The little maid struggled to move a water bucket half her height to the side of the water vat. Then she climbed onto the stool beside the vat and, using all her strength, poured the water in with great difficulty. Next, she began to wash rice and vegetables. While the rice was steaming, she grabbed a rag and started wiping the tables, chairs, doors, and windows. Before long, steam rose up, shrouding her thin figure.

Although it rained last night, the rain wasn’t heavy enough. The yellow dust on the doors and windows hadn’t been washed clean; instead, it turned into unsightly muddy streaks. These muddy marks were quickly wiped away by the little maid’s rag, and the small house and courtyard instantly became clean and bright.

It was obvious that she did these chores every day—she was very skilled and quick. Still just a child, Little Black Maid bustled about as busily as an ant, running back and forth like a servant woman, working so hard that sweat drenched her forehead and her cheeks turned red. She looked a bit comical, yet also evoked a sense of sympathy...

That guy called Adam Spencer clearly lacked both of those emotions. He lay quietly—or rather, comfortably—on a bamboo recliner, holding a somewhat worn book in his left hand, flipping through it nonstop, while his right hand used a hard tree branch to draw on the wet mud ground. Occasionally, when he fell into deep thought, he would casually toss the branch aside, stretch his palm upward into the air, and a moment later, a pot of perfectly warm tea would be placed in his hand.

The soldiers in Wei City were long used to the daily scenes in this little courtyard, so they found nothing strange about it. The noblewoman’s maid standing outside the fence, however, grew increasingly cold in her gaze—especially when she saw the little maid busy cooking and cleaning, yet still not daring to forget to watch for the young soldier’s needs, always ready to make tea, pour water, massage his back or legs. The frost on her face deepened, as if it might freeze solid.

Chapter Two: The Poor Scholar Who Excels at Words and Writing

If she were truly your maid, that would be one thing. But didn’t you pick her up from a pile of corpses? Aren’t you two supposed to rely on each other for survival? Even if, taking a huge step back, she is your maid, don’t you think she’s still too young to bear such heavy and exhausting labor? How did a young boy like you become so lazy, unable to do anything yourself?

Perhaps it triggered some bad childhood memories, or perhaps her imagination of certain beautiful emotions had been too thoroughly destroyed by this guy. The maid pushed open the fence and walked straight in, her gaze landing on the bamboo recliner, on the old book the young man was reading so intently. With a faintly mocking tone, she said, “I thought you were reading some great sage’s masterpiece, something that could make you forget everything happening around you. But it turns out it’s just the Taishang Ganying Pian, which you can buy anywhere in the market. Could it be that someone like you actually hopes to step onto the path of cultivation?”

Adam Spencer sat up, curiously glancing at this finely dressed young lady who seemed like she should never appear in Wei City, then at the embarrassed-looking Captain. After a pause, he explained, “This was the only book I could get, so I have to make do. I’m just curious, nothing more—no lofty hopes.”

The maid clearly hadn’t expected the boy to answer so naturally and casually, leaving her momentarily at a loss. She then looked toward the little maid dumping stove ash by the door and said with displeasure, “How could a man like you exist in the grand Tang Empire?”

Adam Spencer frowned in confusion, following her gaze to Lily Spencer, who was standing by the window with a rag in hand. He understood the sharpness in her words, and a dimple appeared in his left cheek as he smiled and said, “You look older than me. How about... you just think of me as not a man, but a boy?”

The maid had probably never met someone so shameless and cheeky in her life. Her fist slowly clenched inside her sleeve, her expression icy as she was about to lash out. But then her gaze fell on the patch of mud beside the bamboo recliner, on the characters drawn with the tree branch. Her thoughts shifted, a strange light flickered in her eyes, and she completely forgot what she’d meant to say.

In the best barracks in Wei City, an Old Man in tattered robes was resting with his eyes closed, while David Carter stood half-bowed, speaking with the nobleman inside the tent. Despite his humble attitude, he couldn’t hide his surprise.

“You’re not satisfied with that guide?” he asked in confusion. “Why?”

The nobleman’s voice from inside the tent was full of displeasure, scolding, “I want a clever and capable guide, not a lazy boy whose head is filled with cultivation dreams and who can only carry roast chicken, not even able to truss a chicken.”

David Carter coughed lightly and explained in a low voice, “As far as I know, Adam Spencer is still young, but in the past two years on the grasslands, he’s taken quite a few barbarian heads. If... it’s just about tying up a few chickens, I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

The Tang Empire was founded on martial strength and valued military merit above all. Although the person behind the tent was of the highest status, since it touched on the army’s most cherished honor, David Carter didn’t hesitate to push back. Though it sounded like an explanation, there was a hint of mocking rebuttal.

The cold voice behind the tent paused briefly, then said with displeasure, “Just because he can kill, does that make him a good guide?”

David Carter replied even more humbly, “Of the three hundred men in Wei City, Adam Spencer is certainly not the one who’s killed the most enemies. But I dare to guarantee with my own head that, no matter how brutal the battlefield, among those who survive to the end... this boy will definitely be one of them.”