Chapter Four: Selling the Divine Artifact

The morning sunlight poured in through the window, leaving a bright patch on the floor. Ye Ran rested his chin in his hand, leaning by the window.

Outside the door, the stove crackled, with a pot of porridge simmering on top. Perhaps unhappy with the small flame, Freya, leaning on her little crutch, crouched down and blew into the air vent below.

Ye Ran smiled, turned his head, and fixed his gaze to the north. That was where the squalid slums lay, a place people avoided, and where he had once lived for many years.

From here, he could see a dilapidated building, its crumbling brickwork laced with spiderwebs. That had once been his home.

More precisely, it had been the home he shared with Mishel.

Back then, in Ye Ran’s heart, Mishel was the most beautiful, gentle, and virtuous girl in the world. Because of her, he was so driven, so desperate to succeed, dreaming every day of one day earning enough to leave the hated slums with her.

He always remembered how every morning Mishel would rise quietly, afraid to disturb him, to make him breakfast, wash his clothes, and keep every inch of their home spotless.

Then they would go out to work together, and every copper coin they earned, she would carefully save for him.

Once, Ye Ran had been so close to that dream.

But the arrival of the Envoy shattered it in an instant.

She could become Athena’s chosen, follow the Envoy to the distant Sixth Temple, and from then on, have boundless freedom and opportunity.

Or she could choose to stay with Ye Ran, and, after some time, maybe they really could save enough to leave the slums, and keep fighting for a future that remained dim.

Mishel chose the former—she became Athena’s chosen and moved into the Sixth Temple.

Ye Ran was heartbroken by her decision, but he accepted it. It was her right, after all.

But there was one thing that filled him with fury: when Mishel left, she quietly took all the savings they had scraped together over years of hard labor. In a moment, Ye Ran was plunged into despair.

The next day, he received a letter from her.

She wrote that she needed the money to buy many things; she didn’t want to arrive at the Sixth Temple dressed like a beggar or be looked down upon any longer. She vowed she would never return to the slums for the rest of her life.

She also wished that Ye Ran would never seek her out again, that she would forget everything about her life in the slums completely...

That letter shattered all Ye Ran’s perseverance and self-respect.

He never saw Mishel again, nor did he wish to.

It had been only a year, but the memory was still vivid. Ye Ran remembered that on the day Mishel left, the chubby Andoru was there too.

“If that money were still here, I could buy a bigger house with Freya... We wouldn’t have to struggle so hard just to get by,” Ye Ran muttered.

After Mishel left, he returned to solitude. He worked even harder than before, but a year wasn’t enough.

He’d only spoken carelessly, but Freya’s ears were sharp. Leaning on her crutch, she walked over and wrote on her drawing board: “Sell a divine artifact for money.”

“A divine artifact? You mean...”

Freya grinned happily, pointing at the drawing board hanging from her neck, then pulled out a pencil and eraser from her pocket.

Ye Ran nearly burst out laughing.

“Who would want a divine artifact like that, haha...”

Freya pouted, clearly cherishing her “artifact.”

Ye Ran cleared his throat and changed his tune, “What I mean is... The blind profiteers in Stormflow City wouldn’t know a real artifact if it hit them. Better to work for a living than let them cheat us out of it.”

Freya’s beautiful eyes sparkled as she wrote on her board: “Makes sense.”

She hobbled back to the stove, blowing into the vent once more.

Perhaps it really was necessary to join Andoru’s Wild Wolf Guild. The fat fellow’s terms would surely be harsh, but what did that matter if it meant getting into Mapleleaf Academy? Wasn’t working for others already a form of dependence?

Besides that, he still needed to buy a crystal ball to examine his inner meridian skill tree and source power.

After a breakfast of porridge and some pickles, Ye Ran gave Freya a few instructions and headed out.

He never skipped his twice-daily martial arts training.

Heading north from Bricklayer Street, there was an open lot. Once, there had been a small building here, but a stormy night brought it down. The survivors had all moved away, leaving the place ownerless.

The open space was connected by a small earthen bridge, and many students passed this way to school.

Ye Ran trained here, among broken floorboards, bricks, and sand—the best training ground he could find.

As always, he opened the “Advanced Martial Arts” manual he’d bought from a student at Tiding Academy and followed its complex exercises.

Tiding Academy was a prestigious private school in Stormflow City, just like Mapleleaf Academy—only the wealthy elite could afford to attend. The “Advanced Martial Arts” was their official textbook, each upper-level student had a copy and learned under the guidance of specialized instructors.

Many students found the training grueling, but Ye Ran relished it. For him, it was the only way to grow stronger.

Without systematic study and proper guidance, it was nearly impossible for one’s skill tree to take root and awaken the source power—an unattainable dream. In contrast, hard work in martial arts practice was the only path open to Ye Ran.

Because of that, even among Tiding’s intermediate students, his martial arts would have stood out.

He practiced tirelessly, running through the complex movements again and again: snake hand, inch force, intercepting finger... His arms moved with a soft rustle, sometimes punctuated by the crack of joints. On the narrow path behind him, students with backpacks would glance his way from time to time.

Those who often passed this way all knew Ye Ran, and knew of his martial prowess. They were long used to the sight.

A girl carrying a white embroidered bag approached at a leisurely pace, watching Ye Ran, lost in his training.

She skirted the hurried students, walked to the edge of a floorboard behind Ye Ran, took a newspaper from her embroidered bag, spread it on the board, lifted her white dress, and sat down, pulling her bag close.

She had rosy lips and a delicate nose, porcelain skin, and an air of warmth and tranquility. Anyone who saw her felt as if they’d been bathed in a gentle spring breeze.

Ye Ran glanced at her and nodded, only standing up when he had finished running through all the techniques.

“You don’t seem the least bit rushed,” he remarked.

The girl laughed softly, “My class doesn’t start until eight this morning. There’s still time.”

She unzipped her bag and produced a lunch box. “You haven’t had breakfast, have you? I brought you red bean buns, milk, and bread.”