The sunlight poured into the small house, slipping gently through the woven wooden walls—old, weakened by time, yet still holding together. The morning light drifted through the air, revealing floating specks of dust like fragments of time itself. Chen Lin opened her eyes, her eyelids still heavy but forced awake by the weight of daily responsibilities. She sat up from her bed and glanced at Zhao Long's sleeping face—his breathing steady, peaceful, as if he lived in a world without burdens. Moving carefully, she rose and stepped out of the room, her clothes brushing softly against her as she walked.
She headed toward the room where Zhao Xiao slept. The smell of old wood and lingering cold from the night still filled the air. Chen Lin lightly tapped her husband's shoulder.
"Wake up," she said softly, but her voice carried a firmness that could not be argued with. "Remember you have work today."
Even when quiet, her tone carried the discipline of a hard village life—where work was not a choice, but the breath that kept a family alive.
She did not wait for his response. She left the room like a shadow long accustomed to its routine. In the small kitchen, warm from last night's embers, she prepared her husband's lunch. She cleaned the large leaves, then filled them with rice, simple vegetables, and a bit of protein—just enough to give strength. Her hands moved skillfully, but her eyes held caution; the world had never been gentle, and every day was an unseen trial.
Zhao Xiao finally woke. With a tired expression, as though carrying an invisible burden, he walked to the bathroom. The sound of splashing water soon filled the house—loud but steady, marking the rhythm of common folk who kept moving even when the world above them shook with unseen forces.
The sound seeped into Zhao Long's room, waking the child. He opened his eyes slowly, barely slits resisting the morning light. With a sluggish gait, his small body left the room and made its way to the kitchen. He dragged a chair toward the table, climbed onto it, and then immediately collapsed face-first on the surface—falling asleep again like a cloth doll that had run out of energy.
Chen Lin glanced at him. Her expression softened, and a thin smile curled at her lips.
"Long'er, you're awake… that's unusual," she said gently.
But the child didn't respond; he snored softly on the table. Chen Lin returned to her work, like a mother long accustomed to letting her child grow in his own way.
Soon after, Zhao Xiao exited the bathroom, warm steam still clinging to his skin. Fully dressed, he sat at the table and looked at his son sleeping with his head on the cold wood.
"Long'er, are you still sleepy? Do you want Father to carry you back to your room?" he asked gently, his tone filled with a sincere warmth only possessed by those who lived simply and loved without condition.
Zhao Long shook his head, too lazy even to open his eyes.
"Alright then." Zhao Xiao smiled faintly, understanding the child's nature. Chen Lin handed him the leaf-wrapped lunch. The scent of fresh leaves mixed with the steam of the simple meal—symbols of a life harsh yet steady.
Before leaving, Zhao Xiao kissed his wife's forehead. The touch was brief yet full of meaning—a silent promise to return alive.
"Take care of Long'er wherever you are," he said.
He knelt slightly and stroked his son's head.
"Long'er must be a good boy and always listen to your mother, okay?"
The child nodded weakly, still half-asleep. For a father, that was enough.
Zhao Xiao stood, grabbed the hoe leaning against the wall, and stepped out of the house. The morning air washed over his face as he walked away. The sunlight cast long shadows behind him. From the doorway, Chen Lin said,
"Be careful on the road."
Zhao Xiao nodded without looking back. With a hoe on his shoulder and his small world behind him, he walked toward his workplace—
On the dirt path, he walked with the hoe resting on his shoulder. Morning dew clung to the grass tips, reflecting faint light like shards of glass. But his steps gradually slowed. Something pressed on his chest—a vague, shapeless unease, as if a dark shadow was crawling toward him. He stopped, looking up at the clear sky. No storm clouds, no signs of misfortune. Yet the feeling gnawed at him.
"Today… feels strange," he muttered.
He took a deep breath, forcing his legs to move again, though his heart wished to turn back—return home, ensure Chen Lin and Zhao Long were safe. But he knew life didn't allow such luxuries. Work had to go on, even if the world collapsed.
Back home, Zhao Long was fully awake. He rubbed his eyes and looked toward his mother in the kitchen.
"Mom… I'm hungry," he said softly, voice thick with lingering sleep.
Chen Lin turned, her expression softening. She prepared a warm bowl of food and placed it before him. He sat with his legs dangling and began eating eagerly. Chen Lin sat across from him, eating slowly, as someone accustomed to valuing every bite.
"After you eat, you must take a bath," she said. "We're going to the city today."
Zhao Long's eyes instantly sparkled. To him, the city was another world—colorful, noisy, filled with things the village didn't have. He nodded quickly, though deep inside lingered a small fear: the fear of getting separated in the crowd. He was too young to understand the world, but sensitive enough to feel how easily the world could take things away.
