“Already purchased a thousand jin of fresh tea. Because the purchase volume is large, I negotiated with the tea merchants for one wen per jin. We’ll continue purchasing tomorrow, but the total stock in Chang’an is not much, so we’ll need to bring in more from outside.”

　　Tea in the Tang Dynasty was a luxury item reserved for nobles, wealthy merchants, scholars, and refined gentlemen. Ordinary people wouldn’t buy it, so the market supply was limited and the price was relatively high. Fresh tea refers to newly picked tea leaves, still full of moisture. One wen per jin is not cheap—equivalent to about ten yuan in modern times.

　　After frying, one jin of fresh tea yields less than one liang; ten jin of fresh tea makes one jin of finished tea. After processing, one jin of tea is worth over a hundred yuan in modern terms, while in modern times, ordinary tea can be bought for just a few dozen yuan per jin.

　　But Henry Brooks was confident that after processing, the profit per jin would be tenfold, or even higher. He instructed, “Increase the purchasing efforts. Also, how’s the negotiation for the tea mountain going?”

　　“I’ve inquired. There are two barren mountains toward the Qinling direction, nearly ten thousand mu in total, about half a day’s ride from Chang’an. There are quite a few ancient tea trees on them, but no one manages them. The place is overgrown with weeds, making picking difficult, and the roads are hard to travel.”

　　But as soon as Henry Brooks heard “nearly ten thousand mu,” his eyes lit up. Once acquired, not only could he pick tea leaves there, but he could also use the ecological environment for breeding livestock—free-range style—and combine it with hunting for absolute profit. He immediately instructed, “Uncle Grant, take a few people tomorrow to check it out in person. Don’t alert anyone. We’ll take it over in a few days.”

　　“Yes, sir!”

　　After dinner, Henry Brooks gathered the guards, redeployed them, defined patrol areas, routes, and times, and set up secret signals. Then he took Paul Rogers to the backyard and instructed, “We probably won’t get any sleep tonight. If enemies break in, you’ll handle them head-on, and I’ll support you from the shadows. Don’t let a single one escape.”

　　“Alright! Then I’ll practice with my spear in the yard to pass the time.” Paul Rogers agreed, went to the courtyard, picked up his tiger-head spear, and began to swing it around. Mark Rogers and William Brooks were cousins and had taught each other their martial arts. Mark Rogers knew the Qin family mace and spear techniques, and William Brooks also knew the Luo family spear. Henry Brooks had also learned the Luo family spear.

　　Seeing Paul Rogers’s mastery of the Luo family spear—his strength, speed, angles, and feel were all excellent—Henry Brooks felt a bit emotional. This guy truly deserved to be called a martial arts fanatic. He didn’t disturb him, took back his crossbow, found a hidden spot to stash it, and waited in full alert.

　　Time ticked by, second by second. All around was silent.

　　Once Paul Rogers started practicing, he entered a state of total absorption, unaware of the passage of time or any fatigue.

　　In the dead of night, figures suddenly descended from above, each wearing a mask, eyes cold and murderous intent thick in the air. They surrounded Paul Rogers. Paul Rogers snorted disdainfully, pulled back his spear, and stared at them, saying, “You’re finally here. I’ve been waiting for you. Come at me together!”

　　His tone was domineering, confident, and eager for battle!

　　Henry Brooks saw that people had really come. Although he was mentally prepared, he was still furious—these people were truly arrogant. A rough count showed more than thirty of them. He raised his crossbow and aimed. No matter who they were, he’d kill first and ask questions later.

　　One person stepped forward and said coldly, “You’re not... Who are you?”

　　“Someone waiting to kill you.”

　　“Arrogant! Bring out your master. As long as you hand over the treasured sword, we’ll spare your life. Otherwise, not a single soul in this residence will survive the night.”

　　Paul Rogers was never one for idle talk, and now he was even less inclined to waste words. He flicked his spear and lunged at the opponent with a chilling whoosh, roaring, “Kill—”

　　“Courting death! Kill him!” The other side was enraged too, brandishing their blades and charging in.

　　The rest also attacked fiercely, cold, ruthless, and decisive!

　　Henry Brooks could tell these were all seasoned fighters, but he also wanted to see just how strong Paul Rogers really was, so he watched intently. He saw Paul Rogers sweep aside two attackers, then suddenly thrust his spear backward like a giant python striking, running one man clean through—a brilliant “returning horse spear” move!

　　“It’s the Luo family spear technique! Kill him!” the leader cried out in alarm.

　　The others immediately attacked even more ferociously, but Paul Rogers’s spear technique was cunning and domineering, able to strike from a distance or up close. In an instant, he knocked down two or three people, not giving anyone a chance to get close, holding the line firmly. Henry Brooks stopped watching—after all, Paul Rogers was still just a youth—and decisively joined the fight.

　　“Whoosh!”

　　An arrow shot out like a streak of black light, piercing through a man’s neck.

　　Everyone’s attention was on Paul Rogers. With the arrow silent and the attack sudden, no one noticed. They all assumed Paul Rogers had killed the man and attacked even more desperately, but were beaten back by Paul Rogers’s sweeping spear.

　　“Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!”

　　Three more arrows flew out in succession, like vipers striking from the darkness, instantly hitting three targets in their vital spots. They collapsed to the ground, out of the fight.

　　“Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!”

　　A series of short arrows launched silent sneak attacks, this time hitting three men in the thigh—not fatal, but crippling.

　　In an instant, seven men were down!

　　The others finally reacted, but instead of retreating, they fought like crazed demons, charging in fearlessly. But Paul Rogers didn’t falter at all, his spearwork reaching a level of mastery—thrusting out several spear shadows in an instant. Each shadow was real, but so fast that only the afterimages could be seen.

　　“Puff! Puff! Puff!”