David Bolton did not lower his voice; his tone alone was so grim it sent chills down one's spine: "I want you to take a few constables and find an excuse to arrest that brat Edward Clark."

As soon as he finished speaking, George Foster was startled, stunned for a moment, and hesitantly said, "Isn't this bad? What reason should we use? Besides, the old Daoist has done me a favor..."

David Bolton's gaze was deep and fixed on George Foster: "If you want to condemn someone, there’s never a lack of excuses. Besides, what does a favor from ten years ago count for? Haven’t you been offering incense to repay him every year? If you wanted to repay him, you would have done so long ago."

Hearing this, George Foster couldn't help but swallow with difficulty. Back then, Charles Bennett had found a way for him to gain the county magistrate's trust, promoting him from an insignificant bailiff to head constable—this was a life-changing favor. How could just offering incense and donating a few taels of silver be enough to settle it?

Not helping was already ungrateful enough, but to turn around and frame the disciple of his benefactor, this...

Seeing his hesitation, David Bolton's eyes turned cold. He stood up and slapped a banknote on the table with a "pa" sound, saying coldly, "This is one hundred taels. I’m not asking you to kill him, just to find an excuse to arrest him and throw him in jail. You won’t have to shed his blood."

"If you refuse, you should know—even if my father can’t promote you, it would be easy enough to ruin your petty position as head constable... Will you do it or not?" As he spoke, David Bolton's gaze pressed in.

Under the pressure of that icy stare, George Foster couldn't help but shudder inside. Even if the county assistant didn’t care about affairs, it would still be easy to ruin this lowly head constable post.

Now that things had come to this, there was no other way. George Foster was a head constable, with more than a dozen lives on his hands—he was tough-hearted. Forced into a corner, after thinking it over, he gritted his teeth and said, "With Third Young Master saying so, how could I refuse? I’ll do it!"

"Good, you’re straightforward. Take the money, and today you’ll take the constables to arrest him!" David Bolton said with a look of delight.

"This soon?" George Foster was taken aback.

"The longer you wait, the more likely things will change. If you don’t act now, are you waiting for him to turn the tables?" David Bolton sneered coldly.

"I heard he knows martial arts. What if he resists arrest?" George Foster asked again.

"You’re an old hand at the yamen. The people’s hearts are as firm as iron, and the law is like a furnace—you should know this well. If he surrenders quietly, he can live a few days longer. If he resists, that’s defying the authorities, that’s rebellion. No excuse will save him then. At that point, not just the county magistrate, even Lord Wei couldn’t protect him. If those above decide to act, he’ll be crushed in an instant..."

"When the time comes, you don’t need to step in. If he resists, just come back immediately—there will naturally be experts to suppress him." David Bolton laughed heartily, looking extremely pleased.

To surrender is death; to resist is even more certain death. That’s reality.

"Understood!" George Foster felt a chill in his heart and replied in a low voice.

Kid, this is your fate, don’t blame me. Thinking this, George Foster, being a resolute and decisive man, immediately stood up and shouted, "Men, come with me on an assignment!"

"Yes, sir!" Two constables immediately responded.

At this moment, on the bamboo raft by the great river in front of the county city, one could see the ancient, imposing city walls along the riverbank. The wind howled in the sky, sweeping away the clouds and stirring up waves of wind and cloud.

Edward Clark paid his fare and walked toward the city.

The county city was enormous, divided into four districts: east, west, south, and north. Carriages and horses bustled back and forth. A small stream wound through the city, eventually flowing into the Xinshui River. The city hadn’t always been laid out this way; it was only after several centuries of management by Lord Wei’s ancestors, who were ordered to guard this place, that it reached its current scale.

Standing on the bridge, Edward Clark listened to the bustling noise of the crowd. Boats passed beneath the bridge, presenting a scene of prosperity.

The ancestral temple of Lord Wei was in the eastern city, with offerings and sacrifices year-round. Every year, Lord Wei would gather the whole clan to worship there, and the incense was truly flourishing. Lord Wei’s ancestor was also quite mystical, possessing some divine powers. Whenever something major happened, Lord Wei would pray to his ancestor and offer tributes, and the ancestor would respond spiritually. Alongside the Xinshui River God, he was one of the two great deities of the region.

Edward Clark smiled, gazed at the winding stream, composed himself, and strode off toward Qingyang Palace.

Chapter 9: Qingyang Palace

Qingyang Daoist Palace was located in the west of the city, under the jurisdiction of the western district. After a little over half an hour, Edward Clark arrived at the gates of Qingyang Daoist Palace.

This palace was extremely ancient and unadorned, dotted with verdant cypress trees, built against the mountain. Though situated in the bustling city, it was untouched by worldly smoke and fire—ethereal and ancient, with glacial dark waters, pure and tranquil.

Above the main gate hung a plaque made of purple wood, with the words "Qingyang Daoist Palace" written in golden lacquer and jade script. The brushstrokes were elegant and flowing. At first glance, Edward Clark felt a jolt in his heart, sensing an inexplicable pressure. He thought to himself, perhaps this is the aura of the Dao in the calligraphy.

Two large stone lions crouched before the gate. Hundreds of steps led up, guarded only by two young Daoist acolytes. The place seemed deserted, but from afar, the mountain was covered with halls and pavilions, showing not a trace of decay.

The two gatekeeping Daoist boys saw Edward Clark dressed in a cloud-patterned, dark Daoist robe and dared not be negligent. They hurried down to ask, "Fellow Daoist, what brings you here? If you have business, please state whom you seek, and I will report it. If not..."

At this, the Daoist boy smiled, "It’s best not to linger at the gates of Qingyang Daoist Palace. This place does not accept incense offerings; it is a place of purity."