George Bennett had been searching for a while and found that the Tianshui Bridge area was exceptionally clean!

The merchants led by the The Collins Family had money but no officials in the family, and there were no other local bullies nearby vying for territory.

With such a fat sheep just sitting there, and the territory practically being handed over, George Bennett naturally wouldn’t be polite. He spent the whole month “communicating” with the merchants, trying to establish a foothold at Tianshui Bridge.

There was no doubt that George Bennett’s ambitions were lofty, but the consequences were immediate.

Around noon, inside Qinglian Manor, George Bennett, dressed in a gentry’s robe, was speaking confidently in the living room:

“Mary Collins of Tianshui Bridge really doesn’t give any face. I, Bennett, have sent two invitations, but she hasn’t honored me with her presence. It’s just to sit down, have some tea, and chat for a bit—not that I’m infatuated with her looks…”

“Sigh, Mary Collins has a tough temper and some connections with the authorities. The local merchants all look to her for direction. Mr. Bennett wants to send some men to help drive away the troublemaking vagrants, which is a good thing. But if Master Collins doesn’t agree, it’s really hard for us to make the call…”

…

The big bosses were all wealthy merchants near Tianshui Bridge. They didn’t dare offend a local bully like George Bennett, but they tactfully shifted the responsibility onto the absent The Collins Family; if even the The Collins Family couldn’t withstand the pressure, then this “hard-earned money” would indeed have to be paid.

George Bennett also didn’t understand why the women of the The Collins Family were so tough. He still wanted to use both kindness and force, and have the bosses pass on the message, when suddenly shouts came from outside:

“Boss, boss…”

The gentry in the living room fell silent and looked toward the door.

George Bennett, dressed in his gentry’s robe, slammed his teacup on the table:

“How many times have I told you, call me ‘Master’.”

A knife-wielding man ran in from outside, panting:

“Master, there’s a guest visiting. Chief Brooks from Tianshui Bridge has arrived by carriage, saying he’s the eldest young master of the The Collins Family…”

“Hm?”

The gentry were all taken aback by this.

The eldest young master of the The Collins Family, Matthew Collins, was quite famous. As the only heir, the The Collins Family had spoiled him since childhood. He was known for his debauchery and idleness—a notorious wastrel in the area.

George Bennett had clearly heard of Young Master Collins’s reputation, and his eyes showed surprise:

“Mary Collins didn’t come herself, but sent such a playboy instead. Is she trying to brush me off? Let him in.”

The gentry took the opportunity to stand up:

“Then we’ll take our leave. Mr. Bennett, you and Young Master Collins can talk at your leisure. Once you’ve reached an agreement, just send someone to inform us.”

George Bennett saw them out with tea, then sat in the main hall to wait.

Tap tap tap—

Soon, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor outside the courtyard.

With a servant leading the way, a young man in a black robe strode in. He was quite tall, with a stern face and an impressive presence.

The well-known Chief Brooks of Tianshui Bridge jogged ahead, holding an umbrella and acting obsequiously.

Behind them followed five bodyguards, the leader an old man carrying a long saber in a black scabbard.

George Bennett raised his eyebrows, sensing that this visitor was no idle playboy, and put down his teacup.

The wealthy merchants who had just left had heard about the incident at Zhenyuan Escort Agency yesterday. They guessed that this unfamiliar young man was the ruthless one from yesterday, so they stopped in their tracks and greeted him with cupped hands:

“Young master, you look unfamiliar. Are you the eldest son of the The Collins Family?”

Henry Blake didn’t respond, striding up the steps, taking the saber from Charles Bennett, and walking straight through the main door.

Clack—

Charles Bennett closed the door, shutting out the bewildered crowd.

William Brooks nearly bumped his nose on the door. Just as he was about to ask the young master what was going on, he heard from inside:

Shing—

The sound of a blade being drawn!

Inside, George Bennett, seated at the head, sensed something was wrong and reached for the broad-backed saber placed in front of the main hall.

At that very moment, Henry Blake suddenly lunged forward, drawing his long saber in midair and bringing it down in a powerful overhead slash, aiming straight for George Bennett’s head.

Swish—

A flash of steel lit up the living room.

George Bennett was no slouch; in the blink of an eye, his saber was raised horizontally in front of him. But the difference in explosive power was too great. As soon as he lifted his hand, a heavy blow struck, the back of the saber slammed into his chest, and he was crushed into the grand master’s chair beneath him.

Crash—

“You—”

George Bennett crashed to the ground, wanting to shout in anger, but realized that this young man who had suddenly appeared was here to kill him. In the blink of an eye, another slash came, stabbing straight for his heart.

A chill ran down George Bennett’s spine. All the skills he had learned since childhood were brought to bear in this moment. He pushed off the floor with both feet, forcefully pulling away from the blade, while counterattacking with his own saber.

Clang—

The blades clashed again.

George Bennett swung his saber, but didn’t even graze his opponent. Instead, he was overpowered by the other’s immense strength, sent flying backward, smashing into the lacquered wooden main hall, and crashing through the rear corridor door.

“Ugh—”

George Bennett landed in the rain-soaked courtyard behind, letting out a muffled cough. He didn’t even have time to look ahead before rolling desperately to the side.

As expected, the next moment, a saber struck the spot where he had landed, sinking several inches into the stone.

“You bastard…”

George Bennett scrambled to his feet, face contorted in rage, saber in hand, about to speak—only to see the expressionless young man calmly draw his long saber and approach again, unhurried, rolling his neck. There was no hatred in his eyes, only a calmness that spoke of habit.

George Bennett was horrified. If nothing else, he could tell that this young man had definitely killed before.