Chapter 6
He had heard tales of the legendary knight for a long time, but their true meeting only happened that day.
While fleeing assassination, he rode a thin horse into the only city in the wasteland.
A small road paved with reddish-brown stones led to weather-beaten shops. His horse clopped along the empty street. From the tightly shut courtyards on both sides, the occasional jasmine blossom peeked out. The entire city was dozing through the storm-swept afternoon.
On such an afternoon, with yellow winds curling through the air and the sun setting in the west, they passed by each other in an inn.
He turned his head to look. That person stood in the glow of the setting sun—flowers drooping, wind softly humming—everything else blurred into the backdrop.
At that time, that person believed he was a wandering bard, carrying epic tales of the continent, with countless stories hidden in his strings.
Rumor said the knight, as cold as a thousand-year glacier, paused for three days before his wool blanket. On the fourth day, he brought a cup of hot mulled wine brewed with dried orange slices and invited him to drink together.
“Are you a local musician or a wandering bard? I am Parsons. What is your name?”
“Illman, a free bard.”
One was the leader of the rebels, the other came to hunt down the rebel leader. Before fate revealed its cruelty, the two met by chance at an inn deep within the Hatousha plains.
They played music and chatted, even played illusion-beast chess together. Honeyed walnuts and fruit tea brought by the innkeeper sat nearby—just one reach away. Outside the window, the sky gradually darkened.
—
“It’s been a long time since we last met.”
Ending the memory, Jiang Jitang chuckled. He genuinely felt that although his body remained young, his soul had truly aged. The passion and impulsiveness of his past had been brewed by time into warm broth—harmless to others, harmless to himself.
“Human mage, this seed is for you.”
The crown of the Tree of Life trembled, dropping a snow-white seed the size of an egg. The moment the seed touched Jiang Jitang’s palm, it sank into his flesh and began rapidly growing within his soul.
Jiang Jitang curled his fingers. He could feel life energy; something had reconnected his broken lifeline.
In this world, magic tools like the Golden Eye were permitted to exist, but humans could not use magic—they lacked the most essential core.
Yet now… he felt as if he could use magic at any moment.
“This is too precious.”
The Tree of Life—a mythical plant embodying the origin of life itself. A single leaf of it could drive spellcasters insane, let alone a seed capable of growing another Tree of Life?
“Shh. A world permits only one Tree of Life, so I’ve stored many seeds. Don’t tell them.” The Tree of Life rustled its leaves again, as if smiling brightly.
“I assume you know my reputation isn’t great?”
Jiang Jitang believed it was all slander, but still—giving a permanent super-golden-cheat item to a war-initiator in a world that banned all magic?
The Tree of Life pondered for a few seconds, then laughed again.
“Yes, but I am not from Blue Star.”
“…”
“I must go now. Farewell, human friend. I wish you luck.”
The Tree of Life and the wilderness vanished. The newly acquired limited-time tool also disappeared. The spatial rift opened to accommodate the Tree of Life’s arrival could not withstand it and shattered.
Jiang Jitang stood alone in his room.
“Thank you. I also wish you good fortune, my friend.”
[Ding. Tasker Jiang Jitang has destroyed the trial-version secret study room. 3,000 points deducted automatically. Insufficient balance—recorded as debt. Tasker Jiang Jitang now owes 1,000,003,000 points. Please repay as soon as possible.]
“…”
Also, thank you, system… for sparing my pathetic remaining five points.
—
Old friends come and go. Smooth, yearning violin sounds resurface in the old district at nine o’clock.
Unlike the bustling eastern district, the southwest old town had no nightlife. Even food stalls close by nine.
The fruit shop downstairs from Jiang Jitang’s apartment was closed. Standing on the third-floor balcony, his bow grazed the violin strings, producing tremors.
The melody flowed softly, like weeping and murmuring, whispering ancient stories by his ear.
Fireflies glowing faintly arrived. Unnamed insects followed, landing gently on balcony plants, quietly staying.
Natural motes of light drifted and danced in the small corner. Humans couldn’t see them, but accompanied by such graceful music, one would rest peacefully.
Things had grown more complicated—he now seemed to possess part of the Tree of Life’s traits: healing, soothing, banishing evil, nurturing life.
“Sola?” The Golden Eye questioned. “Is that not good?”
“Not bad… just… too much was given.” Receiving too much breeds fear of loss… and anxiety.
Overthinking was pointless. Jiang Jitang shook his head, set down the violin, and turned off the lights.
—
Nine o’clock in the southwest corner meant rest. But in the eastern district—only ten kilometers away—nightlife had just begun. Pedestrian streets, night markets, the bar street along the riverside… still bustling.
In the metropolitan lights shining like stars, at the very top floor of one of the city’s tallest buildings—the Jin City International Hotel—a tall man stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing afar.
Starlight reflected in his eyes, turning into emerald green—yet colder than frost.
“Master, what are you looking at? Are you sure Lord Illman is there? That area looks like the slums.”
This district was all high-rise buildings, yet in the distance lay squat houses no taller than six or seven stories, shrouded in darkness. Clearly, the city’s low-income gathering zone. Could the one they sought be there?
“Imi… Illman doesn’t care about such things.”
Even mentioning the name brought back dense pain in his injured chest—past and present entwined like ivy tightly embracing a tree trunk.
But he could no longer utter the once-intimate nickname.
The dragon-eyed black ring on his finger emitted a faint glow.
“This world forbids magic. The rebel leader here is just an ordinary person.”
Oh ho—he’s an ordinary person now.
