* * *

A month! A whole month, a dozen days less, a dozen more, it took Han, now Feng, to realize reality. He, like one of the great Emperors of the past, who liked to dress up in the clothes of a commoner and walk among his subjects, was able to live among ordinary, except slightly more pathetic and insignificant, peasants. But unlike the Emperor, Feng did not possess heaven-shattering techniques, nor could he turn a band of brigands into a bloody paste with a wave of his hand, make a vast clearing in the forest, or turn a corrupt official's house into dust, along with the official himself and the gang of thugs he had hired to cover his affairs.

Also, the Emperor always had the option of returning to the palace, and Feng... For a month of hunger and hard work from dawn to dusk, he pondered his options. The further he went, the more and more he disliked the option of waiting for the next rebirth. As much as he wanted to deny it, he had to admit that he had been foolish in the sanctuary. No matter how great the offense, no matter how much misery his father's oath had brought, he should not have renounced the Nao family, especially not with the words "and in the next lives."

The vindictiveness and pettiness of the spirits came as a deadly unpleasant surprise, but alas, it was not to be expected. The guardians of the Nao family were beings of immense mystical power, both in terms of spiritual merit and radiating powerful qi. And they were the ones who could make sure that Han's next few rebirths would be anything but good. He was also, as much as he wanted to spit at the word, lucky. Remembering a past life after a rebirth was extremely rare. He suspected that the guardian spirits had done their best to teach him a lesson because what good would it do if Han suffered in this life and didn't even realize it could be any other way? Well, in the next lives, he would forget everything, even if he found himself in a place where such a village would seem like a prosperous capital of the Empire.

Feng had spent many a sleepless night on his bed of rice straw and on the wooden block that served as a pillow for the peasants, but he could not think of a way out of his current situation. There was no way out. Neither to leave, nor to escape, nor to rise. After all, the pinnacle of any peasant's dreams was the post of Headman, and he had enough of his children. The Potter and the Blacksmith were also honored and respected, but in Feng's eyes, a life spent in a forge or picking at sticky clay was no different from working in the fields, even if the ability to forge metal could be of some use.

He was sorry. Very sorry for what he'd done. He should have stayed, clenched his teeth, and waited for the moment. Perhaps he should have left home and moved to the capital - not as a nameless commoner but as the son of a great general. Alas, his cold mind told him so. His heart told him that he could not live in a world where Mei lay in that bastard's arms. Now Mei was gone, or maybe she was a profound old woman, or maybe she was just as young and beautiful even after dozens and hundreds of years of using qi. But now they were in different worlds, and even if Mei Lin was still alive, Feng would find someone better! That night, Feng remembered where he found himself and what level of 'better' was available here. He screamed and threw a temper tantrum, for which he received a good slap from his waking parents and brothers, after which he walked with his head askew for three days.

It seemed what could be worse than the hopeless situation of an orphan forgotten by the gods in a distant beggarly village? As it turned out, a great many things. After several nights of sobbing and silent hysterics, Han realized what was causing him the most pain. As it turned out, it wasn't even the loss of his family, Mei's betrayal, or the worst meal of both his lives. No, what hurt the most...

You'll never be like me!

The bastard's words were prophetic. Han died and became Feng and Feng... Feng was doomed to a lifetime, which rarely lasted more than three or four dozen years here, by his example, epitomizing his righteousness. Making sure the master's smug, demonically disgusting face did not just spew insults but stated the truth, as holy and unshakable as the Emperor's decree. Perhaps, in time, Feng would be able to come to terms with his situation. But for Han, it meant that all the suffering, all the torture he had gone through, was now in vain. That evil was triumphing, and he... and he. and he was really just a silly tadpole, an egg lying in the swamp mud. And that at every insult and every humiliation, the bastard spoke the truth. During the day, the thoughts receded under the weight of daily chores, but when Feng went to bed ...

"I'm to be like you!" he jumped up in the night with a deafening heroic shout.

Alas, no one in the Shirong family appreciated it, so Feng was slapped again. This time, he was beaten by everyone - his brothers, his father, his mother, and even his sister Aimin, who slapped him. But now the beatings were strangely weak, careful. Obviously, the superstitious peasants were afraid of beating the madman because that would catch his madness.

