Chapter 2: Selling One’s Life

  At these words, the rider paused briefly, then tinued in a clear, loud voice:“Even if any of you suffer from chills, fever, or other illnesses, it won’t matter—we will certainly cure you!”

  Upon hearing this, the refugees who had children immediately grew excited. They crowded forward, asking questions. People in the camp eared to be doctors or physis checked bones and asked for each child’s birth date a characters of fate*.

  (*The Eight Characters of Fate are derived from a perso birth year, month, day, and hour, each represented by two symbols from the a system of Heavenly Stems ahly Branches.)

  “Selling oneself…”

  Although An Jing had a physique different from others—making him appear rather tall—he was indeed only a little over eleven, which fit the requirement.

  He listeo the rider’s speech, watched the refugees begin lining up with their sons and daughters, and instinctively ched his fists. “They cure illnesses…”

  “Master, my daughter’s fingers are frostbitten…”

  Just then, he saw a father and daughter in front of the camp. The father k in the snow, holding his daughter in his arms, pleading with the leader and physis, “She ’t die. I’m begging you, please show mercy…”

  The girl’s fingers and arms had swollen, purplish frostbite; her eyes were gzed over. From An Jing’s perspective, she was close to death. It wouldn’t have been surprising if she died within the hour.

  Yet those physis acted as though it were nothing. One reached out and seized the girl’s hand, pulled back her sleeve, and pinched her boo ihem, causio cry out softly. Then they asked the father for her birth date a characters.

  “Mm.” After firmation, the physi turned around and murmured a few words to both the one-eyed lead rider and a schor-like man in schorly robes. Both wore looks of satisfa.

  “Treat her,” the leader said calmly. The physi then took a pill from a chest behind him and gave it to the girl with water. , he applied a reddish-purple oio the frostbitten areas on her body.

  In that instant, the girl let out a startled scream, as though she had been scorched by fmes.But soon after, her previously dull eyes regained focus. She stared in bewilderment at her hands, smeared with oi, then gnced in astonishment at her father. “Papa, my hand… I feel it again!”

  “Daughter!” The father, unskilled with words, dropped to his knees and embraced her, weeping. Then he banged his forehead on the ground a few times in front of the riders and physis.

  “All right, be on your way.” The leader, eared in fine spirits, gestured for them to leave and moved on to the case.

  Many in the refugee camp knew of the girl’s dire dition. Seeing that these riders not only treated her but used medie with miraculous effects, the crowd’s morale soared.

  They were wholly vinow that these people were the retinue of some wealthy family and that their master was truly benevolent!

  Yet, standing withihrong, An Jing lifted his eyebrows and sed the entire camp.

  He noticed many suspicious details.

  First, the riders moved with practiced efficy. Clearly, they were thhly traihe leader’s strength was extraordinary; at every moment, he looked ready to draw the saber at his waist. His one eye gleamed like a tiger’s as he swept his gaze across the refugee camp, never letting down his guard.

  Sed, the schorly man behind the leader was even more unfathomable. An Jing’s mother, An Shen Shi, possessed martial skills at a level known as “Internal Breath Like Threads,” meaning she had genuinely embarked oh of internal cultivation and was no longer just a try practitioner.

  An Jing could roughly gauge his mother’s level of strength, but he could not read anything about this schor at all. It meant that the maher had some sort of are teique or had reached the stage of “Internal Breath Like Tides”!

  Such rigorous training, such level of martial skill—if they were truly the household guard of a great , they would surely decre which prestigious family they served. Why not reveal their name?

  “There’s something off… But they really do have medie.”

  An Jing murmured to himself, recalling how a girl he had deemed beyond saving had beeored. He now fully believed this group possessed the medie that could heal his mother.

  That seemed increasingly unlike any band of svers.

  Human traffickers typically wanted only children because only children could be sold on for profit. They were in it for mohey rarely, if ever, accepted children who were ill, let alone wasted medie on them.

  These people, oher hand, seemed truly ied in the children themselves, enough to pay extra to treat them.

  “Could it be the Great gover recruitihsworn soldiers? Or perhaps some hidde? They’re cheg boructure and asking fht characters of fate—far too detailed.”

  An Jing frowned slightly. If this were a normal wealthy household, he would not hesitate to sell himself for his mother’s medie. Even if such people abused or killed their servants for no reason, he khat an ordinary mansion could never hold him if he decided to flee.

  If they were mere svers, he was fident he could match wits with tigers, find an opportunity, and escape their clutches.

  But fag these mysterious individuals of unknown in and enormous power…he found it hard to decide. Who knew whether they beloo some evil cult from the Southern Regions, a demon-worshippi with “Heaven’s Will” in its name, or monsters hidden in secluded mountains?

  —Never mind.

  He quelled his instinctive doubts, shaking his head slightly.

  No matter what, these people were doing something that let refugees survive. He had no other options.

  An Jing closed his eyes, thinking of how his mrew weaker with each passing day, nearih.

  Selling himself might cost him his life, yet there was still a det ce he would live. But his mother had no ce without medie; she would surely die.

  There was nothing to hesitate about. Opening his eyes again, An Jing strode toward the riders’ encampment.

  By now, many children and families had already decided to sell their lives.