Hard to imagine.
“Master, how did you find Lord Illman?” The magic sword, now a ring, only now thought to ask.
He had been dormant for two years with no signs of action. Yet today, at dawn, he suddenly finished all his tasks rapidly, grabbed his passport, and flew to this country and city. He even ordered his $30,000-a-month assistant to handle long-term residency paperwork immediately—because he only had a 144-hour visa exemption.
So how did he know the man was here?
“A soul contract.”
The man turned around. Silver hair slid over broad shoulders. His face was exceedingly handsome, yet bore the wildness of a wolf—eyes sharp and aggressive.
“A soul contract?” The magic sword questioned. “When?”
“When he killed me.”
“…”
The magic sword spasmed entirely. It forcibly held back remarks that would get it reforged and asked calmly:
“Then you—signing a bound contract even to death and beyond reincarnation—was for what?”
“He still owes me an answer.”
The magic sword forced a fake smile.
…Well then—may you succeed.
—
“Hiss—”
Already lying in bed, Jiang Jitang shuddered, as if targeted by some evil spirit.
“Is it the enemy lurking in the shadows plotting again?”
Yes—their goal must surely be his death. But he didn’t die. How could that not plague their mind?
The enemy’s fury… his delight.
So Jiang Jitang tossed aside the odd feeling. He turned to the side, enjoying the comfort of air-conditioning and blankets—and quickly fell asleep.
Once Jiang Jitang entered his dreams, the Golden Eye on the back of his hand opened. A wisp of starlight floated out, turning into stardust and gently drizzling onto him.
A sneaky green sprout grew above his head, stealing all the golden rain, then sprouted a few more leaves before shrinking back, stealthily.
Sensing his master’s subconscious intent, the Golden Eye thought: …
Most of the golden energy was absorbed. Only a tiny portion fell onto the newly hung painting on the wall. A peddler shook his rattle-drum—his bright eyes filled with affection for the surrounding children.
—
Dong dong dong… dong dong dong…
The rattling sound grew nearer.
Rowing noises—splashes against bluestone platforms—boatman’s chanting—and distant hawking cries, along with faint rustling of fabric brushing together…
Jiang Jitang slowly opened his eyes.
He stood on an arched stone bridge. Moist breeze stroked his face, carrying the fragrance of magnolia. A small boat loaded with fruits and melons creaked along beneath him. People bustled on both sides, their calls unending.
He was no longer himself.
He wore coarse gray-blue short tunic and long trousers, sleeves tied tight, pants tucked into dark boots. A cloth cap sat atop his head. He carried a rattle-drum and a white towel hung around his neck.
And over his shoulder—two boxes hanging from a pole.
A peddler? Wasn’t this the peddler in the painting?
Dong dong…
The rattle-drum pushed open the door of memory—his mother used to tell him stories from her childhood. As an orphan raised on shared meals from the whole village, Ms. Jiang had many unique memories—including this kind of peddler, now rarely seen.
When she was young, peddlers often came to the village.
If calling “Sharpening scissors!”, they mostly sold household goods and offered sharpening services too.
If calling “Fresh fruits and vegetables!”, they were selling produce.
But children’s favorites were the ones carrying colorful windmills and tiny wind chimes—that usually meant candies, snacks, and toys.
“Oh!”
The bridge was narrow—when a woman passed by, she bumped into his pole.
“You little peddler, why aren’t you beating your rattle-drum properly? What are you standing here for? Oh—such a fair-looking young man!”
First scolding, then curious teasing—her tone changed as she smiled. Dressed in pink and jade-green, she carried a basket of vegetables and looked at him cheerfully, not at all shying away.
The sudden shift in scenery—and the unexpected ability to understand soft Jiangnan dialect—left Jiang Jitang stunned, like a confused audience suddenly thrown into a costume drama.
He lowered his head and hurried off the bridge carrying the pole. Behind him came more laughter:
“The young peddler is shy—just one sentence and his cheeks turned red like sunset. With skin that thin, how will he walk streets calling for young ladies?”
Coming down from the stone bridge, he saw a row of houses facing the river. Between the doors and the water was another narrow stone path, yet not crowded. Men and women moved like a stream.
Small storefronts faced the river on both sides. Roughly every hundred meters, there was a small dock. Wooden boats would stop, selling fruits and vegetables to passers-by.
Some were transport boats—the boatman and customers negotiated the fare quickly.
Jiang Jitang walked on, observing, as if living a long dream. Suddenly, a deep vendor’s call woke him.
“Barrels! Barrels!”
Another peddler. He too carried a pole, but it was laden with wooden buckets of all kinds—steaming pots, rice buckets, washbasins—all piled high. He walked while calling.
Jiang Jitang stepped on the same bluestone path as they did. Like a dried sponge rapidly absorbing water—it all felt so new.
Little by little, he forgot what he was doing—why he was here.
Until he saw someone drifting downstream.
The man had a pale face and beard, slightly gaunt, wearing a scholar’s robe. But what Jiang Jitang noticed was the wooden box at his feet—that was clearly…
“Ah, it’s Mr. Xu! Mr. Xu, instead of teaching at home, where are you headed?”
“I heard the Zhang silk shop in the next county is throwing a birthday celebration for the elder lady. They invited me.”
Mist rolled in, shrouding everything. Jiang Jitang reached out to stop it—but dreams are fleeting.
[Daily task list refreshed. Would you like to review it?]
A voice came from afar, neither real nor false.
[Daily task list refreshed. Would you like to review it?]
The voice grew clearer—while the scenery around him dissolved…