Battered, exhausted by labor and lack of sleep, Feng lay on the straw, curled up in a ball. But this time he was not crying, he was giggling quietly and madly. For a new and marvelous idea had come into his brilliant head. And the longer he looked at it, the more attractive it seemed.

"I won't become like you," he whispered in a low whisper so that no one would hear him, laughing as he covered himself with a rice mat. "I'll become you! I'll steal everything from you - techniques, skills, feats, and abilities! And you... and you. You're the one who showed me the way!"

He coughed up another stifled laugh, trying not to wake the sleeping household. You wanted a duel of the minds, you stupid, self-righteous master? Only in your pride and arrogance, you didn't realize you'd given me a way out! Yes, one such way out was an unmarked grave after a short, agonizing, hopeless life. But there was another way - the way of strength and power when a lowly commoner had no right to be told what to do by anyone but the Son of Heaven himself! And this idiot, this self-righteous carp who fancied himself a dragon, did not notice that he had not only taught Han how to command qi but had also let him see thousands of scrolls that could conceal even the most powerful techniques! Moreover, Han's intelligence and talent in his new life were combined with Feng's diligence and habit of hard work, a combination that would make the Heavens shudder! And even if there was nothing useful in those scrolls...

"I have qi," Feng whispered, "and that's enough!"

* * *

As it turned out, he had no qi. No matter how much his master talked about how qi pierced the entire universe, how it was contained in every living thing and inanimate object, the grim and despairing truth was that it was one thing to talk about it and another to actually control it. Feng thought that if he had succeeded before, in his previous life, he would succeed now.

Big mistake. He got into stances, used concentration gestures, and even tried to stand on his head. The only feelings he experienced were the familiar hunger and a slap from Father Shirong, who disliked Feng doing nonsense instead of work.

Unfortunately, he couldn't remember very well how he had first felt qi back then, the first time. At that time, all he cared about was his own pain and suffering, hunger, and hatred for the villainous master. However, nothing had changed in this life - he hated the master even more, and pain and suffering were abundantly provided by peasant life. He knew that the knowledge he needed was in his head, and it wasn't even very difficult to summon it by reliving it all over again. All one had to do was to focus on the right moment in his life and.... circulate qi. This vicious circle made him want to scream.

And the scream was the only thing Feng remembered from the waking process. The scream and the dabu stance.

"I hate you! I hate you, ma~aster!" Feng yelled.

He stood in a stance, fully immersed in himself, gathering every bit of inner power. He closed his eyes and used one of the concentration gestures as if he were slowly pushing an invisible balloon away from his chest with his hands and index fingers poking upward.

"Hey, guys, look at this! The idiot's yelling again!" shrieked one of the stupid peasants.

"Ha-ha-ha-ha! And stands as if he gonna poop!" echoed another voice.

"You know nothing! All generals do that!" A third person joined in.

Feng once again tried to ignore those idiots. He always chose the most secluded corner on purpose, but as soon as he started practicing, the whole village would come to watch as if they had nothing to do.

"Feng, you bastard!" Father's menacing voice sounded. "Get back to work!"

Feng sighed and opened his eyes. Another training session had failed. And he saw the only reason why. The spirit-body-mind triad needed to manipulate qi was missing something. While the spirit and mind were still as powerful as Han's in his previous life, the frail and emaciated body had been inherited from Feng. This was a problem that needed to be dealt with immediately.

* * *

"It's easy to say but not easy to do," Han-Feng grumbled, bent over.

The sack pressed and buckled against the ground, drops of sweat dripping off his face, falling into the dust and soaking into the dry, cracked earth. His bare feet, covered with abrasions and mud, looked ... too peasant and, therefore, disgusting.

"Hey, Feng, why aren't you stinging like a wolverine?" He heard a mocking voice.

"And you don't flutter around like a pig?" a second voice said.

"He'd better show his sting!" A third one joined in.

Feng continued dragging the sack, trying to ignore the taunts. If someone with a head full of pig dung had heard these quotes about the art of combat and warrior philosophy, he would have surely appreciated their wisdom and taken them as a guide to action. But, alas, it was the not-too-clever elder sister who first heard them and immediately spread them to such dullards as herself! Now Feng was being laughed at by the whole village. He wasn't surprised by this behavior - what else would you expect from those who had spent their lives picking at the ground like pigs? It was foolish to expect them to understand the greatness of the sublime inspiration of battle!