  To sell their sons or daughters was to find a lifeline for both parents and children. Especially with these riders eared so generous—g illnesses and distributing grain—everyoh children stepped forward eagerly.

  In just a short time, more thay children had been gathered. After receiving grain, the parents stood off to one side, gazing across at their children with plicated expressions.

  Only An Jing walked through the snow alone.

  “Hmm?”

  o the one-eyed leader, the schor in white robes seemed to sense something. He turned his head in An Jing’s dire. At first, he appeared casual, but his attention quickly sharpened, his eyes lighting up.

  Sensing his rea, the one-eyed leader followed the schaze and saw An Jing.

  The man’s single eye glowed.

  An Jing was still young, not yet five feet tall. He was thin as well, which made him look like any ordinary refugee child—just a bit taller than average for the Northern Frontier. At first gnce, he did not stand out much.

  But both the leader and the schor were martial artists. They immediately noticed that, beh the boy’s skin-and-boerior, his skeletal frame was solid and his blood and energy were strong.

  “You want to sell yourself?”

  Reining his warhorse around, the one-eyed leader looked at An Jing with keen i. “If it’s you, I personally guarantee your family two dou of fine rice!”

  “Sir.”

  An Jing lifted his head to face the grim group that radiated killing i. He met the leader’s gaze—who was already smiling—and csped his hands in courtesy, his eyes calm, his toher servile nor overbearing:“I am willing to sell myself, but it is not for my own sake. I need medie for my mother.”

  “My father was a schor. Our family possesses martial cssics. We are not mere peasant fighters. I myself am healthy, with no ailments—though life on this icy pin is harsh, I never o sell my life.”

  “But my mother’s lungs are injured. She urgently needs medie to heal them.”

  “May I ask, sir, if you could spare a cure for her?”

  “I am worth this price.”

  At these words, the leader’s smile faded slightly. Narrowing his single eye, he scrutinized An Jing from head to toe. Then, with a sudden nudge, he directed his warhorse forward in a rush, stopping right beside him.

  These mighty Northwestern warhorses were like living battering rams. A simple leap was enough to shake the ground. Even if one khe horse would not trample them, most people would flinch when such a beast charged their way.

  Yet An Jing remained perfectly still in his respectful pose. He did not even blink, showing no ge in expression.

  “Good.”

  The one-eyed rider barked, “If you learn martial arts but rain your ce, you’ll colpse otlefield. You cim to have trained, and I didn’t believe it at first. Now I do.”

  A satisfied smile spread across his face. “You are quite a rarity, but whether you’re worth that much…”

  He exged a look with the schor in white, who teased him with, “He’s not so different from you back then.” Immediately, the schor vanished from sight.

  An Jing’s pupils stricted—he could not detect the schor’s movement at all!

  The one-eyed leader dismounted.

  He was tall and towered like an iron pilr, exuding suteal energy that the falling snow melted the instant it touched his body. Each footstep fell heavily.

  If An Jing had closed his eyes and listened only to that tread, he might have imagined a highnd buffalo pag.

  A pu smell of blood apahis man’s murderous aura, even strohan that of the horse bandit leader who had roamed the wastend. The one-eyed leader eyed An Jing for a moment, then gave a pleased ugh. “You’re thin, but your foundation is solid indeed. No wonder you have such fidence…”

  Before finishing his sentence, he reached out and grabbed An Jing’s arm, pressing hard to assess bone and muscle.

  “Excellent bones!” he praised. He felt like he was kneading iron tempered to perfe or ice that had been frozen for turies. “Dense and firm, just the right length. Good, very good—something like this appears maybe once every few decades…”

  As he did so, An Ji a wave of intangible internal forter his body through the man’s grip, probing his acupoints and causing a variety of tingling, painful sensations.

  He kept his face impassive, silently enduring as he weighed things in his mind.

  That was no ordinary teique; it came from a martial artist who had at least reached “Internal Breath Like Rivers,” the level at whiergy could be extended outside the body! Judging by that surging energy, the leader’s level was likely “Internal Breath Like Tides”!

  Right at that moment, the schor in white reappeared. He nodded slightly to the leader, and the broad-shouldered man released An Jing, took a long look at him, then swung bato his horse.

  “You are indeed worth it,” he said to An Jing from atop the mount. “This belongs to you.”

  Nearby, the schor and the physis had sorted through an assortment of medial ingredients and grain, piling them inte chest. They carried it over and pced it beside An Jing.

  “These medies and provisions are enough to heal your mother’s wounds and replenish her frail body. They will also eh of you have a good meal,” the one-eyed leader tinued. “Take it to her.”

  “Then e back.”

  He said nothing more, because both sides uood what would happen if one party failed to keep their promise.

  An Jing g the chest, about the size of his torso, weighing at least a hundred pounds. He realized that he was extraordinarily fortuhat, for some reason, this one-eyed rider had been generous and valued him highly.

  Here in North Province, battered by the Frost Camity, the tents of that chest could buy ten lives.

  He did not hesitate. He bent down and gripped the handles, lifting the heavy trunk onto his shoulder in one fluid motion.

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  Though his breathing was somewhat bored, An Jing could still speak. With that, he carried the chest on his shoulder and walked away in long strides toward the small shack he shared with his mother.

  (End of Chapter)