Chapter Two: Five Years Later

"Go... hurry... move!" A dark figure rushed forward, reaching out to give a heavy push.

"Ah!" With a gasp, a young boy jerked upright, his breath ragged and uneven.

"Phew, that dream again..." He sat on his bed, wiping cold sweat from his brow, his heart still pounding with fright.

"What's going on? Why do I keep having the same dream, night after night?" He tried to steady his breathing, then jumped off the bed. His eyes swept the small, dim room, finally resting on the base of the Buddha statue in the corner. A faint smile broke across his face as he quickly walked over, lowered his head, and called softly, "Little Ash."

From beneath the statue came a faint rustling, and soon a gray arm reached out from behind the dusty cloth drape. Then, a head emerged, lifted upward to reveal a face smudged with grime. Two clear eyes stared intently at the boy.

"Did you sleep well?" the boy asked with a smile.

The gray-faced youth didn't answer. Instead, he lowered his head, hesitated, then retreated back behind the drape. The oddity of his movements was almost startling.

"Ah, I forgot—you can't speak. Sorry about that," the boy said, shrugging apologetically toward the drape.

"You really shouldn't hide away all the time. Try to come out and get some fresh air now and then," he said, turning to leave but glancing back over his shoulder.

Getting only silence in reply, the boy shook his head helplessly and stepped out of the temple—whose doors had long fallen away. He looked back at the temple, sighed, and headed for the nearby creek. Kneeling, he splashed his face with the cool water, wiped it dry with his sleeve, and then ran down the mountain.

Reaching the foot of the hill, the boy walked through the bustling market streets, familiar with every turn. After a short while, the street opened up, and the sounds of seagulls and merchants hawking their wares filled the air. Before him stretched a broad avenue of blue stone, wide enough for several carriages to pass side by side. People bustled back and forth along the flagstones, the air alive with voices and laughter—a lively port, its docks crowded with boats of all kinds. Some men hefted sandbags on their shoulders, others haggled with fishermen; it was a scene of vibrant prosperity.

The boy watched, smiling, breathing in the moist, salty air.

"What a peaceful morning," he murmured, his lips curved in contentment.

The Divine Xia Continent—that was what its people called this land. Boundless and vast, the continent was home to countless tribes and races, its lands divided into four great regions: grasslands and forests to the east, towering mountains to the west, deserts and wastelands to the south, and endless ocean to the north. Here, people lived and thrived, measuring the years by the New Tianyuan Calendar—twelve months in a year, thirty days in a month. There was no magic or sorcery here, only spiritual energy refined to its peak.

Then there were the Beast Kings—fearsome creatures, hundreds of times stronger than ordinary beasts, who often threatened the peace of the continent. To defend themselves, humans strove tirelessly, eventually discovering the power to resist: spiritual force.

Spiritual force was harnessed by drawing energy from all things, using skill and experience. It could strengthen the body and, at its pinnacle—so legends said—grant the power to shatter mountains and rend the earth.

Over generations, people established a hierarchy for spiritual cultivation, spanning eleven ranks: Spirit Initiate, Spirit Adept, Grand Spirit Adept, Spirit Warrior, Spirit King, Spirit Emperor, Spirit Hero, Spirit Lord, Spirit Revered, Spirit Saint, and the legendary Spirit Sovereign.

But cultivation was dangerous, so a strict rule was set: no one under fifteen could begin training. Yet all this was still unknown to the boy—for now, he was only an innocent youth.

He hurried along the blue stone road until he reached a group of dock workers. Looking around, he soon spotted a stout man standing on a high platform, shouting orders at the laborers below. From his manner, it was clear this was their leader.

The boy quickly approached, looking up. "Uncle Six!"

The stout man, hearing someone call, paused and peered around, searching for the voice.

"Down here! It's me!" The boy couldn't help but laugh at the man's confusion, then called out again.

"Oh, it's you, Lu Zhe." The man finally looked down and saw the slender youth. He grinned.

And so we learn the boy's name: Lu Zhe.

"Uncle Six, thinking about women again? You really should be careful—with all those wives at home, you might not get any peace if you keep straying," Lu Zhe teased, grinning.

"Bah! You're just a kid, what do you know? A man without romance might as well not be young at all! Even though I'm middle-aged, I haven't lost my edge yet," Uncle Six retorted with a good-natured laugh.

"Yes, yes, you're still in your prime. So, what's the work today?" Lu Zhe changed the subject, his tone becoming serious.

"Let me see... Today, you'll go help Iron Tower. He needs some goods loaded onto the ship that's docking soon. Just move the cargo onto the vessel," Uncle Six replied after scanning the crowd.

"Got it," Lu Zhe said, turning to go.

"Wait, Lu Zhe," called Uncle Six.

