After a while, he said to that one, “There’s a heavy sword in the East Sea weighing three hundred jin, just now you were holding it with both hands, Little Samuel, I think you’re not practicing swordsmanship, you’re forging iron.”

Sometimes he had to hold up both arms, running around to save Emily Thompson from the fire started by that troublemaker’s stick: “Stop messing around, stop it, hey, be careful not to poke your eye!”

…To call it “unbearable to look at” would be giving these little brats too much credit.

Young Master Bennett’s gaze swept around and finally landed on Henry Carter, lingering on that child for a few extra moments.

He was well aware of his own status as a playboy, but he believed that his mischief neither offended heaven nor harmed reason, and didn’t bother anyone, so he felt at ease, never repenting, and even escalating as his mood dictated.

At the same time, Young Master Bennett also admitted that he was a bit shallow—he was very self-aware, knowing that he had neither “learning” nor “character,” and since he himself lacked both, he didn’t demand them from others. Thus, Charles Bennett’s likes and dislikes toward people naturally boiled down to just one thing: “looks.”

By this standard, people like Samuel Foster were, in his eyes, utterly unforgivable.

“Judging people by their looks” was Charles Bennett’s ironclad principle, and he only made exceptions for two people: his master, and Emily Thompson.

Even though his master looked like a villain, Young Master Bennett had trained under him for eight years, practically raised by him, so he was emotionally close and willing to overlook this flaw.

As for Emily Thompson… even if Emily Thompson looked decent, Charles Bennett still decided to be mortal enemies with him—he was just too much of a scoundrel.

As for Henry Carter, Charles Bennett actually found him quite pleasing to the eye; otherwise, he wouldn’t have given him candy like a blossoming iron tree the moment they met—unfortunately, his third junior didn’t appreciate it.

Of course, this “pleasing to the eye” was very limited. After all, Henry Carter was still young; whether he’d grow up handsome or ugly was yet to be seen, and it wasn’t enough for Young Master Bennett to be interested in watching a little kid wave a wooden stick.

The courtyard full of junior brothers raised by their master were making a ruckus, running about. Charles Bennett, with nothing to do, idly held his wooden sword, standing grandly to the side, lost in thought about his own stagnant progress.

Charles Bennett had been practicing swordsmanship under his master for almost eight years, and had only barely reached the third form of the Fuyao Wooden Sword.

Although the opening move, when demonstrated by his master, looked like a set of calisthenics for middle-aged and elderly people, the sword technique itself was not laughable.

Charles Bennett was not an ignorant beggar like Samuel Foster; before joining the Fuyao Sect, his family had hired the best swordsmanship teachers for him. Even if he wasn’t a diligent student, his eyes weren’t blind.

The Fuyao Wooden Sword had five forms in total: “Boundless Prospects,” “Seeking High and Low,” “Things Go Contrary to One’s Wishes,” “Flourishing then Declining,” and “Returning to Simplicity.” Each form had twenty-five moves, countless variations. As he grew older over the years, Charles Bennett sometimes felt as if this sword technique encompassed all the wonders of the world; pausing at any point, he could imagine endless possibilities.

But his master never explained any of this. The old man would only shakily demonstrate the basic moves, leaving everything else to be figured out on one’s own.

Many times, Charles Bennett wanted to ask why he wouldn’t break down and explain those exquisite moves, but without exception, the old weasel would play dumb and brush him off.

Charles Bennett pondered for a while, then stood up and tried to go through the third form, “Things Go Contrary to One’s Wishes.”

To be honest, it wasn’t very glorious—even though he neither pursued scholarly achievement nor martial prowess and was generally lazy, he’d been stuck on this form for two whole years, which was a bit embarrassing.

The name “Things Go Contrary to One’s Wishes”—whoever came up with it—was truly apt. No matter how many times he corrected himself, he just couldn’t figure out where he was stuck; that awkward feeling lingered in every move.

Charles Bennett stopped halfway through his practice, frowning at his wooden sword.

The waiting young Daoist boys and maids hurried over, some fanning him, some wiping his sweat.

Unfortunately, this time their flattery backfired. Young Master had hit a bottleneck in his sword practice and was already irritable; this group of fools only made it harder for him to grasp that fleeting inspiration.

He suddenly waved his hand and snapped harshly, “All of you, get out of here! Don’t get in the way! From now on, when I’m practicing swordsmanship, you’re not allowed to come over!”

The maid Little Grace timidly asked, “Young Master, is this a new rule?”

Where did this come from? It was just that Young Master Bennett, bored and with nothing better to do, had made up a bunch of “rules”—like clothes and shoes must be the same color, when to come and comb his hair, how many times a day the study desk must be wiped, not speaking before drinking a cup of his favorite cool tea in the morning… and so on, all self-invented.

Anyone with less than a good memory probably couldn’t keep up; even the emperor might not have as many quirks as he did.

Young Master Bennett’s face hadn’t softened yet; as soon as his lips met, a new rule was freshly issued: “From now on, when I’m practicing swordsmanship, unless I call for you, don’t come over and crowd around, making a scene.”

Henry Carter, who unfortunately overheard this, was startled—he hadn’t expected Senior William to even know what “making a scene” meant.