This filled Mr. Steward's face with surprise.

If Henry Clark were asked to write other things in clerical script, large seal script, or small seal script, he naturally wouldn’t be able to. But when it came to names... he had practiced before.

“Henry Clark? You can read?”

Henry Clark smiled shyly and said, “Only when it comes to names.”

Mr. Steward said seriously, “Being able to write your own name already makes you a scholar.”

“Huh?”

Mr. Steward smiled and said, “To be able to write your own name—across the world, that’s one in ten thousand. Your Yun surname comes from the Jinyun clan, descendants of the Xia officials in the time of the Yellow Emperor, taking the official title as the surname. That’s much more distinguished than my Wu surname. I see you hold the brush skillfully—though it’s a bit odd, you handle it with ease. Looks like I’ve found a treasure.”

After saying this, Mr. Steward picked up a branch and wrote the three characters for the First Emperor in large seal script, small seal script, and clerical script on the sand table, teaching Henry Clark to recite them word by word until the pronunciation was correct. Only then did he take the tiger and leave the stone house to continue patrolling his forbidden grounds.

As soon as Mr. Steward left, Henry Clark led the sika deer out of the stone house.

Outside, the sun was bright and the autumn morning was cool. Especially since Henry Clark was wearing only a thin single-layer garment, he felt even more uncomfortable.

Having suffered greatly, he now knew to cherish his body. Henry Clark didn’t want this newly acquired body to suffer again, so he decided to turn that bearskin into a suitable garment for warmth.

Most importantly, he really wanted a proper pair of shoes. When Mr. Steward brought him clothes, there were no shoes—probably not because he forgot, but because the person he killed didn’t have any shoes to begin with.

After searching the stone house, he finally found a needle. Looking at this iron needle, which was barely smaller than an awl, Henry Clark curled his lip in disdain. This thing would be great for sewing burlap sacks, but for making clothes, it was really...

Still, since he was in the Han dynasty, there was nothing strange about it. Even old ladies in the Tang dynasty ground iron rods into needles, so this very sharp awl should make a pretty good tool for sewing clothes.

Chapter 7: Dressing as Etiquette?

A large bundle of hemp hung on the wall. Henry Clark groaned softly, pulled down a thick strand of hemp, skillfully split it, then divided it into a dozen fine strands. He placed them on a wooden board and pounded them hard with a wooden mallet.

Only when the hemp fibers became soft did he find a stick, tie a stone to the end, and start twisting hemp rope.

Just this task alone took him a full hour. Holding the large bundle of fine hemp thread wound around the stick, he was filled with emotion.

The dead man’s clothes that Mr. Steward brought were also made of hemp—wearing them felt like being scraped with a file, which was torture for Henry Clark's delicate skin.

Even so, the garment had already been worn by the deceased for a long time and was full of holes and worn thin.

On top of that, due to Henry Clark's obsession with cleanliness, he had boiled the ragged garment in a clay pot for three whole days.

The bearskin, on the other hand, was beautiful. With a gentle blow, the thick fur would ripple in waves—it was top-quality hide.

Henry Clark had a small knife. According to Mr. Steward, every Qin person should have a knife: for eating meat when nothing’s happening, and for killing when something is.

This saying revealed the aggressive mindset of the old Qin people—they never had a concept of defense.

During the just-ended Qin Empire era, they were always on the offensive.

Knives were for expanding territory—otherwise, why sharpen them?

In reality, Henry Clark's little knife wasn’t sharp at all. How sharp could a bronze knife be?

Even if it was sharp, after cutting bearskin for a while, the blade would become blunt and rounded. Henry Clark had to cut a few times, then grind the knife hard on a stone to keep it sharp.

Henry Clark had never imagined that sewing a piece of clothing could be so difficult.

In the past, as an orphan, he had done plenty of such handiwork. Even at his clumsiest, he was much more efficient than he was now.

While Henry Clark was struggling with the animal hide, the tiger, as usual, burst out from behind a big rock with a gust of wind, perched atop the high stone, and kept exhaling hot breath with its mouth wide open.

The useless doe bleated and dove into Henry Clark's arms, making it impossible for him to focus on sewing.

His clothes were in tatters, and Henry Clark was completely naked—naturally, he didn’t want to climb rocks with his bare bottom.

But after waiting a while, the silly tiger was still sitting on the rock panting, and Mr. Steward didn’t appear from behind the stone. This made him a bit worried.

Without Mr. Steward, Henry Clark wasn’t sure he could survive alone in this desolate place.

After all, he was now soft and tender—he must taste delicious, nothing like the charred look he had when he first arrived.

Tying the half-finished bearskin pants around his waist, Henry Clark climbed up the big rock with effort, hugged the tiger’s head, and looked down the path.

The little mountain path was empty. The tiger had just passed by, and not even a mischievous squirrel was in sight.

“He’s not in trouble, is he?” Henry Clark asked the tiger instinctively.

The tiger, of course, ignored him, keeping its gaze fixed on the doe that wanted to jump onto the rock to seek Henry Clark's protection.