“Young lord, Edward Clark has already been sent away by us.”

“He was deeply moved by your great kindness, young lord. When he walked out the door, he was so emotional he almost burst into tears.” Miller said with a smile. Charles Clark smiled calmly, and Miller continued, “Young lord, I had only heard before that there are many trustworthy people in Zhao, but today I truly believe it. You were willing to give up the chance for military merit for the sake of a friend, and I greatly admire that.”

“I have always been this way with my friends,” Charles Clark said, then hurriedly instructed the two, “Don’t tell anyone about what happened today.”

Grace looked at Charles Clark with some confusion. Charles Clark usually craved fame, and if such a story spread, it would surely boost his reputation in Zhao. Why wouldn’t he want us to talk about it?

Charles Clark didn’t explain further. What he needed now was a low-profile life—the lower, the better. Ideally, even the King of Zhao wouldn’t know about him. That would be best. Charles Clark sent the two away and began strolling through the courtyard from over two thousand years ago, observing his surroundings. Even though he had inherited Charles Clark’s memories and knew these places like the back of his hand, he still wanted to take another look.

The Zhao residence was fairly large, surrounded by low walls with only a main gate. After entering, there was a doghouse. In this era, it seemed most people liked to keep dogs in the front yard. However, the doghouse in his courtyard was empty. In Charles Clark’s memory, they used to have a dog—a hunting hound, his father David Clark’s favorite. But after David Clark passed away, the hound refused to eat or drink, and three days later, it died as well.

On both sides of the courtyard, there were mulberry trees, which seemed quite normal for the time. There was a well to the south. Charles Clark walked to the backyard, which was the hunfan—a combination of toilet and pigsty, the earliest form of green recycling.

While Charles Clark was happily touring his own mansion, Miller and Grace were chatting in the front yard.

“Why doesn’t the young lord want us to talk about this?” Grace asked, still puzzled.

“You don’t get it? If this story spreads, it would certainly benefit the young lord. But Edward Young is a Qin hostage, and he even tried to assassinate the young lord. If people hear about this, do you think they’ll let Edward Young off? The young lord is giving up his reputation for the sake of a friend!” Miller said excitedly, clenching his fists in delight. Grace suddenly understood and nodded, then added, “Right, since the young lord instructed us, you mustn’t let this slip out!”

Miller looked at him indignantly. “What do you take me for? I am a Linhu warrior, I keep my promises. How could I betray the young lord’s trust?!”

Grace sighed helplessly and said, “If it were anything else, maybe it’d be fine. But your mouth can’t even stop when you’re eating. If you were mute, even Lord Pingyuan would invite you to his mansion and treat you to beef and mutton… What a pity.” He shook his head and left, leaving Miller muttering indignantly to himself before he too left shortly after.

Mafu was a small township in the northwest of Handan, quite well-known in Zhao. Its fame came from its lord, the famous general David Clark. David Clark was granted the title Lord of Mafu, and his fief was here. After Lord Mafu passed away, his son Charles Clark inherited the title and became the lord of this place. In the Spring and Autumn period, Charles Clark would have been considered a regional lord, with his own fief, able to appoint officials and raise troops.

Unfortunately, times had changed. Now, a feudal lord had no administrative power over the land, only the right to collect taxes. The officials here were all appointed by the King of Zhao and would not obey Charles Clark. Still, the taxes collected here were enough for Charles Clark to live comfortably, without worrying about food or drink.

By the roadside from Mafu to Handan, under a large willow tree, a few flushed-faced men stood in a circle. The local villagers, upon seeing them, quickly avoided them, not wanting trouble. Most of these men were wandering knights and retainers, who didn’t farm or weave, idled about all day, and ordinary people dared not provoke them. Even officials were wary, since many of them were retainers of the nobility, and officials didn’t dare offend them lightly.

Among these knights, two burly men were wrestling, each gripping the other’s shoulders, straining and pacing back and forth, their bodies flushed red as they roared. The men around them clapped and cheered from time to time. Miller was among them, watching the wrestling eagerly—this was his favorite pastime. As he watched, a few friends nearby started chatting.

“Guys, I heard that Lord Pingyuan once had a lame neighbor. One day, Lord Pingyuan’s concubine saw the lame man walking and laughed at him loudly. The next day, the lame man came to Lord Pingyuan’s house and said, ‘My lord, I heard you love to welcome worthy men, so your guests come from far and wide. You value talent over women. I am unfortunate to have a lame foot, but your concubine laughed at me. I hope you will kill her.’” One of the men shared an amusing story, and the others listened intently.