“It is said to be a relic from the cave of a certain pre-Qin alchemist in Kunlun. I have examined the sword carefully; it is indeed special, but as I do not understand the art of forging, I cannot say exactly how. In my humble opinion, such a divine weapon should be claimed by the court as a national treasure. If it is auctioned off and falls into the hands of a powerful noble family, it would be detrimental to the court.”

“That makes sense, but?” John Thompson looked troubled. Participating in the auction would be a hassle; if the state treasury is used, the ministers would argue endlessly. Using the inner palace funds? Well, there’s no money in the inner palace, and frugality is still being practiced in the palace. Calling in favors is out of the question—after all, the court has yet to take a stance on the attack against Henry Brooks, and John Thompson cannot bring himself to do so.

Samuel Thompson had already considered many things before coming. He respectfully said, “Your Majesty, my family still has some savings. I am willing to purchase the divine weapon and present it to Your Majesty, to do my part as a subject.”

“Brother, you are thoughtful!” John Thompson said with a smile, even changing his form of address to show closeness.

“To be able to share Your Majesty’s burdens is my greatest wish. With that, I take my leave.”

John Thompson watched Samuel Thompson depart, his brows tightly knit. As a renowned general of the imperial clan who conquered most of the Tang territory, Samuel Thompson indeed has achievements that could overshadow the throne. He indulges in pleasure and debauchery daily to sully his own name and dispel suspicion. This time, his willingness to spend his wealth to purchase and present the divine weapon is, in a way, both an act of self-preservation and loyalty.

As a ruler who values and cherishes talent, John Thompson very much wants to put Samuel Thompson to good use, but the risks are too great.

Apprehension and appreciation—these two emotions left John Thompson in a dilemma.

After a moment’s contemplation, John Thompson, while flipping through documents, said coldly, “Secret Guard, investigate this matter thoroughly!”

“At your command!”

A shadow darted away from an inconspicuous corner.

……

Inside the main hall of the Wang family residence in Chang’an.

The family head, George Thompson, currently the Minister of Rites, stared coldly at the man before him and said icily, “Are you sure you saw the Xuan Bird emblem on the sword with your own eyes?”

“Father, I did not see it myself, but the manager of the Cui family’s weapon shop, along with several servants and onlookers, all witnessed it. It can’t be fake. That old scoundrel Samuel Thompson will definitely participate in the auction. If he gets it, the divine weapon engraved with the Xuan Bird totem will be reduced to a mere tool for slaughtering chickens and sheep, tarnishing the Wang family’s reputation. This is no longer a matter of money, but of the Wang family’s honor. Besides, the weapon is extraordinary and could serve as our clan’s treasure.”

“My son, you are right, but this is clearly a plot to entrap our Wang family.”

“Most likely, but using our family totem as a ploy is an open scheme. Even knowing it’s a trap, we have no choice but to act, or else the Wang family will become a laughingstock throughout the land.”

“This one is even more troublesome than that brute Qin Qiong—he understands how to strike at the heart. What do you intend to do?”

“Send deathsworn to infiltrate and retrieve the divine weapon. If that fails, kill him to eliminate future trouble. The Wang family cannot be insulted. We cannot fail again this time. Also, prepare funds to participate in the auction, just in case. There are still three days left—enough to plan everything!”

“Good!”

A cold glint flashed repeatedly in George Thompson’s eyes, like an old fox lying in wait.

Chapter 6: Who Is the Yellow Sparrow

The moonlight was cold and clear.

A gentle night breeze rustled the leaves in the dim courtyard of the Duke of Yi’s residence. A few crickets chirped impatiently, adding a strange sense of murderous tension to the quiet and desolate night.

Moonlight slipped through the window lattice into the bedroom, falling on the wide bed. The gauze canopy swayed in the breeze. Henry Brooks lay down fully clothed, eyes closed, resting and regulating his breath, calm and steady, but holding the sword in his arms.

The candlelight was tranquil and silent.

Clang!

Suddenly, a faint sound rang out—dull and brief, like a clay jar being knocked over by something.

Henry Brooks’s eyes snapped open, sharp and alert. A cold smile curled at his lips as he murmured softly, “As expected, someone couldn’t hold back and took the bait.”

He had anticipated that showing off the sword during the day would draw someone in. The only question was whether it would be the Wang family or some other greedy party. But it didn’t matter—whoever came was an enemy.

And if they were an enemy, it was a fight to the death!

In the next moment, Henry Brooks got up, quickly pressed the pillow down with the quilt to fake someone sleeping, then rolled under the bed, sword drawn and ready.

Ever since arriving in this world, he had discovered someone wanted to harm him. As a soldier, how could he not be prepared? He had already set traps around the courtyard, marking it as forbidden ground. The only one allowed in was Helen, and she had a fixed route. Besides, Helen should be asleep by now. No one would come except an assassin.

All around was silent, so quiet it was stifling.

But the sensitive crickets had stopped chirping!

Henry Brooks had once lain in ambush in enemy territory for three days and nights, assassinated his target, and left unscathed. Patience was his strong suit. His breathing was long, slow, and silent, blending into his surroundings, but his ears were alert.

Pfft—

Before long, a barely perceptible sound was heard.

Immediately after, a shadow slipped in through the window, agile as a night-prowling cat. In a flash, it darted to the bed and stabbed a short dagger fiercely into the bedding—decisive, ruthless, and efficient. Clearly a professional.

Almost simultaneously, Henry Brooks struck, his sword slashing down like lightning.

“Slash!” A sound.

The sword severed one of the intruder’s legs and wounded the other. The killer grunted and fell, but instead of calling for help, he drew his dagger across his own throat.