With his last bite swallowed, he jumped off the chair.
"I'll go bathe now, Mom!" he said and ran toward the bathroom.
Behind the wooden door, his face drooped again. Water dripped from the bucket, mixing with the sound of his uneven breath. Memories from yesterday emerged—his father's grip slipping, the cold fear, the dread of losing someone.
"What if… Mom slips away too?" he whispered, afraid the world might hear.
But he shook his head, pushing the dark thoughts away.
Meanwhile, Chen Lin finished eating, washed the bowls, and went to the bedroom. She opened a small drawer where they kept their meager savings and took a few silver coins. Not much, but enough to buy necessities—and maybe a small treat for Zhao Long. She knew he loved little snacks whenever they went to the city. In a harsh world, small joys must be protected.
Back in the kitchen, she sorted through vegetables, discarding the wilted ones.
"Need to buy new ones," she murmured.
Simple routines—pillars of their life.
Moments later, Zhao Long emerged from the bathroom, hair wet, cheeks red from scrubbing too hard.
"Mom! Let's go quickly!" he shouted excitedly. He grabbed her hand as if afraid she might disappear.
Chen Lin chuckled softly and let him pull her. A gentle smile touched her lips—an expression of a mother who lived for her child. She grabbed a small basket, locked the house, and stepped out.
Zhao Xiao stood before the salt-stone quarry facing the sea. The salty wind blew hard, carrying the metallic, damp smell that stung the nose. In the distance, waves rolled endlessly, crashing against the dark cliffs etched by time. Each crash echoed like the footsteps of the world's giant, reminding men of their insignificance.
"Hopefully nothing goes wrong today," he muttered.
He tightened his grip on the hoe and lowered it to the ground, preparing for a long day. But before he began, he turned toward a small building at the edge of the site—a shabby bar where miners gathered before descending into the earth.
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of beer and sweat. Loud laughter filled the space; wooden tables were packed with muscular men, some still covered in salt dust. They drank, joked, slapped each other's shoulders—living as if the nightmare outside didn't exist.
Zhao Xiao entered quietly, giving only a small nod. He sat in the corner, his usual spot—away from the noise.
"A glass of water," he told the tired-looking server.
The man raised an eyebrow but complied. A moment later, clear water sat before him—a foreign sight among the sea of alcohol.
Soon, a fat man approached him. His belly protruded beneath his mining clothes, hair messy, eyes narrow and sly. Holding a mug of beer, he staggered slightly, but his voice was loud.
"Zhao Xiao! Water again?" he roared with laughter. "Afraid beer will steal your soul?"
Zhao Xiao smiled faintly. "Water keeps you aware. Beer brings forgetfulness. I still need awareness to work."
Lin Bao—his name—burst into even louder laughter.
"You and your awareness! The world is too harsh to face with a clear head. You need a bit of fog to live longer!"
Zhao Xiao only shook his head. He stared at his reflection in the glass.
"I met a cultivator yesterday in the city," he said quietly.
Lin Bao's laughter stopped instantly. His face turned serious.
"A cultivator? In which city?"
"Ni Niangfen," Zhao Xiao replied.
Lin Bao frowned deeply.
"That small city? No great clan there, no battle arena, not even a spirit market. Why would a cultivator go there?"
Zhao Xiao shrugged, though unease tightened in his chest.
Lin Bao leaned closer, voice dropping low.
"If a cultivator really came to a place like that, something's wrong. They never descend to small towns unless it's for shady dealings… or because a disaster is brewing."
Those words stabbed into Zhao Xiao's chest like icy needles.
Chen Lin and Long'er were heading to that city.
He stood abruptly, not speaking. His chair toppled; the water spilled onto the wooden floor.
"Zhao Xiao! Where are you going?!" Lin Bao shouted, but Zhao Xiao was already sprinting outside.
The sea wind slammed into his face. He ran across the slippery quarry path, lungs burning. But he stopped abruptly. At the end of the road, four figures appeared—young men in blue robes, swords on their backs. The emblem of their sect glowed faintly on their chests. Their eyes held trained arrogance—eyes that saw common folk as mud beneath their feet.
One of them looked at Zhao Xiao and laughed.
"Hey… slave, where are you rushing off to?"
Zhao Xiao clenched his fists, jaw tightening.
He recognized that gaze—the gaze of someone who viewed ordinary humans as nothing.
Behind him, Lin Bao emerged, breathless.
The moment he saw them, his face turned pale.
He stepped back silently, then ran back into the quarry.