He placed the han nian grass on the ground and picked up a tree branch.

The branch was about as thick as two fingers, roughly three feet long, with a slight curve, but overall fairly straight. Though only two fingers thick, the freshly cut branch was still damp, quite hefty, and felt just right in his hand as he weighed it.

Henry Carter walked down the slope, carrying a tree branch, and said with a smile, “Uncle Lincoln, what are you doing?”

The sunlight was intense, the land was clear, and all around was overgrown with weeds, nearly waist-high.

At this time, no one came to chop wood or cut grass—truly a good place.

James Lincoln thought to himself that this kid really didn’t know what was good for him, picking a place to die on his own. He rubbed his palms together and sneered, “Young Carter, stop wasting my time and hand over your money. I still want to go spend it at the brothel, don’t have time to play with you. Be smart and you’ll suffer less. If you cooperate, I might go easy on you.”

Henry Carter paid him no mind, only sighed with some emotion, “Back then, Uncle Lincoln often visited our home—sometimes asking my father for a few coins, sometimes taking some medicinal herbs from us. We were quite familiar. Yet in just two or three years, it feels like yesterday, still vivid in my mind.”

“Heh, if your dead old man hadn’t died of illness, my days would’ve been much better. Since you know your father always handed over the money, you should be sensible too, right?” James Lincoln grinned widely and laughed, “You think carrying a branch will do you any good? Look at your delicate skin, you’re even prettier than those girls, heh heh…”

He looked Henry Carter up and down, grinning lewdly.

Henry Carter shook his head and said, “I don’t have any money on me.”

James Lincoln’s expression changed, and he shouted angrily, “You don’t know what’s good for you! If I don’t teach you a lesson, you young people will never learn respect.”

He took two or three steps forward, coming right up to Henry Carter, clenched his palm into a fist, and swung it hard.

James Lincoln had spent years brawling and had learned some flashy boxing moves. This punch carried a lot of force. An ordinary person would be knocked down by it, let alone a refined, scholarly-looking youth.

As the fist drew closer to his face, growing larger in his vision, Henry Carter’s eyes narrowed, the punch filling his sight.

The youth gripped the branch, took a deep breath, and then, as if swinging a sword, swung the branch.

Crack!

A crisp sound rang out—it was hard to tell if it was the branch breaking or the bones in the fist cracking.

The branch in Henry Carter’s hand snapped in two.

But James Lincoln was already clutching his fist, collapsed on the ground, suddenly letting out a miserable howl, shrill and piercing.

James Lincoln clutched his fist, rolling on the ground, covering himself in dust, howling in agony.

Remembering how this man used to come to his family’s pharmacy to demand money and seize herbs, a cold glint flashed in Henry Carter’s eyes. At last, he sighed, tossed the branch, and threw it onto James Lincoln’s face.

Picking up the han nian grass, Henry Carter retraced his steps.

Behind him, James Lincoln was still howling in pain, the knuckles of his fist already sunken in, bones broken, held together only by skin and flesh.

“I’ve only practiced for a day.”

Walking along the road, Henry Carter mused, “Just one day.”

That so-called Introduction to Swordsmanship wasn’t some profound secret art. Although Henry Carter knew nothing of martial arts, he’d heard that true mastery required training one’s vital energy and cultivating inner strength. Yet after just a day of practice, he could break someone’s knuckles with a branch—clearly, it was the effect of that jade pill.

Unknowingly, he had taken a different path.

This road, as it turned out, led to another town. In that town stood his family’s old pharmacy, though it had long since been taken over by others.

Henry Carter fell silent for a moment, then finally sighed and turned back.

By the time he returned to his family’s temple, it was already afternoon, nearing dusk.

The sun was sinking behind the western hills, and the sky was growing dim.

A whole day had passed so quickly.

But as he neared the temple, Henry Carter paused again.

On both sides of the temple grew green trees. In the dim light, someone stood in front of the temple, seeming a bit anxious as he waited.

Looking at the man dressed as a servant ahead, Henry Carter thought to himself, “There really is no end to these troubles.”

He recognized this servant. The other day, he had come with the steward from the The Bennett Family to wait for him outside the temple. Before leaving, this servant had even shot Henry Carter a fierce glare, but at the time Henry Carter had just poisoned a few people and was full of killing intent, so he glared right back.

Ever since that look, the servant had felt some fear toward him. But this time, he had mustered up more courage, thinking it was a great humiliation for his family to be intimidated by a down-and-out youth. So now, upon seeing Henry Carter, the servant lifted his head first.

He pointed at a gift box on the ground and said, “Look here, open your eyes and see clearly.”

Henry Carter didn’t reply, his expression calm.

The servant cursed through gritted teeth, then opened the gift box.

A flash of silver gleamed from within.

It was dusk, and the light was dim.

That silver gleam—it was a box full of silver ingots.