"Great warrior Feng, we have found you a worthy opponent!"

And just think of the pigs! There was laughter, squeals from the children, and the grunting of Aunt Zhao's huge pig. Han Feng involuntarily raised his head. Sure enough, it was Tsu and Mu, the two restless pranksters, and now, like heroes in crystal who had conquered a mighty mystical beast, they were fearlessly perched on the pig's back. The pig grunted unhappily and charged at Feng like a huge living battering ram. Pork on ribs, Feng thought to himself as he felt his stomach rumbling. But spurred on by the flexible bars, the pig whizzed past him, hitting him with the ham, so instead of the coveted pork meat, he ate dirt.

"You bums! You mountain demon and dung fly bastards!" Auntie Zhao's shrill voice rang out. "A spiked stick under your tongue!"

Everyone got hit, including Feng, which was the most frustrating of all. He picked up the fallen sack, put it back on his shoulders, and moved on. Now, it was not only drops of sweat but also tears of resentment were falling into the dust. He was so hungry that his stomach was twisting with hunger, his head was buzzing from the stench, dirt, and dust, and the weight of the sack on his back was bending him to the ground more and more as if it embodied the weight of Feng's current situation.

And it was not an enviable one. A foster child in a foster family, a seven-year-old starving wretch living in the poorest and most miserable corner of the Empire. Few people ate enough in this village, and certainly none of the simple peasants, which included the Shirong and Zenzen family that had taken him in, had ever had enough to eat. All this was supplemented by hard work, beginning in the dark and ending in the dark, from early spring to late fall. In winter, there was little to do, but this light respite was of no use, for the lessening of the hardships was accompanied by a great saving of the already meager food - Feng's memories spoke of this with terrifying clarity.

Every day was an enormous amount of effort - so boring, exhausting, and monotonous that even the master's training seemed almost like a pleasant pastime in comparison. To work so there would be enough food to eat until the spring, to plant and harvest so he would not die or get sick and die, to sow and harvest, and to pay the taxes, which, unlike everything else, were collected faithfully. Did you work badly? Get slaps! Outraged by the blows and bad food? Eat more slaps!

Such injustice and hopelessness made him want to howl as much as a pack of wolves. Even if Feng had been a hero, like the Impetuous Bao Xiao, he would not have been able to change the situation. No enemy could be defeated with a star blade, no monsters could be defeated with heaven-shattering techniques, only abject poverty, and rampant in education. And the only way out, as Feng was convinced for the umpteenth time, was to get out of here, to run away.

* * *

"Why are you lying down?" The voice of the foster mother Zenzen sounded.

Shriveled and wrinkled, prematurely aged by constant childbirth, she had a nasty, grumpy temper. Half of Feng's siblings had died from such a life of constant work and lack of medicine, some in infancy and some in childhood. This was considered a good result, as the Shirong family were lucky to have so many laborers!

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"Get the wood, you bum!" A stick fell on Han-Feng's back as he lay on the sack.

There was laughter and more mockery of the "general's son," but the mother didn't appreciate it. She raised her stick again, this time hitting everyone, including Aiming. She shrieked and immediately ran twice as fast. That's it, Feng thought gloatingly. There's no need to act like this! So what if she got an adult name?

"Wot tak wot!" He grinned, remembering his hated teacher's saying.

"Hey, don't play the aristocrat!" His mother shouted, delivering another painful blow. "It's true what they say. You've become a total fool!"

Feng picked up a pile of firewood and dragged it along, ducking his head. It was useless to object, only to be beaten again. He wasn't the only one who was treated so unfairly here; rudeness, beatings, and pain were part and parcel of peasant life. No one was even going to help him achieve future greatness, but just to see him as something more than an ordinary stupid, uneducated peasant. Everyone thought that one should act like a scumbag master, insulting, making him work hard, and beating him. Han's heart was full of hatred, but not for these stupid lowlifes who knew no other life. It was the one who had caused all the trouble and had so smugly asserted that Han would never reach the top! When he grows up, he'll show them all!

