Seeing Little Nancy leave, William Grant let out a long sigh of relief. “As expected, dealing with petty people is just like dealing with ghosts—you must never show weakness. If you do, they’ll push their luck. But if you stand strong, they won’t dare come near you. This ‘Notes from the Herbal Hall’ uses ghosts as a metaphor for people, and it’s truly a profound truth.”

William Grant sat down again, found a story he had read before, and marked it heavily with his brush.

This story was about Richard Thompson himself, who was reading late at night when he encountered a ghost. The ghost revealed its form and asked Richard Thompson if he was afraid! Richard Thompson immediately responded sternly, “I’m not afraid!” The ghost asked again, and Richard Thompson replied even louder. Finally, the ghost said, “As long as you say you’re afraid, I’ll leave right away and won’t bother you anymore.” Richard Thompson shouted, “Not afraid means not afraid.” In the end, the ghost had no choice but to leave dejectedly.

Later, someone said to Richard Thompson, “You don’t know any spells and can’t deal with ghosts. Why not just compromise and say you’re afraid? What if the ghost really attacks you?”

Richard Thompson replied, “Precisely because I don’t know any spells and can’t deal with ghosts, I must not be afraid. If I show fear, my spirit will weaken, and then it really will attack.”

“Cunning and deceitful petty people are just like ghosts and monsters.”

William Grant reread this story, thinking of the servant girl Little Nancy he had just encountered, and felt that petty people really were like ghosts and monsters. If he hadn’t scared her just now, she might really have dared to make a move.

“But scaring them isn’t the ultimate solution. I still need to practice martial arts. A true scholar should excel at archery and horsemanship as well. But I really don’t have the means for that—I need to think of a way.”

William Grant had long wanted to practice martial arts, but truly lacked the means.

To practice riding and archery, a good horse costs a fortune, and a good bow is also worth a hundred gold. Even if you don’t need those, to practice unarmed combat, you still need a teacher, and that’s something William Grant simply couldn’t manage.

There were skilled guards in the marquis’s residence, but who would want to associate with William Grant and risk offending the Lady?

“I’ve heard that at the founding of the Great Qian Dynasty, two great books were compiled—one called the ‘Martial Canon’ and the other the ‘Daoist Canon.’ They cover martial arts and cultivation, with millions of words. Unfortunately, they later became banned books. If only I could borrow and copy them, that would be wonderful.”

William Grant pondered deeply.

Chapter Three: Tiger Demon Bone-Refining Fist

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three bowstrings snapped violently, tearing through the air. The arrows shot like meteors, hitting the bullseye two hundred paces away.

At the same time, the iron arrows pierced through the bullseye, emerging from the other side, demonstrating the archer’s immense strength and sharp, agile eyesight.

“Emily my dear sister, you can actually draw a 120-jin strong bow and shoot in rapid succession—more than 120 jin! In the ‘Martial Canon,’ that’s called tiger strength. Such archery and power—even the military officers in the army can’t match this. It seems your martial arts have reached the level of tendon and bone strengthening; you can be called a martial master now. But as a girl, always practicing archery and boxing is a bit unseemly.”

In a training ground covering five hundred paces square, a woman of about twenty, dressed in pure white fitted attire with a red headscarf, drew her bow, shot, and finished her stance. She loosed three arrows in a row, drawing the bow to a full moon, calm and composed.

She wore little clothing, yet in the cold wind and on the frozen, solid ground, she showed no sign of feeling cold.

She was Emily Grant, the daughter of the second wife in the marquis’s residence.

Standing beside her was a young man in splendid brocade. He was tall and slender, like a crane, with eyes like stars.

“Our Great Qian Dynasty was founded by martial strength and unified the world. Although it’s been sixty years since the founding, and civil culture now flourishes while martial spirit declines, His Majesty still greatly values martial arts. Otherwise, why would he go hunting every spring and autumn? Is it really just for fun? More likely, it’s to use the hunt as a military exercise, reminding the nobles and royals not to forget martial matters.”

Emily Grant tested the bowstring again, easily drawing it to a full moon. “This ‘White Ox Bow’ is a fine bow, with a draw weight of about 145 jin, but it’s still far inferior to my father’s ‘Falling Star Bow.’”

“Of course, Marquis Wenwu’s ‘Falling Star Bow’ has a steel body, and the string is made from giant python sinew, soaked in glue for ten years and refined a thousand times. It has a draw weight of nine stone and can shoot a thousand paces. Only those whose martial arts have reached the realm of ‘tempered marrow like frost, blood like mercury’—the body sanctified—can draw it to a full moon and shoot in succession. There are probably very few in the world who have reached the level of martial saint.”

The young man in brocade smiled. “But you know, nowadays, civil culture dominates in our Great Qian Dynasty, and the scholar-officials control the court. Even Marquis Wenwu, with all his martial prowess, was once rebuked by the prime minister, the scholar-official Richard Thompson, and in the end, he gave up martial arts for literature, passed the imperial exam as a third-place scholar, and now holds a high position. Otherwise, he’d just be at home, like my father, living quietly as the Duke Thompson.”

In the Marquis Wenwu’s residence, no one dared mention Marquis Edward Grant’s youth, but this young man in brocade spoke of it casually, clearly of unusual status.

This young man in splendid attire was none other than the legitimate eldest son of the Duke Thompson’s household, Charles Grant.