Martha Foster was taken aback. “That old man, carrying so much silver out and flaunting his wealth—he’s just asking to be robbed…”

Her gaze swept over the street, and sure enough, a few shifty-eyed men were edging closer to the old man. And, as luck would have it, the old man walked straight into a nearby alley.

“Hey—”

Martha Foster’s expression turned anxious. She quickly grabbed her Yanling saber, leapt out the window, and landed steadily on the ground. Her two companions followed close behind.

They rushed into the alley, and after only a few yards, by a pile of straw cluttered with junk, they witnessed a scene that made their blood boil.

Three masked thugs, each holding a short knife, had surrounded the old man.

The old man was pressed against the wall, right hand gripping a cane, trembling as he tried to fend off the ruffians, left hand clutching his money pouch, tears streaming down his face in grief and anger:

“Help!”

“You old fool, if we don’t teach you a lesson, do you think my knife is fake or something…”

“Stop!”

Martha Foster shouted in fury, her Yanling saber ringing as it left its sheath. Her slender figure shot forward like a pouncing leopard, covering two yards in an instant to reach the three robbers. The saber slashed down hard, landing on one robber’s arm, but unexpectedly, the robber wore iron bracers, sending up a shower of sparks.

Clang—

The three robbers reacted instantly. One of them immediately counterattacked, his fists slamming toward Martha Foster.

Caught off guard, Martha Foster hastily raised her arm to block, but was struck and sent flying, crashing into the alley wall. The last robber, short blade in hand, lunged at her with a stab as she hit the wall.

In a fight between martial artists, victory or defeat is often decided in the blink of an eye.

John Thompson and George Miller turned pale, and could only shout, “You scoundrels, how dare you!”—completely unable to help.

Just then—

A cold wind swept through the quiet alley. After three crisp sounds—‘pa pa pa’—a white figure descended from above, landing behind Martha Foster. In his right hand was a sword; his left hand pressed against Martha Foster’s back, stopping her from falling further.

Martha Foster groaned, having taken two punches, and only regained her footing after landing. Clutching her saber, eyes wide with fear, she saw the three robbers staggering as if their heads had been struck hard.

Clatter—

The short knives fell to the ground, and the three robbers collapsed one after another.

Martha Foster stood frozen, hands still raised with her saber, staring at the three bandits on the ground for a long moment before she finally reacted.

Startled, she turned around to see a young man in white robes standing nearby, a faint smile on his face, who gently said:

“Miss, be careful.”

His voice was magnetic, his features strikingly handsome, and his peach blossom eyes held an almost bewitching charm.

Martha Foster stood there dumbfounded, staring blankly at him. After a moment, her cheeks slowly turned red…

-----

Snowflakes drifted down in the quiet alley as two Wolf Guards tied up the three bandits.

At the mouth of the alley, Martha Foster comforted the trembling Old Smith, told him to hide his silver well before letting him leave, then walked back into the alley with her saber. Looking up, she saw Heir Clark in white, holding a wine gourd, standing straight and motionless where he was.

She was well aware of how dangerous things had just been—if not for Heir Clark’s intervention, she would have been dead or crippled.

Martha Foster hesitated for a moment, walked up intending to greet him, but Edward Clark raised his hand first:

“It was nothing. When you’re out and about, just call me Mr. Clark.”

Martha Foster glanced back at the two Wolf Guards, then chose not to reveal Edward Clark’s identity, and walked with him out of the alley:

“Thank you, Mr. Clark.”

Edward Clark took a sip of wine, tilted his head to look her over. “So young, yet instead of staying home doing embroidery, you’re out here fighting like a man. Both times I’ve run into you, you were getting beaten up. Be careful in the future.”

Martha Foster gave an awkward laugh, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and glanced up at him a few times:

“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Clark… What brings you here?”

Edward Clark chuckled lightly. “There’s a chess match at Longyin Pavilion. I was planning to watch, just happened to pass by… What’s your name? You look young—why come to the capital to be a constable?”

“My name is Martha Foster, it means ‘osmanthus blossoms filling the branches.’”

Martha Foster walked slowly behind him, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “My father gave me the name. When I was little, our home was full of osmanthus trees—my mother loved them…

…The year before last, on my fourteenth birthday, my parents suddenly disappeared. I reported it to the authorities, but no one could find them, so I became a constable at the county office to search everywhere…

…Later I heard that the capital’s Detective Division knows everything, so I came here, only to find out that only the Wolf Guards of the Tianzi Battalion can access the case archives…”

“You became a constable to find your parents?”

“That’s right.” Martha Foster rested her saber behind her back, head down, kicking at a pebble on the ground. “My father was probably a jianghu man. He left me some silver, so he must have abandoned me on purpose. The Detective Division knows everything—they’ll definitely find a clue.”

Edward Clark was silent for a moment, then smiled lightly. “You want to join the Tianzi Wolf Guards?”

Martha Foster nodded quickly, then sighed. “You have to catch a hundred petty thieves to get promoted. Without enough merit, you can’t get in even after ten years.”

“I’ll help you.”

Martha Foster stopped in her tracks, looking at Edward Clark with some confusion. “Why?”

Edward Clark smiled gently. “Nothing better to do. You seem pretty pitiful. If you don’t want my help, forget it.” He started walking toward the city gate.

“Hey—”