"Ying, why are you scratching between your legs?" Zanzen continued to yell grumpily. "Run to the field and bring your father and older brothers their lunch! You've picked up some bad habits from our stray nobleman! Anything to avoid work! And don't even think of bringing it in your hem. I'll kill you on the spot!"

"Let Feng run!" Ying snapped at him.

Yes, Han-Feng thought, one must run away. To run away, away from this miserable existence called peasant life, from the hopeless and meaningless work, from ridicule and beatings. But there is no strength even to escape. It's a vicious circle of despair. If you do not work from dawn to dusk - there will be no food. No one was going to feed a freeloader. No food - no strength for training, and if you work - no time for training.

Feng's memories told him they lived in the village for a short time and died like flies - from hard work in summer and hunger and cold in winter. No one around him cared, except for the family members, because of the loss of another laborer and the tax collector because of the reduction in the amount of per capita tax. Once upon a time in the distant past, General Guang Nao had made that ill-fated oath sworn by the ancestral spirits. But in this life, the Shirong family did not have not only a family shrine but even a family name - after all, dirty peasants are not entitled to it. And where could he run away to, a seven-year-old brat with no adult name, weak and starving, unable to survive alone in a strange city or the wilderness?

These thoughts came into his mind every day, over and over again, robbing him of his strength and undermining his spirit. In these moments, Feng clung to his hatred like a drowning man to a floating stick or a starving man to an old moldy rice cake.

"Then father will be happy," Ying persisted, "that a nobleman is carrying his lunch! A general's son and a general himself!"

There was laughter again, hurtful to the point of burning in his eyes. It wasn't the words of these lowlifes, unworthy even to clean up the dog shit at Nao Manor, that hurt him. Every such remark and taunt brought Han a veritable waterfall of bitter memories of the past, lost forever. He even tried to beat up a couple of mockers but only found himself beaten up. It was a long way from his master's blows, but there was no one here to treat him, which meant that everything took a long time to heal and caused constant pain. But physical suffering was much easier to bear than mental suffering, the frantic beating of his heart and the burning in his chest. He'd been reborn, which meant it had been a long time since his death. Mei was long dead, or at least an old woman, and Nao's family had suffered the effects of his death curses.

"Shut up!" Zenzen shouted. "If the headman hears you calling your father a general, he'll write to the town, and they'll send guards to shove spears up your bad asses! And you, Feng, grab the food and bring it to your father and brothers, but don't you dare eat a bite of it. I'll give you so much you won't be able to sit down!"

I don't want your vile food, Feng snapped mentally, but he didn't open his mouth. Anything he said here would be laughed at, hard and long, and he'd be hit on the back with a stick for nothing.

"At least he'll be of some use because he can't do anything!" Stupid Ying snorted.

"He's going to lose the food! He's almost lost his clothes!" Aiming at him. "Or he'll eat it himself!"

"If he loses it, he gets it! If he eats it, he'll never want to eat again!" the mother cut off the idle talk. "That's none of your business! Get back to work, you topsy-turvy girls!"

Feng picked up the food basket and pretended to hurry as fast as he could. Beyond the village, he slowed down and walked more quietly. He decided to hold back and remain silent. Not to argue or snap, not to engage in useless conversations. To ignore the mockery and insults, not to stop looking for a way out of this vicious circle of hopeless peasant life.

Run? Yes, run! But not in a hurry, but with thought and preparation.

Perhaps, if things had happened differently, Han would have accepted the fate sent by the spirits and gods. He would have lived his short peasant life, married some peasant woman, and had a bunch of children. And would have died of illness or hard work at an age which in his former life would have been considered not even middle age, but youth. But now... at the thought of having to admit that the master was right, of having to accept all those hurtful words about fry, tadpoles, and fish, anger boiled up in his body. His heart was pounding, his eyes were darkening, and his stomach was almost filled with the forgotten sensation of fierce qi. Han remembered his own quotes. He knew that a warrior should keep his conscience clear, his heart hot and his head cold, but just the thought of this scoundrel laughing loudly at his bloody, outstretched body in his past life made him furious beyond obsession. As soon as Han's resolve did not even subside but only tempered his rage, the hateful voice in his head would say, /"I told you so!" and everything would flare up all over again.

