The atmosphere at the mine seemed to thicken. Hundreds of pairs of eyes were fixed upon the lean yet steadfast figure of Tran Kien. He stood there, standing tall like a pine tree amidst a tempest; the aura emanating from him was such that people didn't dare to look him straight in the eye.
Ton Hao and his two lackey subordinates were still sprawled on top of each other, groaning in pain. The bruise on the burly guard's chest was swelling into a deep purple, a terrifying testament to that seemingly gentle pat from moments ago.
Just then, a shrill, sycophantic voice rang out: "Losing all face! Quick, quick, help the Young Master up!"
Overseer Ton, a short, stout middle-aged man with a belly like a drum and a face slick with grease, hurried out from a nearby camp. Upon seeing his son's condition, he didn't fly into a rage. On the contrary, he narrowed his slits of eyes, a cold and calculating light flickering within. He stared intently at Tran Kien. That gaze was the appraisal of a venomous serpent searching for its prey's weakness.
"Good! Very good!" Overseer Ton clapped his hands rhythmically, but the sound made one's skin crawl. He stepped forward, a false, oily smile plastered on his face. "Our Fallen Leaf Town has produced a hidden talent. Tran Kien, isn't it? Starting tomorrow, you won't need to smash ore anymore. I shall arrange a lighter task for you, with much more generous wages."
Tran Kien remained silent; he knew this was a threat. The "lighter task" Overseer Ton spoke of would likely be a death trap.
"I dare not trouble Overseer Ton. My lot is that of a miner; I am only accustomed to smashing ore," Tran Kien replied calmly, taking a step back to maintain a safe distance.
Overseer Ton let out a cold snort but said nothing more, merely gesturing for his subordinates to help Ton Hao away. But before turning on his heel, he cast a final glance back at Tran Kien—a glance brimming with murderous intent. In that gaze, Tran Kien read a clear message: This isn't over, brat.
Tran Kien knew he could no longer stay here. He quietly left the mine and headed straight for his dilapidated thatched hut. He had to leave this very night. He didn't have much to pack—just a few sets of worn-out clothes, some dry rations, and most importantly, the "Do Ban Stone Elephant," which he carefully wrapped in a clean cloth.
Just as he finished his preparations, a tall figure appeared at the doorway. It was the middle-aged man who had been observing him from afar.
"Little Brother Tran, there is no need for such formalities. I am Van Tam Thong, leader of the Van Bao Merchant Caravan. I have come with an invitation."
"An invitation?" Tran Kien furrowed his brows, alert.
"Indeed," Van Tam Thong nodded, his sharp eyes looking directly at Tran Kien. "I see you intend to leave. Overseer Ton is not a magnanimous man; if you stay here, disaster will find you sooner or later. I wish to invite you to join my Van Bao Merchant Caravan as we travel to Thanh Prefecture. What do you think?"
Tran Kien did not answer immediately. He analyzed the situation: this man was a merchant, and merchants never acted without profit. He had seen Tran Kien's strength and wanted to recruit him as a guard. Traveling with a large caravan would indeed be much safer.
"Why me?" Tran Kien asked. "I'm sure your caravan does not lack experts."
Van Tam Thong burst into hearty laughter. "I do not lack experts, but someone walking the Path of Body Refining like you is rare even across the entire Nine Prefectures Continent. Modern cultivators focus solely on absorbing spiritual energy; how many possess the perseverance to temper their physical bodies—the most arduous path, yet also the sturdiest foundation?"
He paused, his gaze turning profound. "Our Lac Viet ancestors, before the emergence of spiritual energy cultivation methods, used their very bodies to battle heaven, earth, and demons. A robust physique is the foundation for manifesting world-shaking formations. Even entry-level formations like the 'Vastly Flying Crane Formation' used for scouting or the 'Cranes Amidst Rice Waves Formation' used for concealment require the practitioner to have a sufficiently powerful body. Your path, though only at its beginning, is the most righteous one—it is the forgotten root of our forefathers."
Each of Van Tam Thong's words rang out like a great bell in Tran Kien's mind. It turned out that the body-refining mnemonic he was bitterly practicing held such a magnificent lineage. It was the root of strength that had once forged a glorious era for the Lac Viet people.
"I agree," Tran Kien nodded decisively, his gaze resolute. "I ask for Elder Van's guidance."
"Good! Then prepare yourself; we set out in half a sichen," Van Tam Thong nodded with satisfaction.
Tran Kien looked back at his dilapidated hut one last time, then without a moment's hesitation, turned and followed Van Tam Thong. He was given a long-saber forged of fine steel. The blade was heavy and cold, yet Tran Kien felt that his most reliable weapons remained his own body and his unyielding will.
Under the hazy moonlight, the horse-drawn carriages rolled silently, leaving Fallen Leaf Town behind. An old chapter of his life had closed. A vast world awaited him ahead.