“Uncle, you honor me with this meal—how could I not accept? Just now, I was reminded of how my mentor treated me the same way. Every mealtime, it was just like this. Thank you, Uncle.”

Henry Brooks was putting too much pressure on Edward Carter. That chainsaw-like gaze just now was already unbearable—how could he dare to spar verbally with such a shrewd man? Even though Old Brooks didn’t mention Edward Carter’s background, his eyes were full of curiosity. Forget it, better to change the subject before he starts asking questions.

“Who is your esteemed teacher? It’s a real regret that I, Old Brooks, have never met him.”

“My master calls himself Xiaoyaozi. He never told me his real name, only said that a name is just a code, and there’s no difference between knowing it or not. He never interacted with outsiders, always saying the world is full of fools, and that spending too much time with them would make you stupid too. So, even until my master passed away, I, being an unfilial disciple, never learned his name.”

“Such a master’s ways are truly unfathomable. It seems that, living amidst the dust of the mortal world, our own wisdom has long been tainted by its filth.”

It was clear that Henry Brooks was a bit melancholic. He was born into an official family, married into a powerful household, and held military authority—he had reached the pinnacle of worldly wealth and status. But what was he really pursuing? Perhaps even he didn’t know anymore.

At first listen, Edward Carter’s words sounded quite reasonable. When a master speaks, it should be so mysterious and profound, criticizing the masses and highlighting his own transcendence, as if he alone is sober while all others are drunk.

And honestly, this kind of talk works perfectly on geniuses with IQs over 200. Smart people overthink everything, and they’ll fill in any gaps in your words themselves, making it all seem flawless.

Back in the day, Edward Carter once stayed at a rural home in Tianshui. Twelve days’ lodging cost a thousand yuan, not including meals. The house was dilapidated, rats ran rampant at night, and every meal was just sour noodle soup—yet the price was outrageous. When the moon was high, his stomach would rumble with hunger, but he didn’t mind at all. He’d discuss five thousand years of history with the white-haired landlord, talk about England, America, Germany, France, and Russia. Every time he heard a brilliant argument, he was amazed, thinking there was a hidden sage in the wilderness, wishing he could bow down and call him master.

The old landlord examined Edward Carter’s bones and declared that within ten years, he would surely shine brightly. Edward Carter was so moved he could barely speak, giving the old man all the cash he had, his feelings of regret at meeting too late written all over his face. But the next day, all the villagers came together, attacking with hoes and pitchforks, shouting that they’d beat this shameless old fraud to death. “Even a rabbit doesn’t eat the grass by its own burrow, but this old bastard scams his own friends and neighbors—he’s not fit to be called a man.”

The old man vaulted over the wall and ran, surprisingly agile. The villagers chased after him, leaving only Edward Carter standing dumbfounded in the yard. The power of example is limitless—ever since then, Edward Carter’s conversations with smart people have been like this.

Old Brooks was, after all, a seasoned veteran of the underworld. After a moment’s confusion, his eyes cleared again. A man who’s waded through mountains of corpses and seas of blood has a mind as solid as a rock—how could a few words shake him? His eyes rolled, and he flew into a rage.

He strode over to Edward Carter, grabbed him, laid him across his knee, and gave him a good spanking with his palm as big as a fan, scolding as he hit: “This slap is for disrespecting your elders. This one is for trying to fool me. This one is for your arrogance and rudeness. And this one—what was it for again? Never mind, just looking at you makes me want to hit you.”

After a few smacks, Edward Carter felt like his butt wasn’t his own anymore and quickly begged for mercy: “Uncle Brooks, spare me! I won’t dare do it again.”

“Heh, kid, trying to play tricks in front of me? You’re asking for it.” With that, he shot Edward Carter a sidelong glance, swaggered back to his seat, and started eating heartily.

Edward Carter didn’t know why, but the old man had beaten the tears and snot right out of him. A man nearly forty shouldn’t be so lacking in composure. It seemed that psychological maturity didn’t mean physical maturity—tears and snot must be some kind of bodily defense mechanism, not controlled by the brain. Rubbing his numb backside, he was filled with regret. Why did he have to mess with the old man? Wasn’t he just asking for trouble?

He slowly sidled up to Old Brooks, fawningly serving him food. Old Brooks was a straightforward man—whatever you gave him, he’d eat. It seemed the old man had forgiven him.

Edward Carter mumbled for a long time, unable to get the words out. He wasn’t like that old conman, who could keep lying even after being exposed, without batting an eye.

Old Brooks gave him a look of disdain. “If you’ve got something to say, spit it out. I’m still waiting for you to try and talk circles around me.”

“Uncle Brooks, please forgive me. That was just a lesson my mentor taught me. I’m new to the battlefield, and seeing how imposing and fierce you are, I couldn’t help but use you as a test subject. I didn’t expect my skills to be so lacking and for you to see right through me. I deserved that beating—it was entirely my own fault. I hope you won’t be angry.”

“Oh? A lesson?”

“Yes!”

“What exactly did your teacher teach you? How to confuse people and spout nonsense—is that a lesson too?”

“Exactly. My mentor believed that everything in the world can be measured, including speech. What to say in what situation, what tone to use, what gestures to match, how to persuade others, how to inspire trust, how to choose words to create distance, what expressions and actions create a sense of authority, and so on…”

Edward Carter had actually read that book, “An Actor Prepares.”

Section Eleven: The Masters

Old Brooks was stunned. He probably never dreamed that anyone in the world would study such things. He stood there, mouth agape, unable to speak.