Mr. Thompson laughed and said, "It's not that I don't believe your words, sir, but surely the court will leave us a way out, right? Outside the Shanghai Bund, there are tens of thousands of sandboats—not just mine alone."

William Sullivan smiled and said, "Business competition is often a matter of life and death, isn't it? Many things are done by the court out of helplessness. A dozen years ago, foreigners were only allowed to trade with the Thirteen Hongs in Guangzhou, weren't they? But now? Five ports are open for trade, free trade everywhere. If you want a way out, you have to change, you have to reform, you have to strengthen yourself!"

The old scholar John Miller had somehow come to the bow of the ship, and as he listened to William Sullivan's words, he stroked his beard and smiled.

Mr. Thompson's face turned grim, as if what he heard from William Sullivan was like seeing the end of the world. Depressed, he returned to the wheelhouse, but William Sullivan's words kept echoing in his ears.

"Sir, the wind is strong out here. You'd better go back to your cabin," William Sullivan said, looking at the thin and frail John Miller, genuinely worried that a gust of wind might blow him into the sea.

The old scholar smiled and said, "Master, if you're not afraid, why should I, with half my body already in the coffin, be afraid?"

William Sullivan smiled wryly. To be honest, among the people he knew, only the old scholar could truly be called a man of integrity. The others, though good to him, might show a completely different face to others.

"Master, I have a question I'd like to ask. Since England is thousands of miles away from us, and it takes half a year to cross the ocean to our land, why do they insist on making trouble for us?"

Seeing the old scholar's earnest look, William Sullivan felt a headache coming on. It was his own fault—he had asked the old scholar to copy those books for Emily Smith, and now the old scholar had become a question machine.

In fact, as a great Confucian, the old scholar had always looked down on the barbarian systems, but he was quite curious about the things described in the books, and often discussed them with William Sullivan.

"For silver, I suppose," William Sullivan could only simplify the complex clash of Eastern and Western systems.

The old scholar stroked his beard and nodded in agreement. "Master, you take a rest. At this rate, it'll take me another seven or eight days to finish copying." These days, the old scholar spent day and night on this copying task.

William Sullivan smiled and said, "No rush."

Even with smooth sailing all the way, it would take at least ten days to reach Shanghai, wouldn't it?

……

Although the midship cabin was well-ventilated and dry, the narrow room was still a bit damp and stuffy. When William Sullivan entered, Emily Smith was sitting on the wooden bed, reading a book titled "Peasant Wars."

As a heroine who had led thousands of troops, she could naturally see the value of this book.

William Sullivan took out a wooden box from behind him and smiled, "A gift for you."

When Emily Smith saw William Sullivan enter the cabin, she put down the book and stood up to salute, which made William Sullivan feel rather awkward.

Emily Smith truly didn't know how to deal with William Sullivan. This little rascal was corrupt and indulgent, and probably nine out of ten things he said were lies. He was no hero, and he was a bannerman. Yet he had easily rescued her brother from death row, so he must be a noble of considerable rank.

But no matter what, he was her brother's savior, and had protected them all the way out of the dangerous capital.

Emily Smith was a woman of the jianghu, valuing loyalty over life, bold and heroic. This debt of gratitude was a headache for her—she just hoped to find a way to repay William Sullivan as soon as possible, so she could settle things with this little rascal and have nothing more to do with him.

Otherwise, listening to his frivolous words every day, she was afraid that one day she might lose patience and chop off his head.

Naturally, Emily Smith wanted to politely refuse William Sullivan's gift.

William Sullivan opened the wooden box. Inside was a revolver made in America. In terms of design, it was not much different from the revolvers of later times, just heavier.

This was one of the Western firearms the British had once gifted to the Qing nobility. However, this batch of firearms had long been shelved by the Daoguang Emperor. This revolver had ended up in the residence of Prince Zheng, locked away in a study. If William Sullivan hadn't discovered it by chance, the prince would have forgotten all about it. Seeing that William Sullivan liked it, he naturally gave it to him.

William Sullivan handed over the wooden box and smiled, "A Western firearm. This is called a pistol. Its range and power can't match a rifle, but it's convenient. There are only a few bullets, though. When we get to Shanghai, I'll help you buy more."

Emily Smith waved her hand and said, "You should keep it for self-defense. I don't need it."

But William Sullivan insisted and pushed it into her hands. "I know you're proud and skilled, but everyone has times when they're out of strength. Besides, no matter how good you are, can you beat a firearm?"

Emily Smith refused to take it and said, "I've seen the Qing's firearms. They're nothing special."

William Sullivan sighed, "Western firearms are nothing like bird guns. Let me put it this way: if a bird gun could fire continuously, with greater range and power, could you dodge it?"

Emily Smith's pretty face changed slightly, clearly realizing how terrifying such a weapon would be. Her brows furrowed as she asked, "Are Western firearms really that formidable?"

William Sullivan said, "They're not there yet, but with technological progress, the era of semi-automatic Mauser rifles is just around the corner."

"Technology?" Emily Smith was a bit puzzled.

William Sullivan smiled, "There's a book among the ones I gave you that talks about Western technology. Looks like you're not interested."