An insight so vivid as if the Heavens had taken pity on his fate flashed through his head. Yes, Feng has no time to train. He has no time to develop his qi because he has to work and work and work! So what? Is that a reason to give up? Would any hero stop at such an obstacle? If there is no time to train because of work, then work will be his training! Not walking but running, not sitting, but practicing qi, not lying down, but retrieving from memory all the knowledge because of his foolish self-righteousness, his teacher allowed him to learn! And he would not just foolishly run in circles, as his teacher forced him to do but to develop stamina and strength, strengthen his body and spirit. Eventually, open the road to the top! And no one, not only in this village but also in this province, will be able to stop him! Then let's see who's the spawn here and who won't become like who here!

A plan had formed on its own. A complicated, heavy one with many obstacles and difficulties. He will have to suffer and endure a lot - but can such small things stop a true hero?

Yes, he will be ridiculed and mocked, not as he is now, but a dozen times more. But what does it matter what these fools think? What does it matter what the miserable, uneducated peasants think?

You will have to work hard and solve a lot of problems. The main one is food, without which a strong, healthy body is impossible. And it is necessary to run for it and run far away because, near the village, everything has long been eaten. There were plenty of experts in searching for bird's nests, caterpillars, badgers, squirrels, and fish. Everything that moved and grew was gathered, fished, and devoured - greedily, quickly, sometimes raw.

Han glanced at the basket of food. How heavy it was, and surely there would be plenty of goodies in it! His hand reached inside to untie the knots on the tightly tied wicker lid. If he was determined to eat junk food, how could the food in the basket be any worse? On the contrary, it was much better. At least it was cooked! His fingers were about to penetrate inside when Han finally came to his senses and pulled himself together. Yes, he could eat his father and brothers' lunch, so what? He'd already had some serious misdemeanors - he'd recently lost some of the clothes on the eve of the feast. And now he was going to eat the food prepared for the workers in the fields.

Will he be able to train after this? Will he be able to start getting stronger and moving towards his goal? Or will he be beaten into obedience and behavior that is expected of a tadpole living in this swamp? Or even expelled from the village altogether! Even if that option is perfectly in line with Feng's intentions, but now he's not ready. Banishment means a death sentence. They might also decide that Feng went crazy when he hit a rock in the river, and then they'd cut him down quietly so he wouldn't bring his curses with him.

But even in the mildest scenario, he'd lose more than he gained: eating bad food once, throwing it all up out of habit, and then taking at least a month to recover from the beatings, or getting injured at all, forgetting about training for a while, if not forever. He'd have to start thinking differently to survive and get out of here. Not the way Han had thought and not the way Feng had thought if Feng had thought at all.

He was stuck here for a long time, at least until the naming ceremony, which was five years. And getting an adult name didn't mean he could just leave like that. Technically, he could, as he could leave right now because there were no laws in the Empire requiring peasants to stay where they were. On the contrary, such barbarism as slavery had been persecuted and punished particularly harshly and cruelly since time immemorial. But just as there were ways to bind a man to a place with debts and vows, so circumstances could hold him more tightly than the claws of a mystical beast.

The unknown awaits me, which means I must be prepared for anything! Feng pondered as he carefully moved his feet. Everything depended on what he would accomplish by then. Ahead lay foreign lands and strangers, among whom there wouldn't even be any 'relatives' like Shirong's family. Alone amid a hostile world is a great story for a scroll or a crystal, except those heroes possessed something that Feng had only yet to obtain. And that was power.

Besides, traveling requires money and a lot of it. Han had never experienced this problem before because his father was rich! But now, who would give him anything? Shirong's family might have shared a few shabby coins, but what good would that be? So here's another problem: to accumulate enough before leaving the village. And with what, if real coins were rarely seen here, instead exchanging things for food and work? Rob a merchant who came occasionally and exchanged goods for other goods? Slaughter a tax collector who goes everywhere with guards and whose death would get the whole village flattened and executed?

Even though Feng didn't like these people, even though their way of living, even prostrating, disgusted him, they didn't deserve to die either.

Become a student of a blacksmith or a potter? Learn to weave baskets from the Crooked Yao? Such options, of course, were better than hunching over in the field, but firstly, Han had a strong aversion to the word "student," and secondly, they were not particularly eager to teach, even though the village was full of people who would kill for the opportunity to attach their offspring to them as an apprentice.

