Abraham Lincoln stood in front of the desk, looking at him with a smile and said, "Have you been having fun lately?"

Franklin Pierce tilted his head back to look at the sky, as if trying to recall whether he had actually enjoyed himself these past few days.

Suddenly, he saw Abraham Lincoln walking over, turned around and ran, shouting anxiously, "Your Majesty, I haven't done anything wrong these days..."

Abraham Lincoln grabbed his collar in one swift motion, closed the door, and said, "Who said these past few days..."

Franklin Pierce flailed his arms and legs, trying to run out, his little face changing in panic: "The day before yesterday, I already got punished..."

Abraham Lincoln dragged Franklin Pierce back, paused for a moment, thinking that hitting someone really should have a reason. After a moment's thought, he said seriously, "One of the paintings in my study was missing yesterday..."

Franklin Pierce was pressed down on the desk, both hands protecting his backside, saying, "It wasn't me, it wasn't me, I didn't go into the study yesterday..."

Abraham Lincoln already had the sole of his shoe ready, but paused—yesterday, Franklin Pierce really hadn't come in. Then, he suddenly smacked down hard with the shoe and said, "Did I tell you to leave the day before yesterday?"

Franklin Pierce immediately fell silent. That day, when he saw Abraham Lincoln ignoring him, he quietly put down the stool and snuck away.

Abraham Lincoln had held back for two days, but now, holding the shoe sole, he showed no mercy and gave this little rascal a good beating.

At first, Franklin Pierce was quite stubborn, but after a few hits, he started wailing, his voice melodious and lingering, as if the entire Funing Hall could hear him.

"That's for skipping class and not doing your studies!"

"For only knowing how to play all day!"

"For causing trouble for me every day and not listening!"

...

After about half an hour, Franklin Pierce puffed out his cheeks like a steamed bun, holding a stool above his head, standing in Abraham Lincoln's study. He looked outside, where several imperial guards were still playing cuju. This little rascal wanted to throw down the stool and rush out several times.

Even so, he kept muttering under his breath.

After the beating, Abraham Lincoln felt especially satisfied. Seeing that this little rascal only remembered the pain but not the lesson, never learning, he was both annoyed and comforted himself: 'Don't get angry, don't get angry, it's just that I didn't hit him enough. I'll work harder in the future, work harder...'

Meanwhile, Ethan Brooks, accompanied by Samuel Hayes, was coming and going in Cining Hall under the pretense of "looking for books for His Majesty."

No one knew how much time had passed before they finally found the person they were looking for in a corridor.

Samuel Hayes was holding a box of books, watching ahead from around the corner, and whispered to Ethan Brooks, "That's him."

Ethan Brooks looked at the man, pursed his lips, and said nothing.

"Can't you even do a simple task right? Do you think Her Highness is too lenient? If you dare mess up again, I'll beat you to death myself!"

A fair-skinned middle-aged man was hitting a palace maid in front of him with a thin stick.

The fifteen- or sixteen-year-old girl was trembling all over, her face pale, head lowered, not daring to say a word.

Seeing the girl's frightened look, the middle-aged man showed a strange smile and said, "Don't be afraid, I'm not that heartless. I'll teach you well..."

The girl couldn't help but shrink back, her expression growing even more terrified.

The middle-aged man, seeing her pitiful look, widened his eyes and was about to step forward, but suddenly remembered something. He glanced around, then smiled and said, "Come to my room tonight. You know what will happen if you don't."

The girl shook her head desperately, biting her lip hard, on the verge of tears from fear.

The middle-aged man couldn't help rubbing his hands together, stared at the girl for a while with a creepy grin, then turned and walked away.

Samuel Hayes watched the man's back, frowning. Just as he was about to speak, Ethan Brooks said, "Let's go back."

Seeing Ethan Brooks's tense expression, Samuel Hayes was momentarily stunned, but could only follow Ethan Brooks back to Funing Hall.

When Ethan Brooks arrived at Funing Hall, he didn't even look at Franklin Pierce, who was still holding up the stool, but went straight to Abraham Lincoln's desk. His face was alternating between red and pale, his eyes full of anger.

Abraham Lincoln looked at him, then turned to Franklin Pierce and said, "Go play."

Franklin Pierce was still puzzled by Ethan Brooks's expression, but as soon as he heard Abraham Lincoln's words, he threw down the stool from his head and dashed outside at lightning speed.

"Cuju!" Franklin Pierce shouted.

Abraham Lincoln ignored the little rascal and looked at Ethan Brooks, asking, "What's wrong?"

Ethan Brooks's face twitched, then suddenly his eyes turned red. With a thud, he knelt down, almost crying as he said, "This humble one begs Your Majesty to kill someone!"

Abraham Lincoln frowned slightly. Ethan Brooks had always been timid—why was he suddenly asking to kill someone?

Abraham Lincoln looked at Samuel Hayes.

Samuel Hayes said, "This humble one does not know."

Still kneeling, Ethan Brooks pressed his head to the ground, gritted his teeth, and said, "I went to see that person. It's Thomas Adams."

"Thomas Adams?"

Abraham Lincoln did know this person—he was an inner attendant at Cining Hall and had been in the palace for over twenty years.

"Why do you want to kill him?" Abraham Lincoln asked.

Ethan Brooks's face twisted with hatred, his eyes full of resentment. "That man is a beast. Many palace maids have been tortured to death by him. I had a close friend who was also killed by him a few years ago!"

This, Abraham Lincoln hadn't known—Ethan Brooks had never mentioned it. If it was a few years ago, it must have been just a close friend.

Abraham Lincoln thought for a while and said, "Since it's him, we'll catch him tonight and deal with it then."

Ethan Brooks looked at Abraham Lincoln, gritted his teeth, and said, "I want to kill him myself!"

In the past, he never had such thoughts or courage. He was just a ninth-rank menial, while Thomas Adams was a fifth-rank inner attendant—Ethan Brooks had no way at all.