that instant, he seemed to hear the howling wind of death.

At the critical moment, George Lambert showed no fear. Looking past the man’s shoulder, he shouted, “Attack his vital spot!”

The man, seeing this lowly first-realm martial artist showing no fear, was momentarily convinced someone was attacking from behind. He was distracted for a split second, spreading his senses to guard his back.

Then he realized—there was nothing behind him.

Tricked?

In that instant of distraction, George Lambert didn’t try to counterattack. Instead, he rolled backward on the spot, putting distance between himself and the man, and that suffocating sense of danger eased a little.

Seeing this, the man’s fury burned even hotter—he’d actually been fooled by a weakling! He was about to charge forward.

Whoosh—