After all, times have changed. The major powers on the official side are not something the underworld can contend with. Otherwise, Ethan Brooks wouldn’t have to spend so much money every year to grease the wheels.

If you want to have absolute control over the underworld in Qingyuan, it’s absolutely impossible without a powerful figure from the surface world backing you up.

On this point, Ethan Brooks has always been very clear-headed.

A big shot from the provincial capital only needs to lift a finger—not to mention crushing him completely, but at the very least, they could destroy his vast business empire in Qingyuan and wipe out a decade’s worth of hard work in an instant.

Fortunately, at Qingyuan Grand Hotel, it’s just about trading some medicinal herbs, maybe a bit of entertainment at most—nothing that would get him into serious trouble.

As for bloody business, Ethan Brooks hasn’t touched that in a long time.

In this city of Qingyuan, no one dares to act tough with Edward Brooks. Unless they’re really tired of living and in a hurry to die, only then would Edward Brooks oblige them—and even then, it’s out of sheer necessity.

There were one or two hundred people in the hall, but the real guests probably numbered less than a hundred. The rest were staff, at least as many as the guests, and the service was impeccable.

Since everyone who comes here is a “master,” they must be treated as such. This rule can never be broken, no matter where you are.

This is also why Edward Brooks and the Qingyuan Grand Hotel are especially popular with their guests.

Anyone who can make it to the twelfth-floor trading hall of the Qingyuan Grand Hotel doesn’t care about money. What they care about is enjoyment, about face, and they absolutely cannot be slighted.

Ethan Brooks treats the guests as masters, so the guests treat him as a master in return.

Every time there’s a trading event, Ethan Brooks always comes in person to oversee things, just in case someone tries to cause trouble. No one in Qingyuan dares to make trouble in Edward Brooks’s place, but that doesn’t mean outsiders won’t. Among the guests, there are plenty with money and power.

The reputation of Edward Brooks and the Qingyuan Grand Hotel must not be tarnished.

Ethan Brooks held a leopard fang pipe in his mouth, squinting his eyes as he slowly scanned the hall.

Ethan Brooks was just over forty, with a well-proportioned build and not an ounce of fat on his belly. All these years, Ethan Brooks had never let his martial skills go to waste. He’d learned them as a young apprentice in a pharmacy, passed down by his old, stubborn master. It wasn’t until his master was on his deathbed that Ethan Brooks learned the old man had once been a notorious figure among the Twelve Guardians of the Brotherhood, who dominated several southwestern provinces. With his “Yama’s Medicinal Hands,” he’d stained his hands with the blood of countless heroes and ended the lives of many a brave man.

Without this foundation, how would Ethan Brooks have dared to venture alone into the mountains to gather herbs back then? How would he have dared to face a starving leopard barehanded? He’d managed to break three of the leopard’s fangs, leaving only this one intact, which he’d carved into a pipe.

Ethan Brooks’s gaze was sharp. Among the one or two hundred people in the hall, he swept his eyes over them slowly, able to distinguish each and every one clearly. For a martial artist, poor eyesight is a fatal flaw—no matter how hard you train, your achievements will always be limited.

Suddenly, Edward Brooks’s brow twitched.

He spotted two unfamiliar faces.

Very young.

It was a young man and a young woman. Ethan Brooks’s gaze lingered on them for a long time.

The two young people were seated at table twenty-seven.

The layout of the Qingyuan Grand Hotel’s trading hall was similar to an exhibition: each guest had one or even several private seats, complete with sofas, coffee tables, and glass display cases—everything you could need. Guests would place their precious medicinal herbs in the glass cases or directly on the coffee tables to trade with others.

The coffee tables and glass display cases weren’t large, but they were exquisite. That was enough. Everyone who came here to trade brought rare and high-quality goods: sixth-grade wild ginseng, mature fo-ti root, natural snow spirit worms from the depths of Miao territory—such rare treasures were commonplace here, popping up from time to time. The Qingyuan Grand Hotel’s trading hall was no street stall.

Quality over quantity.

Table twenty-seven’s coffee table and glass display case were both spotless, with nothing on display.

These two guests hadn’t yet taken out the items they intended to trade.

But what Ethan Brooks was interested in wasn’t the herbs—it was the two people. Both were in their twenties. The young man wore a plain white Tang suit, clearly made of cotton and linen, not silk, and on his feet were old cloth shoes. Of average height—sitting down, it was hard to tell, but probably around 1.78 meters. He had delicate features and a scholarly air about him. He didn’t look like a wealthy businessman, a government official, or a bold and unrestrained underworld figure. Instead, he had the aura of a reclusive master.

Holding a blue-and-white porcelain cup, he sipped his tea slowly. He looked gentle and unassuming, with not a hint of sharpness about him. If not for his youthful face, just judging by his demeanor, one might think he was a middle-aged man in his forties.

The young woman with him was standing.

Her clothes were very plain—the kind of simple outfit you’d see any young woman wearing on the streets of Qingyuan. Shoulder-length black hair, very pretty, with a pure and innocent look. The first impression she gave was one of cleanliness.

Not the usual kind of “clean,” but fresh and refreshing.

Over the years, Ethan Brooks had seen too many young girls with heavy makeup, acting coy and childish, calling themselves “old lady” in their teens, eager to announce to the world that they weren’t virgins.

A girl this clean and fresh was truly a rare sight.