The man scouting ahead was hanging upside down from a tree, swaying gently back and forth.

　　Puff! Puff! Puff!

　　Fresh blood dripped down from his chest.

　　The leader broke out in a cold sweat, spun around abruptly, but there was no one behind him.

　　“Who’s there?”

　　He shouted hoarsely.

　　His shout echoed through the dense forest.

　　A voice responded.

　　“I just want to go to Chang’an.”

　　The voice was very young.

　　The leader roared, “Come out, fight me if you dare!”

　　Suddenly, the hair on his back stood on end. He spun around and swung his blade.

　　But a sharp pain shot through his lower back.

　　Behind him, the boy’s voice sounded again.

　　“Farewell.”

Chapter Six: Boy, Good Luck

　　George Foster was right at the edge of the camp, seemingly wandering aimlessly, but in fact keeping watch.

　　The Wang clan was one of the five great surnames, and as the clan leader’s brother, Helen Thompson was certainly no weak scholar. In the Tang Dynasty, “no strength to truss a chicken” was almost synonymous with frailty. Even at the Imperial Academy, after metaphysics took over the teaching, pure scholars disappeared from the institution.

　　This assassination was aimed at the young lady!

　　George Foster’s cheeks trembled slightly. Even now, thinking of the danger at that moment, he was still drenched in sweat. If anything had happened to the young lady, he could never atone for it, no matter how many times he died.

　　Thinking of this, he looked at Henry Clark emerging from the forest, his expression softening. “Why were you gone so long?”

　　Henry Clark wanted to say he had a stomachache, but what came out was, “I went to look for the assassin.”

　　After this incident, Thomas Reed’s attitude toward Henry Clark changed greatly. Hearing this, he couldn’t help but laugh. “The assassin was cunning, with deathsworn covering the retreat. Those deathsworn delayed us for a moment, and in that moment, the real assassin escaped far away… You meant well.”

　　What Thomas Reed really wanted to say was: “None of us could catch the assassin, what could you do?” But since he was Henry Clark’s roommate, his words came out much gentler.

　　The guards smiled, some even with a mocking sneer.

　　George Foster noticed the mockery and thought, if not for Henry Clark, all these guards would be dead today. Yet even so, some of them were still ostracizing Henry Clark.

　　He knew this wasn’t ingratitude, but that envy and jealousy had surpassed any sense of gratitude.

　　He cleared his throat, and those men lowered their heads.

　　George Foster then glanced at Henry Clark, thinking this boy came from the countryside—how could he understand the treacherous hearts of these people?

　　Henry Clark sensed something, sniffed, and though he wanted to claim credit for killing the assassins, he remembered that he had set out only to repay the Wang caravan for taking him in. Otherwise, if he had to walk to Chang’an, who knew how many years it would take to get there.

　　So he didn’t mention that he had already killed those four assassins. He felt a bit of regret for missing out on the Wang clan’s reward, but also a bit of joy, as the burden in his heart was lifted, and he felt he had done the right thing.

　　Henry Clark then blended into the group of guards, while George Foster and Thomas Reed spoke quietly, sharing their thoughts about him.

　　“This boy has a big heart. Sharing a tent with me, he just lay down and slept the first night.” Thomas Reed crossed his arms, watching Henry Clark joke around with the other guards.

　　“A big heart?” George Foster nodded slightly. He knew Thomas Reed was good at reading people—he seemed unremarkable among the guards, but was always involved in important matters. “No wonder he’s like this…”

　　Thomas Reed turned to look at him, knowing George Foster was still blaming himself, and said gravely, “Who do you think those people were working for?”

　　George Foster was both blaming himself and feeling relieved. He narrowed his eyes, hiding his murderous intent. “The Tang doesn’t forbid commoners from owning weapons, so weapon-making is big business. But to make weapons, you need iron mines. The Wang clan controls many mines, but only cooperates with the Chunyu clan, another of the five surnames. The Wang clan provides the iron, the Chunyu clan forges the weapons. Together, they make a fortune every year… How many people are jealous of that?”

　　Thomas Reed leaned in, thinking he should say something nice for the honest boy, and whispered, “Those tycoons are bold beyond belief. I’d bet they’d set fire to the imperial city just to make money. They have plenty of skilled men under them. We’re lucky to have had Henry Clark today. I’m thinking, our family isn’t short on money or food—maybe… you could talk to Erlang-jun and get Henry Clark into the Wang clan.”

　　George Foster nodded approvingly, a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. “By chance, he saved the young lady. That’s fate, and good fortune. But he’s still too honest. If someone else had saved the young lady, they’d be hanging around Erlang-jun, trying to win favor. Huh! Those idiots are teasing him—are they planning to teach him a lesson in private? Thomas Reed…”

　　Thomas Reed had already noticed—two guards were fake-smiling, herding Henry Clark toward a tent at the edge.

　　Thomas Reed put on a stern face and was about to step in, but George Foster suddenly reached out and pressed his shoulder, saying, “He’s planning to go to Chang’an. Chang’an is like a big pond—big fish eat little fish, and little fish eat shrimp like him. With his honest nature, he’ll suffer big losses. Go keep an eye on things—wait until those idiots make their move, then step in.”

　　This was meant to teach Henry Clark a lesson—a kindness, in a way.

　　Thomas Reed understood, and quietly approached the tent.

　　Inside the tent, the two guards’ faces suddenly changed.

　　“You bumped into me earlier!” one guard said sternly. “Apologize!”