The nobles usually played liubo, pitched arrows, hunted with dogs, sang songs, and even engaged in sports like sword duels, chariot driving, and weightlifting. But people like Miller could only play jiaodi and gather here to chat idly. Hearing that man's story, Miller sneered disdainfully—he had already heard seven or eight versions of this tale.

"Later on, Mr. Clark really did kill his concubine!"

"Mr. Clark truly loves men of talent."

"A man of true faith and loyalty!" Several of the wandering swordsmen around couldn't help but exclaim.

Miller snorted coldly in disdain, "Do you lot even know what faith and loyalty are?"

"Oh? Does Miller know, then? You spend all day following John Clark around, and John Clark... is so young. What could you possibly know about faith and loyalty, just tagging along with John Clark?" The man whom Miller had interrupted was a bit annoyed and wanted to mock him, but didn't want to speak ill of his own lord, so he hinted at his meaning: following a greenhorn, what could you know of faith and loyalty?

Miller immediately became angry. "Today..." He had just started to speak, but then stopped, gritting his teeth and saying nothing more.

Seeing him like this, the others grew even more curious. When had they ever seen Miller at a loss for words? This guy could talk from morning till night once he started—could something really have happened? The group hurriedly gathered around him. "Miller, if you truly see us as friends, trust us as you would close kin, please tell us honestly what happened."

Miller looked at them—even the two who had been wrestling came over. Miller seemed a bit agitated and hesitated for a long time. Keeping these words bottled up was really killing him. He said seriously, "Then I'll only tell you all, but you must promise me, absolutely do not tell anyone else."

"We swear, we absolutely won't."

"Good!" Miller was delighted, and immediately began to recount the story with animated gestures. When Miller spoke, he would spit as he talked, his expression vivid and lively. When describing how he subdued the assassin, he even knocked a friend to the ground to reenact the scene for everyone. By the time he finished, the wandering swordsmen around him were so excited they nearly jumped up.

"Excellent! What a John Clark!"

"We've been searching for a lord who values faith and loyalty, and considered going to serve Mr. Clark, but who would have thought—we're like people standing by the river, thirsting for water from a distant stream! I am willing to serve our own lord and become his retainer. What do you all think?"

"We'll go together!"

Chapter 003: The Father of the First Emperor

It was already noon, the hottest time of day, but Charles Clark had not gone to rest. He kept pacing in the courtyard, smiling. When he was paralyzed in bed in his previous life, his greatest wish was to be able to walk around like this. Now, not only could he walk, he could run and jump—Charles Clark was already very satisfied, and this made him unwilling to stop and rest. He had almost walked through every corner of the courtyard.

As Charles Clark walked, he pondered the future. In his previous life, he was a liberal arts student and knew nothing about making wine or soap—he was hopeless at anything technical. If he tried to do things himself, he probably couldn't even make a chair. As for copying famous quotes or classic poetry, he might be able to recite a few, but to write them out from memory, Charles Clark couldn't do it.

So what could he do?

As for history, he only knew the general outline, and that knowledge came from online novels—who knew how useful it would be? Sigh, if he'd known, he should have read "The Qin Official" a few more times. After thinking it over, Charles Clark finally found his own path: just stay at home, ride horses, practice swordsmanship, and enjoy the life of a noble. He didn't have to worry about food or drink, so why bother with all that other stuff?

Just as Charles Clark was ready to settle down and be a carefree noble in the Warring States period, the courtyard gate was pushed open.

George walked in. George was the oldest among his retainers—or rather, George wasn't really his retainer, but his father David Clark's. Back when David Clark was alive, he had more than a dozen retainers, but unfortunately, David Clark never thought much of this son. Before he died, he persuaded all the retainers to leave. In his own words: "You have followed me for decades. I don't want you to be buried with Charles Clark. Please go to Mr. Clark; I will write you letters of introduction."

Follow a greenhorn, or the famous Mr. Clark? For most people, it wasn't a hard choice.

But George stayed. It was said that he was the retainer David Clark thought least of, lacking any real ability, so he couldn't go to Mr. Clark's residence and stayed here, becoming Charles Clark's retainer.

George was short and small, but had three long strands of beard. If he had Miller's tall stature, those three long beards would have made him look especially imposing. Unfortunately, for someone of his size, the beards were just too long and thick, making him look rather odd. He was quite old, and his beard was graying. He looked up, glanced at Charles Clark somewhat rudely, snorted coldly, and said in a muffled voice, "Young master, the mistress requests to see you."