Charles Brooks was thoroughly satisfied, finally stepping onto the stool and boarding the carriage.

But what he did next left many people utterly stunned.

Charles Brooks turned around, reached out his hand, and smiled at Henry Foster.

“It’s lonely for me to ride alone. Reader Foster, you’ve accompanied me all this way—let’s finish this last stretch together as ruler and minister!” Charles Brooks extended his hand, and Henry Foster, still in a daze, followed him up, completely oblivious to the predatory stares from the assembled officials!

Once Henry Foster was seated, it was a while before the carriage slowly began to move.

Outside, cavalry cleared the way, and the sound of drums and music filled the air.

Henry Foster finally snapped out of his stupor!

My goodness!

Riding as a companion!

He was actually being treated as a companion in the imperial carriage!

Charles Brooks, you really are out of your mind!

There’s no such thing as sitting in the middle of the carriage; it’s always the left seat that’s honored, with the emperor sitting on the left, just as Charles Brooks was now—grand and proud, brimming with self-satisfaction.

The right seat couldn’t be left empty either. On the battlefield, it was usually reserved for the most loyal and valiant general, riding with the Son of Heaven to protect the emperor’s safety.

For example, the famous charioteer of the Western Han, Xiahou Ying, did just that—not only protecting Liu Bang, but also worrying himself sick for the Liu family for two generations, even to the point of tossing his own son aside.

In times of peace, to ride with the emperor became an honor reserved for the most important ministers.

If you weren’t one of the top figures, you had no right to sit there.

Especially since this was Charles Brooks’s first time entering the capital to ascend the throne, the significance was extraordinary.

Ideally, it should have been James Young sitting here; at the very least, Samuel Grant or Stephen Mason should have been arranged, to highlight their contributions in supporting the new emperor.

Ruler and ministers in harmony, all joy and unity.

That would have been perfect!

But instead, Charles Brooks chose Henry Foster, and even his reason was irrefutable. They had traveled together all this way, and now, with only the final stretch left, it was only natural to finish together.

Such words led to endless speculation—could it be that, in the emperor’s heart, only Henry Foster was worthy of being called the chief architect of his ascension?

Could it be that Grand Secretary James Young had actually backed the wrong horse?

The officials outside let their imaginations run wild, speculating about all sorts of profound reasons, but the truth was much simpler.

“Let you laugh at me, will you! Even though you didn’t say it, I saw it! I’m pulling you up here—let’s see what you’ll do now!”

Charles Brooks thought indignantly. As it turned out, Henry Foster was even worse than he’d expected; just being made a companion had left him blushing and at a complete loss.

If he gave him any more to handle, he’d probably scare the kid to death!

Useless!

As Charles Brooks was thinking this, the carriage suddenly stopped.

Had they reached the capital?

Charles Brooks looked puzzled. At that moment, Grand Secretary Samuel Grant and Minister of Rites Stephen Mason approached the carriage.

“Your Majesty, it is now necessary to send an official to the Imperial Ancestral Temple to pay respects to the ancestors,” Samuel Grant said, making it clear that this was Stephen Mason’s job!

Chapter 10: I Want to Grant Some Titles

Although Henry Foster was excited, he hadn’t been so overwhelmed by the honor of being a companion that he lost his wits; his mind was still working. Going to the Imperial Ancestral Temple to inform the ancestors of the Zhu family was only natural.

But the problem was, he really couldn’t go. Not only did he not understand the complex rituals, but he probably couldn’t even read the flowery, archaic ceremonial texts.

This wasn’t Henry Foster underestimating himself—it was just the way the Ministry of Rites operated.

Even the usual sacrificial texts were full of obscure characters, and this occasion was even more important, so of course they wouldn’t miss the chance to show off. Henry Foster was almost certain that if he went, he’d make a fool of himself—he might even earn the nickname “the illiterate Reader-in-Waiting.”

He understood this perfectly, but unfortunately, Charles Brooks had his eye on him.

“Wang... Reader-in-Waiting, Grand Secretary Grant said there aren’t many people at my side. Don’t you think you should…” Charles Brooks dragged out his words, not naming names, but the implication was obvious.

Henry Foster was sweating at the temples—anyone but him!

Who could he get to take the fall?

Stephen Mason was out of the question, and Samuel Grant was even less likely. Charles Brooks was so unpredictable that a single wrong word could make him take it out on you—the Zhu family was just too hard to please.

Henry Foster grumbled inwardly, his mind racing, when suddenly inspiration struck—he thought of the perfect candidate!

“Your Majesty, I believe none would be more suitable than Philip Clark, Old Clark!”

As soon as he said Old Yuan’s name, Henry Foster secretly breathed a sigh of relief. At least there was an elder to take the lead—otherwise, he’d be in real trouble.

When he heard the teacher’s name, Charles Brooks paused, then smiled playfully. “Indeed, there’s no one more suitable than Master.” At last, he didn’t force Henry Foster to go.

But even so, it was already absurd enough. The Jiangxi Surveillance Commissioner, Philip Clark, in front of the officials from the Grand Secretariat, Ministry of Rites, Court of Diplomatic Reception, Hanlin Academy, Imperial Academy, and the Office of the Imperial Household, would go to the Imperial Ancestral Temple to read the sacrificial text on behalf of the new emperor.

Someone with the least qualifications had leapfrogged countless possible candidates to take on this glorious task. The officials from the Ministry of Rites and the Hanlin scholars were all rolling their eyes in exasperation.

The only one who might feel a bit comforted was Grand Secretary Samuel Grant.

As unqualified as Philip Clark was, he was still a jinshi and a high-ranking official. If he were passed over and that Reader Foster was sent to the Ancestral Temple, that would be the biggest joke in the world!

Don’t doubt it—Charles Brooks really was capable of doing just that.