"Yeah, just a light tap, and it turned someone into a madman!" Mr. Sullivan glared fiercely at Little Helper, both exasperated and amused. The so-called second uncle Mr. Thompson mentioned by the other, before sneaking into the yamen, was a notorious local ruffian, extremely tough. If he struck with his iron ruler, if it were someone less sturdy, their brains could be bashed out—how could anyone say it was just a light tap? If Albert Brooks hadn't been knocked silly, he would never have risked implicating his entire clan by grabbing a knife and fighting the officials!

"Really, it really was just a light tap, I was standing right next to my second uncle at the time. I saw it with my own eyes!" Little Helper, still with some conscience left, blushed, his voice growing lower as he explained.

"What's the use of talking about this now! Think about how to save your second uncle!" Mr. Sullivan glanced at him again, gently shaking his head. "Sigh, this is a tough situation. According to the laws of the Yuan dynasty, as long as Albert Brooks picked up the knife, the outcome is the same. Fortunately—well, fortunately, he's the only one left in his family, so no one else will be implicated!"

Hearing this, Little Helper's worry for his own uncle turned somewhat into sympathy for the perpetrator. He jogged along, gently shaking his head. "This—my uncle didn't mean to hurt him, really, he didn't! Mr. Sullivan, you always have ideas, is there any way, any way to spare his life?"

"Spare him? How? You know what times we're living in! Sigh, it's all fate! Enough, hurry and go save your second uncle!" Thinking of how Albert Brooks was doomed, Mr. Sullivan's bookish melancholy flared up again, and he couldn't help but sigh softly.

Refusing to hand over the weapon, and even holding hostage the officer sent to confiscate it—these are solid charges! With rebel leader Zhima Li and his troops pressing at the border, how could the officials not seize the troublemakers in advance, to make an example of them?!

What's more, Albert Brooks has no parents above, no wife or children below, a solitary bachelor. Even if he was wronged, there's no one to stand up for him, let alone anyone to bribe the higher-ups at the yamen. At a time like this, if they don't use him to set an example, who else would they use?!

In short, it's all fate. In this Yuan dynasty, Han lives are cheap, especially those from the south! There's nothing to be done—just hope for a quick death and swift reincarnation!

Lost in these gloomy thoughts, they arrived at Mule and Horse Alley. There, more than a dozen yamen runners and assistants surrounded a half-open butcher's stall like a pack of wild dogs ready to pounce. Inside the stall, a burly man with a greasy face stood with his back to the wall, gripping a butcher's knife a foot and a half long. The blade was pointed right at the throat of another Xuzhou city archer, Old Little Thompson.

"Albert Brooks, let Mr. Thompson go right now. Since this is your first offense, we'll plead with the magistrate to spare your life!" The yamen runners and assistants, all locals, barked orders in their mixed Xuzhou dialect.

"Tax death Albert Brooks&**&……%? Ni mei zhe xie yin guan sha mo, bie rao le, zai rao ruo ji le&*&&&!" Albert Brooks, in stark contrast to his usual cowardly self, glared with bloodshot eyes and shouted back.

He spoke with a heavy northern accent, his words slurred as if his tongue wouldn't obey. Not only were the yamen runners and jailers baffled, even the supposedly well-read Mr. Sullivan couldn't understand a word!

But at this moment, Mr. Sullivan knew he couldn't just stand by. Relying on the fact that he had met Albert Brooks's late brother-in-law a few times, he squeezed through the crowd, poked his head out, and shouted, "Zhu, Zhu xiaoshe, don't be so rash. Let's talk this out. If you keep this up, it won't just be your problem—everyone in the neighborhood will be dragged down with you!"

As soon as he finished speaking, cries broke out all around. The neighbors came out, knelt down before Albert Brooks across from the assistants, and kowtowed repeatedly, "Zhu xiaoshe, please, let Mr. Thompson go! We all watched you grow up—can you really bear to drag us all to the grave with you?"

"Zhu xiaoshe? Drag to the grave?" Albert Brooks clearly didn't understand their pleas, his bloodshot eyes wide with confusion as he looked around.

"'Xiaoshe' means the young master of a wealthy family!" Guessing that Albert Brooks didn't understand, but not knowing why, Little HelperFrank Thompson shouted, "According to Yuan law, if one person rebels, the whole neighborhood is implicated. These are the neighbors who watched you grow up—if you kill an official and rebel, aren't you dooming them all?!" (Note 1)

"Cooking?" Albert Brooks seemed to catch a few words, a trace of anger flashing in his eyes. "Ni mei piao ne, zhe dou shen mu shi dai le, &^&% hai gao zhu lian?"

Another string of strange northern-accented words, a bit clearer than before, but still incomprehensible to everyone. Just as panic was rising, the sound of crisp hoofbeats suddenly rang out. A man of foreign appearance, about average height, arrived with a dozen government soldiers. He first ordered the soldiers to block the alley entrance with iron caltrops and wooden barricades, then pointed his sword at Albert Brooks, shouting, "You heretic of the Maitreya Sect, release David Thompson at once! Otherwise, don't blame me for being ruthless!"

"It's over!" Hearing this, Mr. Sullivan immediately closed his eyes and quietly stepped aside.