“Dad, look here. The manufacturer's name on this gun is written in English letters.” Henry Clark's finger pointed at the string of characters on the gun's body. Thinking back to the ransom issue just now, a trace of suspicion arose in Henry Clark's heart.

“By the way, are the other firearms the same model as this one?” After handing the musket back to James Reed, Henry Clark pressed on with his question.

“Well, I didn’t pay attention at the time.” James Reed was slightly taken aback and shook his head in response.

“Dad, don’t kill those people yet. I want to go take a look first.” Henry Clark turned his head to look at his father, William Clark. William Clark smiled and said, “Since you think there’s something wrong, go handle it.”

Hearing this, and seeing that look of absolute trust from William Clark, Henry Clark felt a surge of warmth in his heart and nodded vigorously.

Sure enough, all sixty-nine muskets seized were made in Britain, and even the cannons were British-made. In the end, Henry Clark found the answer in the captain’s cabin of this armed merchant ship.

Patting the captain’s logbook and the nautical chart, Henry Clark said with certainty, “Dad, this is definitely not a French armed merchant ship, but a British one. Look, both the logbook and this chart are written in English, and the records show they’ve been lingering here for at least three days. There’s definitely something fishy going on.”

William Clark's expression also darkened. He raised his eyebrows and looked back at Edward Reed.

The usually silent Steward Reed nodded and walked out without a word. William Clark turned back and patted Henry Clark on the shoulder. “Good boy, no wonder you’re the most well-read in our family. Your mind is even sharper than your old man’s.”

“It’s all thanks to your guidance.” Henry Clark quickly flattered him, and sure enough, William Clark—Mr. Clark—beamed with joy, looking thoroughly pleased.

……

“Young master, you were right. They’re not French, but British.” Just as William Clark and Henry Clark stood at the bow of the European-style armed merchant ship, admiring the heartbreakingly vast blue sea, the ever-expressionless Edward Reed returned. The smell of blood on him seemed even stronger, and there were still scabs of blood on the back of his hand.

“But no matter how I questioned them, they insisted they were British pirates disguised as French, hoping we’d agree to their terms and let them buy their lives back with three thousand gold coins.”

“Dad, I want to question them myself.” Henry Clark’s mind turned quickly. These guys were so tight-lipped—there was definitely something wrong. If they really were British pirates, would they really think their government would pay for their safety?

This isn’t the twenty-first century—who talks about human rights for pirates? Henry Clark couldn’t help but laugh to himself.

A dozen or so torches were lit in the lower hold, illuminating the place brightly. The twenty or so British men had their hands and feet bound and were thrown into a corner. Many of them had blood streaming from their noses and mouths, their eyes bruised, and they looked at Edward Reed with hatred and fear.

Two more were hung on the ship’s wall, barely alive, their clothes as tattered as lifelong beggars. In front of them was a brazier, with branding irons glowing red-hot inside.

“Master, young master, what brings you here?” The bald man who had helped Henry Clark yesterday stood shirtless, revealing his dark, muscular body. The whip in his hand still had bits of flesh and scabs on it. Seeing the father and son, he gave a genuine smile—not like someone torturing prisoners, but more like a simple farmer weeding his fields.

The fake doctor standing guard nearby with a musket also greeted them.

“Monk, Scholar, don’t kill them.” William Clark chuckled. Monk Brooks was the bald man’s nickname—his real name was David Brooks, and as the name suggested, he was a big, strong man. Because he was naturally bald, everyone called him Monk. Scholar was the fake doctor, surnamed Bennett, born into a scholarly family. He was quite knowledgeable and quick-witted, and had studied medicine at a pharmacy. So, whenever the pirates had minor ailments or injuries, he took care of them, and sometimes helped write letters home. As a result, no one called him by his real name anymore; instead, Scholar Bennett became his signature title.

Chapter 5: The Yangtze’s waves push the old ones forward, the son surpasses the father.

“Henry, it’s up to you now.” William Clark instructed Henry Clark, then found a chair, sat down, and started smoking a big pipe. The familiar smell made Henry Clark swallow—he couldn’t help but think of Zhonghua and Panda cigarettes from later times, and his throat began to itch.

“Gentlemen, who among you is the leader?” Pushing aside his thoughts, Henry Clark opened his mouth and spoke fluent English. The interpreter who had come forward to translate for Henry Clark nearly bit his own tongue, staring wide-eyed at Henry Clark as if he’d just heard that his own bucktoothed, yellow-faced wife was having an affair.