Even though the sun was shining brightly, the chill of early spring still lingered. The horses pulling the carriage were exceptionally spirited, growing impatient and wanting to gallop to warm themselves. Only when the lead horse neighed loudly ahead did they finally shake their heads, snort, and come to a halt.

Inside the carriage, a hand holding a scroll moved slightly, and the curtain was lifted. A fair-skinned, middle-aged man with a head full of black hair slowly turned his gaze and asked, “Who is blocking The Thompson Family’s convoy?”

The commander of the guards, George Foster, who held a short spear, stepped forward respectfully and said, “Second Master, it’s a young man.”

The middle-aged man lowered the curtain, and silence returned to the carriage.

George Foster spurred his horse forward and saw the youth surrounded by his men. Murderous intent flashed in his eyes. “Ask who he is.”

Ahead, the fine horse was twitching on the ground. The rider leapt up, uninjured but covered in dust, and said angrily, “You little thief, how dare you block my family’s carriage!”

Henry Clark gripped the hilt of his blade, but he knew that if he made a rash move, these men would chop him to pieces in an instant. He squinted at the burly men closing in from both sides, calculating which direction offered the best chance to break through.

Too late!

Just as the horse reared up, and just as Henry Clark hesitated for a moment, the men swiftly completed their encirclement.

Why did I freeze up?

Henry Clark thought of how he had foolishly reached out earlier, trying in vain to pull the horse back, and now found himself in a desperate situation. He couldn’t help but want to smack his own forehead.

He looked up, his body seemingly relaxed, but his feet were tensed, ready to bolt at any moment. “I’m a traveler.”

“Travel permit.” One of the burly men extended his broadsword, his gaze ambiguous.

He wants me to try to grab the sword and break through from his side.

Two other men, intentionally or not, aimed their bows at the flanks… If Henry Clark tried to escape that way, the two bows would cut off his route.

Henry Clark obediently took out his travel permit and placed it on the broadsword. Without a permit, he couldn’t take a single step, but he thought he could reach Chang’an by taking the mountain paths off the main road. That wouldn’t be a problem. But he didn’t know that things would be even more troublesome once he reached Chang’an. Without a permit, the best outcome would be being caught and forced into hard labor, and upon investigation, it would be found that Yuan Prefecture had never issued him a permit… That was a serious crime, most likely resulting in exile.

The man stared at him. “Why are you carrying a broadsword and a bow?”

Henry Clark felt this man was too overbearing. “I’m a hunter. Isn’t it legal to carry a bow?”

The man glanced at the permit, then turned back and said, “He’s a hunter.”

George Foster stepped forward. “Where are you from? Where are you going?”

The man looked down again. “He’s a hunter from Dingnan County, heading to Chang’an to join relatives.”

This was the permit Charles Clark had prepared for him. As for the so-called relatives, they had probably disappeared by now.

George Foster said coldly, “Why did you block the convoy?”

Henry Clark was taken aback. “I was walking on the side. The left side is wide enough for three carriages to go side by side. Why did you whip me?”

This is unfair!

The burly men’s eyes were cold, tinged with surprise and mockery, as if they’d just heard the world’s biggest joke.

George Foster shook his head, realizing this was a naive youth, probably traveling far from home for the first time.

“Ten strokes as punishment. Let’s go!”

This was the lightest punishment.

Henry Clark knew there were probably important people in the convoy, but so what? Did that mean the important could punish others at will? He grew angry, drawing his broadsword halfway. “On what grounds?”

This youth hadn’t risked his life before, but now, for ten strokes, he was furious… George Foster let out a soft “hmm,” just about to increase the punishment, when a calm voice came from the first carriage—the middle-aged man: “A hunter from Dingnan County? Bring him along. I’ll question him on the road.”

George Foster relaxed. “Yes, sir.” He said to Henry Clark, “Follow us. If you leave the convoy, you’ll be killed without mercy!”

“Kill and pay with your life!” Henry Clark retorted stubbornly, though he was a bit nervous inside.

These people seemed calm, but their eyes held an unshakable resolve, as if killing him was no different from killing a chicken. Henry Clark had only ever traveled between his village and the mountains. The most important person he’d met was the village head, David Clark. David Bolton seemed stern, but after all, they were all fellow villagers, and he was afraid of being ambushed at night, so he never punished people without reason.

Who were these people?

Henry Clark was forced to follow. “I’m going to Chang’an.”

George Foster said blandly, “We’re going to Chang’an as well.”

Oh, I see!

Henry Clark patted his chest, where all his remaining possessions were, and hope rose in his heart. “Then… could I have some hot water? Just boil an extra bowl when you’re making some.”

This guy really knows how to take advantage… George Foster’s eyelid twitched. “Hot water is free.”

Henry Clark was overjoyed and leaned in to ask, “Hot water is free? Then… what about dry biscuits?” Thinking of the dozen or so biscuits he carried, enough for five or six days, he felt a bit greedy and blushed. “I still need to buy some biscuits. Um… but you won’t let me leave the convoy…”

George Foster’s face turned a bit red. “We’ll give you some.”

Henry Clark’s eyes lit up. “Can I get them cheaper?”

George Foster turned away. “They’re free!”

The Thompson Family’s business empire was vast—what’s the cost of a few biscuits to them? It would be embarrassing to even mention it. He trembled all over, while the burly men wore strange expressions, as if trying to hold back their laughter.