After applying the medicine, Charles Harris struggled to sit up, his face twisted in pain: “That bastard David Miller, he hit so damn hard…”

“Samuel Bennett, that little brat, actually got in with that old executioner. Now this is going to be a real problem…”

The woman tidied her hair, looking both worried and resentful.

She knew that Samuel Bennett had once apprenticed under William Walker, but there were countless apprentices under William Walker; very few could truly be taken in as his disciples.

Three years of menial apprenticeship, plus a hefty tuition fee—if you had that kind of money, you might as well spend a bit more to learn some real fighting at a martial arts school.

“If we can’t provoke them, can’t we just avoid them?”

Reaching for a wine bowl, Charles Harris took a swig, feeling both aggrieved and resentful:

“That little brat actually made me suffer such a huge loss…”

Aggrieved, but helpless.

People said he was a reckless thug, but Charles Harris knew very well whom he could mess with and whom he couldn’t.

Otherwise, he’d have ended up dead in a stinking ditch like those “old-timers.”

A half-grown kid with no father and no one to rely on—he could easily handle that. But David Miller? He really couldn’t afford to cross him.

Let alone William Walker, that old man Old Man Walker.

“Will that scoundrel really give up?”

Listening by the wall, Samuel Bennett’s heart stirred as he heard the woman snort coldly.

“Is it really that easy?”

The woman put on her clothes, instinctively glanced out the window, and lowered her voice: “Do you think the clan chief is after just those few plots of land?”

“Isn’t he?”

Charles Harris moved closer and hugged the woman, his mind starting to work again.

“Of course not.”

The woman pursed her lips and said, “Those few plots of land only tempt people like us. What the clan really wants is the prison guard quota.”

“Prison guard? But here, it’s always father dies, son takes over. Are you planning to…”

Charles Harris made a slicing gesture across his neck.

“Who knows?”

The woman shook her head: “The clan originally wanted to use the excuse of handling the funeral to pressure that old woman, take back the land and house deeds, and then adopt that brat under the name of one of the clan elders…”

“Brilliant! The law doesn’t reach the family. When it comes to clan matters, not even David Miller, let alone William Walker or Short Cooper, can interfere! By then, heh heh…”

The two inside the house were getting more and more excited with each sentence, but outside the door, Samuel Bennett’s chest was heaving, his anger burning fiercely.

“So vicious, so vicious!”

Samuel Bennett’s face turned pale with rage.

They really wanted to strip his family clean!

These people had probably already planned out the “funeral” for him and his grandmother!

“Enough of this. I’ve been holding back for days, I’ve missed you so much…”

“Oh! Doesn’t it hurt anymore?”

“How could I remember the pain?”

“You beast!”

……

Listening to the filthy words inside, Samuel Bennett could no longer contain his fury. He stepped back a few paces, gathered his strength, and slammed into the tightly closed wooden door.

Bang!

The door burst open.

By the light of the candle inside, Samuel Bennett immediately saw the man and woman tangled together, biting at each other, his eyes turning fierce.

He reached to his waist, flipped out a broken knife, and slashed it toward Charles Harris.

“Ah! You—”

Charles Harris shuddered in terror, shoved the woman toward Samuel Bennett, and turned to grab the knife standing by the bed.

Squelch—

Hot blood sprayed across his face, soaking the rag covering Samuel Bennett’s face and dyeing his eyes red.

“Die!!!”

Chapter 9: The Ruthless Official

Crack!

A lightning snake streaked across the sky as the gloomy rain fell.

A young constable in a black uniform walked out from the courtyard, opened an umbrella, and shielded a middle-aged man built like a tower from the rain.

“Head Harris, two dead. The man is Charles Harris, a street thug. The woman is Grace Harris, his mistress.”

The young constable reported the case succinctly:

“The killer must have some martial arts skills. The woman’s throat was slashed diagonally, and the man’s head was chopped off from behind with a single stroke…

The murder weapon appears to be a short knife…”

Thomas Harris’s face was cold and silent as he strode into the courtyard. Several constables were carefully searching for clues, while the coroner was examining the bodies.

“Head Harris, the killer was very cautious, and with the rain coming so quickly, there are no traces left in the courtyard… The perpetrator must be an old hand—quick and extremely ruthless.”

Another constable came forward to report: “The victims’ bodies were searched, and there’s nothing valuable left in the house. Maybe it was for money?”

“No.”

With a casual glance around the courtyard, Thomas Harris pointed to the only footprint not washed away by the rain and said:

“The killer must have braced himself here to break open the wooden door. Judging by the footprint, he seems rather thin and weak. He might have some martial arts skills, but his technique isn’t very refined.”

The other constables also looked at the footprint in the courtyard.

“The wounds on the bodies look like they were made by a short knife, but the shape is more like a standard-issue waist saber from the yamen. It looks like a short knife, but it could also be…”

Thomas Harris fell silent, but a ripple appeared in his eyes.

“Find someone to collect the bodies. If there are no relatives or friends, just wrap them in a mat and dump them on West Mountain.”

Taking the oil-paper umbrella from his subordinate, Thomas Harris said no more, turned, and left the place, walking into the wind and rain.

“There we go, another mat we’ll have to pay for.”

Seeing Thomas Harris walk away, the constables exchanged glances, all feeling a bit of pain at the expense.