“Venerable Buddha, be careful, your tea is getting cold!” Mr. Sullivan hurriedly spoke up to dissuade him, but was also afraid of offending the Buddha before him. He watched anxiously as Chris Brooks finished off a pot of cold tea, then took the teapot with both hands and added in a low voice, “If you want some water, just shake the bell at your bedside. You are a person of great value—if anything happens to you, we little ones couldn’t possibly bear the responsibility!”

“A person of great value? When did I become so precious? And what’s this about being a Buddha? Why do you keep calling me Buddha?” Chris Brooks repeated quietly as he savored the sweetness of the tea. Since his transmigration, this had become his most common way of speaking. There were so many things he couldn’t get used to; all he could do was passively accept them while continuing to dig for the truth.

“Could it be that you’ve forgotten everything because Maitreya Buddha possessed you?!” Mr. Sullivan’s gaze flickered as he avoided Chris Brooks’s eyes, responding with great seriousness, “You are the hall master of the Great Wisdom Hall of the Maitreya Sect, secretly developing followers in Xuzhou City, waiting for an opportunity to drive out the Tartars. I, along with Matthew Scott, Charles Morgan, Edward Harris, and Paul Hill, Jack Cooper, and the others, are all your followers. Last night, when the Red Turban Army arrived outside the city, you decisively invited Maitreya to possess you and led us to start an uprising in Mule Alley. You killed the constable Mahama, who came with soldiers to suppress us, as well as the archers Brian Thompson, Richard Williams, five more soldiers, seven hangers-on, and over twenty defeated soldiers who tried to loot amidst the chaos…”

Chapter 007: A Colossal Lie

“Wait, wait a minute!” Chris Brooks couldn’t help but interrupt loudly as the other’s story grew more and more outrageous.

Yesterday, in a daze, he’d mistaken reality for a virtual world and did kill a fat man, a short guy with a wooden bow, and a few small fry. But all together, it was only about five or six people. How did the number suddenly multiply by more than five times in Mr. Sullivan’s account today?

And this business about being the hall master of the Great Wisdom Hall was clearly a charge that fat constable pinned on him last night to claim credit for killing a rebel. As someone from the yamen, Mr. Sullivan should be well aware of this. So why, after everything had settled down, was he still pretending not to know the truth?

If last night Mr. Su had randomly identified him as the Maitreya Sect hall master just to avoid being attacked by the rebels and to take advantage of the chaos, why, now that the city was calm, did he still refuse to go to Sesame Thompson and explain the truth? Why did he insist on keeping up the pretense of him being the fake hall master?

Could it be that Mr. Su had other plans, wanting to use this secret to blackmail him forever, making him his puppet for life?!

Yes, that must be it. Mr. Su was clearly no good—he’d been a collaborator for years, bad to the core, and it would be a miracle if he had any good intentions!

In an instant, countless scenarios flashed through Chris Brooks’s mind. Every single one pointed the finger at Mr. Sullivan before him.

Meanwhile, Mr. Sullivan kept chattering away, his mouth showing no sign of stopping. “Yes, Venerable Buddha! Then you fainted from mental exhaustion. We followed your orders to arm ourselves and protect the neighbors, keeping them safe from the defeated soldiers. It wasn’t until Sesame Thompson, the Red Turban Army’s Chief Steward Thompson, led his personal troops into the city and ordered everyone to sheathe their blades that, according to your prior arrangements, we handed over several streets to him, completely intact!”

“I ordered you to arm yourselves and protect the neighbors? I ordered you to hand over several streets to Sesame Thompson?!” Although it was already past Mid-Autumn, cold sweat was pouring down Chris Brooks’s forehead.

Arming themselves to protect the neighbors? In plain terms, that meant confronting the Red Turban Army that had stormed into the city under the banner of the Great Wisdom Hall of the Maitreya Sect, and forcibly seizing a piece of territory from them!

Handing over the streets to Sesame Thompson intact? In plain terms, that meant creating a fait accompli, forcing Sesame Thompson to publicly acknowledge the Great Wisdom Hall’s right to share in the spoils of the captured city!

“Damn you, Su, you’re utterly shameless!” Although Chris Brooks had been a homebody in his previous life, he wasn’t a complete social idiot! At the very least, he knew from teaming up with online friends to fight monsters that those who randomly snatched kills would always get what was coming to them. “You—you actually used my name to threaten that Sesame Thompson? Who do you think you are, daring to bargain with him?! Aren’t you afraid he’ll get pissed off and just order you chopped up? You old bastard, you old pervert, you’ve really screwed me over!”

As he spoke, he rushed forward, grabbed Mr. Sullivan by the collar, and lifted him right off the ground.

Last night, Chris Brooks had been afraid that the Red Turban Army soldiers, in a fit of rage, would tear him to pieces, so he hadn’t dared to tell them the truth. But he knew in his heart that the truth would come out eventually. For the long term, once the chaos in the city was over, he should find a suitable opportunity to confess to Sesame Thompson or someone in his camp who called the shots, and admit that he was a fake hall master. He believed that Sesame Thompson, seeing that it was unintentional, wouldn’t pursue the matter too harshly. After gaining their forgiveness, he could quickly leave this place of trouble—either buy a boat and go to sea, or find a way to join George Washington and cling to the leg of the ultimate victor in history.