“Elder brother has always been brave and strong. I fear I won’t be able to make it enjoyable, so it’s better to let Sir accompany you.” Princess didn’t stand on ceremony and went up to spar with The President, treating it as practice. Once The President had more or less grasped the basic rules, she gave the opportunity to get closer to The President to Philip.

“Enough chatter, hurry up and catch the shuttlecock!” The President was just getting interested. Although he still didn’t like the look of Charles Bennett, after all, he was the inventor of badminton, and it wouldn’t do to just torment his own sister for fun.

“No need to hold back, The President doesn’t like people who are overly timid…” As they swapped in to take the racket, Princess quietly whispered to Thomas Foster.

“Alright then, in several lifetimes I’ve never had the chance to thrash The President for real. Relying on powerful ships and cannons doesn’t count as skill—just watch me today, I’ll beat the crap out of you!”

Truth be told, Thomas Foster was not at all willing to play with The President; it was too awkward, and whether he played well or badly, it could cause trouble. But with Princess’s words as reassurance, he finally let go, and even a sinister smile crept onto his lips. As the saying goes, a leopard can’t change its spots—this was his true nature showing through.

When a seasoned badminton player faces off against a complete beginner, the outcome is obvious. Even if the equipment isn’t quite standard, the novice doesn’t stand a chance.

There’s no need for powerful smashes—that would be too blatant. Just by sending the shuttlecock back and forth between the front court, back court, left, and right, in just a few minutes the beginner will go from lively and energetic to a little frog, mouth agape and gasping for air, eyes following but body unable to keep up.

Of course, Thomas Foster didn’t dare to go all out against The President; otherwise, he’d be exiled in a matter of minutes. But a little underhandedness was acceptable, and he also had to make himself look a bit disheveled, to give The President some face. In truth, both knew who was more exhausted.

Even with President Abraham Lincoln’s body, accustomed to playing cuju for fun, he couldn’t withstand the demands of a simple badminton match. After just over ten minutes, his pale blue short jacket was soaked through, and quite a bit of hair had come loose and stuck to his face with sweat—he looked as bedraggled as could be.

“The President, why not take a few sets of rackets and shuttlecocks back to the palace? You can get some exercise in your spare time…” Seeing that The President was too tired to continue, Thomas Foster took the opportunity to make a suggestion.

He really didn’t want this imperial brother-in-law to keep showing up at his house. If he wanted to play, he should do it in the palace—there were so many concubines, maids, eunuchs, and grand scholars around, they could organize a whole league.

Chapter 9: The Hall of Flying Feathers

“Ten days, just… ten days, I’ll utterly… destroy you! Mary, iced dew…” President Abraham Lincoln was so exhausted he could barely catch his breath, yet he was still talking tough.

Although he wasn’t a top player in other games either and often lost, being beaten by Charles Bennett, this rather annoying Philip, was something The President just couldn’t swallow.

Thomas Foster had really underestimated this young The President. After drinking a bowl of mung bean and licorice iced water and resting for a few minutes, he was back on the court, lively as ever, even tying up his troublesome hair with a cloth band, looking ready to go all out. Unfortunately, skill isn’t something you can gain just by sheer effort.

After three consecutive matches, President Abraham Lincoln never even scored in the double digits—and that was only because Thomas Foster, pressured by imperial authority, had to go easy on him. If it were anyone else, they wouldn’t have gotten more than five points, and even those would have been by chance; he wouldn’t have given up a single point on purpose.

As night fell, The President had no choice but to put down the racket and return to the palace. His entourage was simple—just about a dozen people.

At first, Thomas Foster thought there would be at least a company of soldiers outside the residence, but The President had come in through the back door, and apart from a few eunuchs watching the horses, there wasn’t a soul in sight.

“Will The President dislike me even more now?” Thomas Foster was still quite wary of this imperial brother-in-law who knew his own home better than he did. No matter how good-tempered, The President was still The President. As the ancients said, serving the emperor is like serving a tiger.

“Elder brother is broad-minded; he would never fall out with someone over a game. For William to defeat The President is truly a credit to our household!” Princess was not only unconcerned but actually quite pleased, as if her husband’s victory over The President was something to celebrate.

“Then I’ll have the craftsmen make some more rackets and shuttlecocks as spares…” Since he didn’t really understand the royal temperament, Thomas Foster didn’t argue with Princess about it. There were still some minor issues with the rackets and shuttlecocks that needed to be studied and improved.

From that day on, The Bennett Residence basically became The President’s fitness center. Sometimes he’d come every couple of days, sometimes he’d disappear for three or five days and then suddenly show up, never giving any advance notice.

But no matter when he came, Thomas Foster had to drop everything and play with him—even if he was sleeping, two eunuchs would stand over him and make sure he got up and dressed as quickly as possible.

So as not to interfere with his family’s and Princess’s exercise plans, Thomas Foster had to set aside another area in the back garden, even building a large canopy for sun and rain protection. The height was a bit lacking, but the bamboo poles were only so long—if you didn’t hit the shuttlecock too high, it was manageable.

But after just one trial run, The President discovered it, and the big bamboo canopy became the royal court’s exclusive badminton venue. His Majesty even inscribed a name for it: The Hall of Flying Feathers!