"Yes, Uncle Six?" Lu Zhe paused, puzzled.

"Is that mute, Little Ash, still with you?" Uncle Six asked.

"Yes, he is. Why?" Lu Zhe answered truthfully.

"You can barely feed yourself, yet you still look after that mute boy. If we weren't close, I wouldn't nag, but..." Uncle Six shook his head, sighing.

"I appreciate your concern, Uncle Six. But I can't just abandon him," Lu Zhe replied with a shrug.

Another sigh escaped Uncle Six's lips.

"Anything else?" Lu Zhe asked.

"No, that's all. When you're done, collect your pay from Old Qian," Uncle Six instructed.

"Okay!" Lu Zhe replied, then dashed away.

Watching Lu Zhe's departing figure, Uncle Six shook his head, then turned back to directing the workers.

After leaving Uncle Six, Lu Zhe headed to a warehouse filled with goods—these must be the items Uncle Six mentioned. He took off his outer jacket, revealing a gray sleeveless shirt, tied his jacket around his waist, and rubbed his hands, ready for work. Suddenly, someone tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned to see a man a head taller than himself—a mature face, solid and strong.

"Uncle Tower," Lu Zhe greeted respectfully.

"Ha! Little Lu, working with me today, eh?" the man known as Uncle Tower laughed heartily. He was aptly named: at six foot three, broad-shouldered and muscular, he was built for heavy labor. Though middle-aged, his strength left all the younger men in awe. Rumor had it he was the champion of the Qingxi Wharf strength competition.

"Yes, Uncle Six sent me," Lu Zhe replied, flattering him a little. He knew not to underestimate this man, revered as the leader of all the laborers at Qingxi Wharf. Aside from Uncle Six and Old Qian, it was Iron Tower Li who commanded the most respect. The three of them ran the wharf together: Uncle Six arranged the jobs, Old Qian managed the accounts, and Iron Tower Li led the laborers. Their clear division of duties had turned the once sleepy wharf into a bustling market.

"Oh, Old Six sent you, did he? That rascal must be thinking about women again!" Uncle Tower roared with laughter, his joke drawing smiles and chuckles from the workers and lightening the atmosphere. Clearly, he knew how to keep spirits high.

"Heh, Uncle Tower, you're teasing again," Lu Zhe replied with a forced laugh.

Uncle Tower just patted him on the shoulder and strode off to organize the men. Lu Zhe roused himself and joined the crowd under Li Iron Tower's lead.

Soon, the cargo ship docked. Lu Zhe spat into his hands, rubbed them together, rolled his shoulders, and lifted a crate, carrying it to the ship.

Time passed. At last, the work was done. Lu Zhe looked up—the sun was already setting. He gazed at the glowing horizon where seagulls soared above the waves, the sea breeze brushing his face, seeming to carry away the day's fatigue. He couldn't help but marvel at the beauty and splendor of nature.

"Hey, what are you staring at? If you don't hurry, Old Qian will dock your pay again," called a boy about Lu Zhe's age, clapping him on the shoulder.

Lu Zhe turned; the setting sun cast a rosy glow over the boy's face, making it look radiant.

"Oh, it's Tiger," Lu Zhe greeted.

Tiger didn't answer; he was lost in the sunset, clearly enchanted by the view.

"Hey, Tiger!" Lu Zhe called.

The shout jolted the boy from his reverie. He scratched his head sheepishly and grinned.

"Let's go," Lu Zhe said, smiling.

"Yeah," Tiger replied, shaking out his sleeves, and the two boys left Qingxi Wharf together.

After collecting his pay from Old Qian, Lu Zhe walked through the bustling streets, bought a few steamed buns, and some pickled vegetables from the market, then hurried back up the mountain. Returning to the temple, he set the food on the table, pulled out two stools, and called loudly, "Come out, it's time to eat!"

Soon, a boy with messy hair and a face covered in dust limped out from behind the Buddha statue—clearly, his leg was injured.

He sat across from Lu Zhe, who handed him a bun. The boy took it with trembling, dusty hands and ate hungrily. Watching him, Lu Zhe could only smile helplessly.

When they had eaten, Lu Zhe stretched, fetched a bamboo canister from behind a pillar, slung it across his back, and said to the gray-faced boy, "I'm off to fetch water. Take your time eating, don't choke." With that, he strode out.

The gray-faced boy stopped chewing, watching Lu Zhe's retreating figure, something unspoken flickering in his eyes.

When Lu Zhe returned with water, the boy had already gone back under the statue to sleep. Lu Zhe hung the water behind the pillar, stretched, yawned, and went to a corner of the wall, lying down on a wooden board. Fatigue quickly overtook him—a full day's work was still a heavy burden for a fourteen-year-old boy.