Eric Bolton’s brows were tightly furrowed. He couldn’t believe this was Luoyang. He sighed inwardly—this was war. After two months of raging conflict, the outskirts of Luoyang had become scorched earth.

In front of the south city gate, crowds of people pressed to enter the city, bustling and noisy. There were farmers carrying vegetables, merchants leading mules and horses, and quite a few scholarly students.

Eric Bolton stopped in front of a three-meter-tall stone stele. A wanted notice was posted on the stele, with several spear-wielding soldiers standing on either side. A group of people gathered in front of the stele, whispering among themselves. One scholar shook his head and read aloud, “Capture the bandit leader Samuel Young. Whoever brings his head will be promoted three ranks and rewarded with five thousand taels of silver. Anyone who provides information on his whereabouts will be promoted one rank and rewarded with one thousand taels…”

“Pah!” someone spat quietly. “Who would dare claim such a reward?”

“What do you mean by that, brother?”

“Samuel Young is the son of Charles Young! Charles Young’s followers are everywhere in the court. If you take Samuel Young’s head and expect to become an official, you’re asking for death! If you ask me, if you get the gold, run as far as you can and live incognito as a wealthy man—that’s not a bad life.”

Eric Bolton wasn’t particularly interested in these discussions. He shook his head and walked toward the city gate. The drawbridge was crowded with soldiers, but they only strictly checked merchant caravans or groups of two or more. Single entrants like him were barely questioned.

After paying a ten-wen entrance fee for outsiders, a soldier waved Eric Bolton into the city and shouted behind him, “Next!”

But Eric Bolton was distracted by something overhead: dozens of wooden cages containing human heads, hanging high above the city gate. These had once been formidable figures, but now their faces hung grotesquely from the city wall. Eric Bolton vaguely recognized the head on the far end—it seemed to be James Lee.

But Eric Bolton was stunned. There should have been a bullet hole in James Lee’s brow, but this head’s forehead was smooth, with no sign of a wound. What was going on?

Eric Bolton’s mind was in turmoil. Was this not James Lee’s head? Or had the person he killed not been James Lee at all?

“Hey, don’t block the way up there! Move along!” A dozen vegetable-carrying farmers behind him shouted impatiently.

Eric Bolton glanced once more, confused, at James Lee’s head, then, full of doubts, walked into Luoyang.

Inside Luoyang was a completely different scene—a world apart from the outside. As soon as he entered, the lively, bustling atmosphere hit him. The streets were packed with people, a constant flow. On either side of the gate, street vendors hawked their wares, their cries rising and falling. A caravan of several hundred camels was slowly making its way through.

On both sides stood lush, dense trees and tall, sturdy vermilion walls. In the center was a straight, wide avenue stretching into the distance. At the end of the avenue stood the magnificent imperial city and the Daye Palace, their golden, resplendent pagoda domes and soaring eaves gleaming in the morning’s rays.

Eric Bolton’s heart broadened with the grandeur of the Sui capital. For a moment, he forgot about the mystery of James Lee. This would be the starting point of his new life. No matter if the road ahead was stormy or sunlit, he would press forward without hesitation.

……

After asking around, Eric Bolton found Huairen Ward near the Jianchun Gate. Entering the ward, he asked an old man for directions. The old man pointed to a large locust tree ahead. “See that? Under that tree is Sanchun Alley. There’s only one family with the surname Wang in there—just go to the end!”

“Thank you!”

Eric Bolton cupped his fists in thanks to the old man and quickly made his way to the locust tree. It was a deep, narrow alley with about a dozen households. Eric Bolton walked all the way to the end, where there was a residence covering two or three mu. The surrounding courtyard walls were not high, made of rammed yellow earth, and the weathered, shabby gate had no eaves—a sign, it was said, of a commoner’s home.

Eric Bolton stepped forward and knocked. After a moment, the door opened a crack, revealing the face of a young man, a few years older than himself, a bit shorter, but still tall and sturdy.

“Who are you looking for?” The man’s voice was deep and strong, and he looked at Eric Bolton in puzzlement.

“Is this the home of Michael King?”

“I am he. And you are—?”

So this was the renowned Michael King. Eric Bolton quickly took a letter from his robe. “I am Eric Bolton, entrusted by another to deliver this letter.”

He handed the letter to Michael King, who was immediately shocked—it was a letter from James Lee. Wasn’t he already dead?

Michael King hurriedly opened the door and invited Eric Bolton into the courtyard. After closing the gate, he asked, “Where did you get this letter?”

“I rescued a gravely wounded man in Hongnong Commandery, but unfortunately, he succumbed to his injuries. With pursuers close behind, he entrusted me with this letter before he died. His name was James Lee, wasn’t it?”

Eric Bolton took out a leather pouch. “He also had some belongings. May I give them to you as well, Brother King?”

“Husband, who is it?”

A young woman, leading a boy of five or six, came out from a room. She was very pretty, dressed in a green, narrow-sleeved silk gown, a red shawl over her shoulders, a light layer of powder on her face, her jet-black hair like clouds, adorned with a gold hairpin, and several bright gold bracelets on her wrists. Although Michael King was plainly dressed in a cloth robe and flat cap, from his wife’s attire, it was clear the family was quite well-off.