Unfortunately, when he calmed down a little and tried to recall those memories, he found that, except for a few meaningless fragments or images, he could remember almost nothing.

It was as if it had all been a dream.

Perhaps it really was just a dream.

Apart from some feelings of melancholy, sadness, joy, or distress, nothing remained—nothing could be retrieved.

If there was anything he could be certain of, it was that he was sure those memories had once existed deep in his mind, as if he had lived an entire lifetime in a completely unfamiliar world.

He could also be sure that those strange dreams he had as a child were related to these memories; it was even possible that the brain illness he suffered from in his early years was triggered by being unable to withstand the impact of these memories.

Of course, after regaining his clarity of mind, the things he had experienced since childhood all became clear.

Perhaps, it was far more than just that.

Previously, when his mother forced him to study for several years at the clan’s school, he could barely stumble through a few passages of the basic classics, let alone understand their deeper meanings.

But now, not only did he fully understand the content of these few classics and the principles derived from them, he could also see that there were many errors, pedantries, and trivialities within.

His thinking at this moment had become sharper than ever before.

It was as if he had been completely reborn.

Many things that had once confused him suddenly became clear.

This was not something a boy who had muddled through fifteen years in the mountains of Tongbai should possess!

Perhaps those memories he thought he had forgotten, thought were lost, like a dream, had not actually disappeared, but had fundamentally changed him.

Was he no longer “himself”?

Then who was he?

Henry Smith was confused for several days. A few days ago, when he passed Yingzizui outside Huaiyuan Town, a passage of text suddenly appeared in his mind, as if he had been struck by lightning:

“In the fifth year of Tianxuan, on New Year’s Day, Censor-in-Chief Brian Walker was demoted to Tangzhou. In mid-February, he passed through Yingzizui in the Tongbai Mountains and was killed by bandits…”

This passage read like a brief historical record, and from that moment on, it was engraved in his mind and would not go away.

However, at that time, there had been no such robbery at Yingzizui, nor had any court official been demoted and passed through Huaiyuan Town. Yet Henry Smith was tormented by this memory for two or three days, until he suddenly thought of a possibility:

This passage might be a “memory” of something that had not yet happened.

So, for the past few days, he had been leaving early and returning late, going to stake out the cliff at Yingzizui.

Not only did others think he had lost his mind again, even he suspected that his so-called “clarity” was actually a kind of madness.

Until this moment, when Brian Walker stood up from the carriage and announced his name, Henry Smith’s shock surged like a raging tide:

This sudden memory in his mind had actually been verified at this moment: those three men disguised as hunters were the “bandits” destined to encounter Brian Walker on his journey of exile?

The key was that all of this had appeared in his mind as a passage of text several days earlier?

Then what about all those other memories that had almost been forgotten—were they all from a future that had not yet happened?

……

……

Yingzizui was located at the ridge at the highest point of this hilly area. The carriage had not yet passed through Yingzizui, so it was impossible to see what was on the other side through the gap.

With pursuers behind and assassins lying in wait on the cliff, the coachman guessed there might be more ambushers ahead. He didn’t expect the carriage to break through the encirclement, so he untied the bundle and revealed a gleaming long blade without a scabbard.

However, after Brian Walker announced his name, the person on the cliff fell silent, not saying another word or making any move for a long while. This made the coachman feel a bit restless and puzzled: what exactly did these people want?

As the carriage slowly moved to the foot of the cliff, the coachman stared at the top. Though some trees blocked the view, he could now see that the person on the cliff was a sturdy youth. Although his grip on the knife was fierce, there was no malice on his face.

Meanwhile, the three assassins disguised as hunters did not take the opportunity to close in, but instead pulled back a little and gathered together, watching the cliff with surprise and suspicion. This made the coachman even more confused:

Could it be that the youth on the cliff was not in league with the three behind?

The old scholar in the blue robe, his eyes dim with age, could not see the youth’s face clearly. He called out again toward the cliff, “I know you are only acting on someone’s orders. I have no intention of learning where you come from, but please, take my life and do not harm the innocent!”

Henry Smith snapped back to his senses. Seeing that the three bandits had pulled back a bit but not retreated, and had gathered about two hundred paces away with their longbows in hand, he felt nothing but bitter regret.

For several days, he had been staking out this cliff from dawn to dusk, obsessed with verifying the memory that had flashed through his mind, not to play the hero and save Brian Walker.

However, the reaction of these three bandits also puzzled Henry Smith:

Aside from the coachman by Brian Walker’s side, who was clearly quite formidable, since he had suddenly appeared on the cliff and called out to Brian Walker, shouldn’t the three bandits have realized the difficulty and retreated?

What treasure was hidden in Brian Walker’s carriage that made them still want to rob it?

They didn’t seem like ordinary bandits at all?