“It’s not heroic to compromise; only those who never waver are true men! Henry Clark, remember this: once a person becomes adaptable and opportunistic, they lose their resolve.”

Henry Clark nodded. He didn’t want to ask whether it was really worth it for Mr. Steward to spend a lifetime guarding a tomb for a dead man.

Even if that man was the First Emperor, he had no right to keep controlling a group of people for his own use after death.

Of course, that was his own opinion; Mr. Steward, on the other hand, regarded his own persistence as a kind of honor.

This fit perfectly with the values of people in this era—like Boyi and Shuqi refusing to eat Zhou grain, or the five hundred loyal warriors of Tian Heng who guarded a lonely island until they finally took their own lives. As for the cruel loyalty of the Orphan of Zhao, it was exactly the kind of thing people like Mr. Steward aspired to.

During these days when he couldn’t move, Henry Clark thought about many things: Mr. Steward’s revealed identity, and the lush, towering mound across from the stone house. If he still couldn’t guess that it was the Mausoleum of the First Qin Emperor, he’d be a fool.

After all, with mountains to the south and water surrounding the east, west, and north, the “mountain-backed, water-surrounded” terrain was the main geographical feature of the First Emperor’s tomb.

He was sizing up Mr. Steward, and he believed Mr. Steward was sizing him up as well. Henry Clark didn’t trust someone he’d just met, and surely Mr. Steward wouldn’t trust him too much either.

Even now, Henry Clark suspected that from the very first day he appeared in this world, Mr. Steward must have noticed his presence.

Otherwise, there was no way to explain how someone who couldn’t move had survived alone on the wilderness for three days.

In his whole life, Henry Clark had never had much luck, so he never believed in coincidences.

Chapter Eight: Life and Death? Just a Trivial Matter!

Mr. Steward could kill a man over a ragged piece of clothing without a second thought. This showed there were plenty of people around here; if he wanted, he wouldn’t lack for a Mr. Steward of the fifth generation.

Unless his own appearance was so astonishing that Mr. Steward simply couldn’t explain it.

In this era, things that couldn’t be explained were usually called miracles!

Mr. Steward sat motionless atop the high cliff, staring blankly at the lush, towering hill across the way. Who knew if he was mourning his king.

Henry Clark had no king to mourn, so he could only keep playing with the tiger’s big paw.

It was strange—the tiger’s paw wasn’t as hard as he’d imagined, but rather soft and squishy, especially the pads on its feet. If you pressed them lightly, the sharp claws would pop out from inside.

The tiger’s huge mouth was right above Henry Clark’s head. Occasionally, it would yawn, as if it wanted to swallow Henry Clark’s head whole.

The tiger’s mouth was very clean, with no strange smell. Henry Clark had been especially diligent today, cleaning it with salt water—though the tiger had swallowed the rinse water.

The doe lay beside the tiger’s belly. If things kept going like this, Henry Clark felt they might develop an interspecies romance.

Mr. Steward’s coughing echoed far into the night… so tragic and heroic. Probably only Mr. Steward could make a cough sound so full of pathos.

“Tomorrow, can I go patrol the mountain with you?” Henry Clark was still young, and couldn’t help but speak first.

Mr. Steward turned around, his eyes bright, as if recalling something. He shook his head and smiled, “No need. Why do you suddenly want to come with me?”

Henry Clark draped a piece of hide over Mr. Steward’s shoulders and said, “I’m afraid you won’t come back tomorrow. No matter what, if I’m here, I can at least pick a good burial spot for you and bury you. There are too many wild beasts here.”

Mr. Steward looked at Henry Clark seriously and said, “No need. When I’m truly useless, I’ll hand over the patrol to you. For now, it’s not necessary. Life and death—just trivial matters.”

Henry Clark nodded and continued leaning against the tiger’s neck, playing with its paw.

“How did you tame the tiger? Does it have a name?”

“A tiger is a tiger—why would it need a name? I found it as a cub, and after it grew up, it started patrolling the mountain with me.”

“Look, there’s a ‘king’ character on its forehead. Can I call it ‘Great King’?”

Mr. Steward’s gaze turned a bit sharp. After a long pause, he slowly said, “It is the king of beasts, after all. Calling it ‘Great King’ is not inappropriate.”

Henry Clark acted as if he hadn’t noticed Mr. Steward’s change in expression, affectionately rubbing his head against the tiger’s and laughing, “Great King, Great King!”

The tiger didn’t react, but Mr. Steward’s fist clenched a little tighter.

“I need an iron knife. Can you get one for me?”

“Iron knives are too soft—what do you want one for? Don’t you already have a bronze knife?”

Henry Clark laughed, “The reason you think iron knives are soft is simply because you don’t know how to forge them. In my homeland, everyone uses iron knives—they’re incredibly sharp. If you can get me an anvil and a hammer, I can forge that kind of sharp iron knife myself.”

Mr. Steward’s face faded into the darkness, so Henry Clark couldn’t see his expression. Only Mr. Steward’s calm voice drifted over: “I’ll see if I can find one. I don’t know if there is.”

A wisp of blue mist slowly rose from the foot of the cliff, about to engulf the platform in front of the stone house.

Mr. Steward’s robe was thin and not very warm, but Henry Clark didn’t dare urge him to go back and rest. He could only take the tiger and the doe and return to the stone house first.