Soon, someone brought yellow paper. It looked very rough, not as fine as white paper, but barely usable. Henry Brooks did not take it and instead asked, “Who usually handles interrogations more often?”

“Master, I do.” A thin, dark-skinned middle-aged man stepped forward. He was not tall, and his gaze was rather cold.

“You, come here. First, wet a sheet of paper and stick it on his face.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man responded, wetted the paper, and carefully stuck it onto the other’s face. The wet paper clung to the skin, cutting off air and vision. The assassin inexplicably began to feel uneasy, desperately blowing air in an attempt to dislodge the paper, but it was futile.

Henry Brooks said coldly, “Again!”

“Yes, sir!”

Soon, another sheet was applied, but the assassin was still stubborn, making muffled noises. After several sheets, his brain began to lack oxygen, his willpower weakened, and he desperately opened his mouth to try to breathe. Unfortunately, the air was blocked. Even pushing at the paper with his tongue was useless. This feeling of being unable to die yet unable to live was the most torturous, enough to drive a person mad.

Very soon, the suffocating sensation from lack of oxygen caused the assassin’s mind to collapse. His lungs felt like they were about to explode, his whole body seemed to be squeezed and kneaded by an invisible force. He longed for release but could not get it. Feelings of frustration, breakdown, and despair surged in his heart.

Quickly, a strong survival instinct overwhelmed him. The assassin shouted desperately, shaking his head wildly.

Seeing that it was about time, Henry Brooks ordered someone to tear off the paper.

The man gasped for breath, his face purplish-blue, like a fish that had jumped onto shore and was being scorched by the sun. The look of terror and despair on his face made everyone’s scalp tingle, and they too began to breathe heavily, as if they themselves were suffocating.

After a moment, Henry Brooks said coldly, “Speak, or do you want to try again?”

“I’ll talk… I’ll talk… We are the Wang family’s deathsworn.” The man’s eyes were full of fear, completely broken.

“Kill them all and hand them over to the authorities.”

Henry Brooks had already suspected as much; this was just confirmation. He left a sentence and turned to leave, his heart burning with anger, remembering this debt.

Edward Grant hurried after him and asked, “Master, shouldn’t we leave someone alive for His Majesty?”

“Just the words of an assassin are useless. The Wang family can easily deny they’re their people, or even turn the tables and accuse us of framing them, organize people to pressure His Majesty, and demand severe punishment for us. It would backfire. We’ll settle this score with the Wang family ourselves, no need to trouble His Majesty.” As Henry Brooks spoke, he drifted away. Since he didn’t want to get too involved with Li Er, he naturally wouldn’t take the initiative.

“But the Wang family is powerful. I’m afraid the Qin household alone…”

“Trust me!” Henry Brooks didn’t look back, walking farther and farther away.

“Yes, sir!”

Edward Grant bowed deeply, his eyes burning with excitement.

Not until Henry Brooks’s figure disappeared behind the courtyard gate did Edward Grant clench his fists, his eyes moist, unable to contain himself, muttering, “General, you have a worthy successor!”

Chapter 13: Teaching the Art of Tea Roasting

Early the next morning.

After a long absence, sunlight broke through the thick clouds, casting golden rays over Chang’an.

After receiving a report from someone sent by the Duke of Yi’s residence, the county magistrate of Chang’an quickly brought a group of officers, removed the bodies, and hurried away. News of a large group of deathsworn attacking the Duke of Yi’s residence spread like wildfire throughout Chang’an. Everyone passing by the residence couldn’t help but glance at the imposing mansion.

The tall stone lions, the heavy main gate, and especially the four gilded characters on the plaque—Duke of Yi’s Residence—made people’s expressions complex, filled with awe, even a bit of fanaticism. It was as if a primordial beast lurked behind the plaque, and no matter how many villains entered, none would come out alive. Mysterious and powerful.

With the chaos just settling, martial prowess was revered in the Tang Dynasty, and the strong were most respected. The Duke of Yi was gone, but his residence once again made people feel its might!

Henry Brooks paid no attention to the outside world’s reaction. He was organizing people to set up a large shed in the open area of the west courtyard, next to the smithy, and built a tea-roasting stove with three connected cauldrons. The cauldrons were set at a 25–30 degree angle. He also had people fetch bamboo to make several tea-roasting brooms, about a meter long, with one end of the bamboo about ten centimeters in diameter.

In his previous life, Henry Brooks had grown up in the countryside, watching adults roast tea since childhood, so he knew the method well.

But everyone else was puzzled. Seeing that Henry Brooks didn’t explain, no one dared to ask and just worked diligently.

In a day, the tea-roasting stove was finished. Henry Brooks asked Uncle Marshall to help forge the iron cauldrons. Iron cauldrons heat up quickly and distribute heat evenly, making them best for tea roasting, though they’re a bit troublesome to make. Uncle Marshall had never made them before, but under Henry Brooks’s direction, they worked through the night and cast them using the pouring method.

Perhaps because the assassins had been killed last time, no one came to attack that night. By early the next morning, six large iron cauldrons were ready. Three were placed directly on the tea-roasting stove, and the other three were set aside to be used after building three more stoves.

Once everything was ready, Henry Brooks pulled Edward Grant, who had been helping all along, aside and said seriously, “Uncle Grant, I’m about to start making tea. This craft is extremely important to our household and can bring in great wealth. It must not be leaked. I need about ten absolutely trustworthy women. Please help me select them.”

“Understood. I’ll arrange it right away.” Edward Grant’s pupils shrank, and he nodded solemnly before hurrying off.