Brian Clark was in a state of "heard of it, familiar with it, but don't understand it" when it came to this kind of socialist brotherhood. He was also very unfamiliar with the two main characters in the book, but after sending someone to inquire, he found that so far, neither of the protagonists had shown any signs of liking men.

Brian Clark washed his face, took the towel to wipe off the water, and casually asked, "Is there also a Nanfeng Hall in the capital?"

Samuel Grant took the towel from His Majesty's hand and replied, "There is, and I hear there are quite a few."

Brian Clark smiled. No wonder after his death, Owen Reed only became a regent.

Both protagonists in the book are men, and neither is the kind of man in Nanfeng Hall who can be toyed with at will. Owen Reed left no heirs, and without heirs, what's the point of taking the throne?

Presumably, after his death, the future regent could only support a puppet emperor from among the imperial clan. As long as the successor is smart enough, patient enough, and able to endure, there might still be a chance to rise to power.

Standing to the side, Samuel Grant watched the smile at the corner of His Majesty's lips, his mind racing with speculation.

His Majesty suddenly asked about Nanfeng Hall—could it be that His Majesty also wanted to favor men?

But in the entire capital, who could possibly be worthy of receiving the emperor's favor?

His Majesty is so noble, the people of Nanfeng Hall could never be allowed to see him.

Samuel Grant's mind spun round and round, and suddenly settled on a person with an ethereal, otherworldly air.

The son of Chu Langzhong of the Ministry of Rites, fifth rank: Adam Brooks.

*

As the Lantern Festival feast approached, the palace was under strict guard. The thief who claimed to be a flower thief was subjected to severe interrogation, and after two days finally confessed. The interrogators came to report this matter to Brian Clark.

"The thief is willing to talk, but only wants to see His Majesty one more time."

The interrogator said, "I suspect this person harbors ulterior motives. I ask Your Majesty to decide whether to see him or not."

Today, His Majesty had changed into a slightly thinner indigo cloak. The heavy color draped over him made his skin look as white as snow. Upon hearing this, he nodded in agreement: "Bring him up. I want to see what he has to say."

After a while, someone carried the assassin in. Since he was to be brought before the emperor, they had specially washed the bloodstains from his body. His prison clothes were clean, but there was still a strong smell of blood.

Brian Clark stepped forward and stood not far away. "What do you want to confess to me?"

The assassin had been interrogated for two days. Hair stuck to his face, he was pale from blood loss, his lips were cracked, and his eyes were bloodshot. The exposed fingers were covered in wounds, one after another, but his eyes were especially bright.

Weakly, he said, "If I tell you, will Your Majesty let me go?"

The assassin struggled to look in Brian Clark's direction. After seeing the emperor clearly, his bloodless, haggard face slowly flushed red.

Brian Clark smiled at his words. "If you tell me, I will send the person behind the scenes to the underworld with you."

The assassin, feeling wronged, said, "Your Majesty, please see clearly, there really is no one behind me."

Brian Clark was about to speak when a tickle rose in his throat. He turned slightly and coughed into his hand.

For a moment, the only sound in the entire palace was his low cough. The assassin looked up and saw the young emperor coughing until the corners of his eyes were wet.

The emperor who had tormented him so harshly for two days, the ruler of the world who could look at his miserable state without changing expression, was now tearing up from a mere cough. Thinking of this, the assassin felt an even deeper itch in his heart, as if a feather were gently tickling him.

The assassin said sincerely, "Your Majesty, you really should let me go soon."

Brian Clark let out a cold laugh, his voice a bit hoarse from the earlier coughing. "You still dare to threaten me?"

The assassin shook his head. "No, it's just that if you don't let me go soon, my father will break both my legs."

Samuel Grant pinched his throat and snorted coldly. "Who is your father?"

The assassin grinned. "My father is David Smith. I'm the youngest in my family, surname Li, given name Charles."

The hall fell silent. Brian Clark suddenly stepped forward, his face dark as he walked to the assassin's side, squatted down, and grabbed the assassin's chin. "So you're my Grand Tutor's youngest son?!"

Samuel Grant couldn't hide his shock. He stared at the assassin in disbelief—this was... this was actually the son of the former Crown Prince's Grand Tutor, David Smith?

The assassin had been beaten nearly half to death. He lowered his eyes to look at the emperor's fingers gripping his chin, the fingertips white from the force, showing just how angry His Majesty was. The assassin gave a bitter smile and said, "I made a big mistake myself, so I let Your Majesty punish me for two days. These injuries won't heal in less than a year or so. If Your Majesty's anger is appeased, I beg you, for the sake of my voluntary confession, to spare my worthless life."

Brian Clark let go of him, his expression uncertain.

The assassin said miserably, "If Your Majesty is still angry, then at least allow me to go home and report to my father. My father is already seventy years old and can't take a fright. After I report back, Your Majesty can punish me as you see fit."

It was precisely for this reason that Brian Clark could not summon David Smith to the palace to confess his crimes.

He should be made to confess, but if he were to die, this old gentleman, so highly respected and with students all over the land, could not be allowed to die under the emperor's wrath, no matter where it happened.