Kill! Feng jumped up and down. It wasn't just humans that could be killed! There were plenty of dangerous beasts in the surrounding forests that would occasionally bully a careless farmer or woodcutter. The further into the forest, the more food there was, but the more danger there was. And if Feng starts killing dangerous beasts, no one will scold him. On the contrary, they will thank him! Each beast is not only a valuable fur but also many jin of not necessarily tasty, but so necessary and nutritious meat! In this case, Feng would have something to offer to the blacksmith so he could become his student and then ask him to forge a real weapon or even forge it himself!

This was a good idea, albeit one that also required qi. Once again, it was a vicious circle: qi required stamina, stamina required food, and to find and obtain food without dying, he needed to use qi vision and strengthen his body. Fortunately, Feng could improve his stamina as well. At least, he hoped so. And then it was up to qi, which, as the sneaky teacher claimed, was everywhere and in everything.

"You weren't in too much of a hurry," Shirong said grumpily as he unfastened the lid of the basket.

Feng barely refrained from making a harsh reply. He didn't just 'hurry,' he ran as fast as he could, bringing this stupid lunch faster than anyone in the village could! And that's what gratitude is here? Even though Feng had decided to ignore the insults and taunts, it was very difficult to put that decision into action.

His father threw back his head and drank greedily from a jug of sour herbs and slightly fermented berries. Feng looked up at him carefully. A thin beard, an earthy-colored face, and wrinkles, though not as deep as "mother" Zenzeng's. Skinny hands that could deliver heavy slaps and yellowish, sometimes black teeth. This man was a living illustration of the unenviable future that awaited Feng if he didn't change his ways.

"I beg your pardon, honorable Father," Han bowed, showing respect to the head of the family as a younger son should.

Even though he didn't have qi yet, the experience he'd gained from trying to avoid his master's blows in the mock "training sessions" hadn't gone away. Feng ducked a little, and the palm aimed at his head whistled higher.

"What the hell is that?" he shouted angrily. "Do you really think you're an aristocrat? A general's son?"

The two older brothers, Kang and Gang, laughed, pointing fingers at Feng. The laughter did not stop them from shoving rice balls into their mouths, choking as if they might be taken away at any moment.

"No," Feng answered firmly.

He really hadn't imagined anything, and he was actually the son of the greatest of the warlords, but he wasn't going to prove anything to anyone now. As it turned out, getting distracted and letting his guard down was a bad idea. His father's hand flashed again, and Feng rolled to the ground, clutching at the dry grass with his hands.

"This is for you, so you don't forget who you are! You're a peasant, so be a peasant! If you try to go any higher, you'll be cheated, robbed of everything, including your honorable name, and you'll still owe money! I don't want to see or hear anything like that ever again, gotcha?"

"Yes, Father," Feng replied, rolling a little to the side.

He wanted to promise his father that he would run faster next time, but then the chatty brothers would spread the word so everyone in the village would think that Feng was only running because he was afraid of Shirong's heavy hand. But it would be inappropriate to bring it up now. On the other hand, Feng rubbed the back of his head. Why the rationale? He's doing his own thing -- why should the others care? Ridicule? He can take it! Angry, poisonous words? He'll ignore it!

Feng knew how hard, almost impossible, it was to hide something in a village where everyone was on each other's radar. This meant the decision to turn work into training was not only cunning but also very right. After all, if he starts practicing like he used to in his previous life, he'll be forced to stop and find a new job so that he "doesn't have time to do nonsense and waste food." So, as long as he does as they say, Feng will be considered a harmless and useful fool, not a dangerous madman possessed by evil spirits and demons.

"I'll run to continue working as a peasant should!" He still shouted, running away.

"You scoundrel!" He heard the laughter of Kang and Gang in the back.

Exactly what we need! Feng runs, not just for fun but for a cause, without arousing suspicion. But at the same time, increasing his stamina, taking a new step towards awakening his qi. He may have forgotten a lot of things, but a lot of things were still in his memory, and the stances and exercises his master made him practice, he would remember day and night! There were only two paths left to discover qi, repeat the training, adapt it to his puny body, and develop it, and then there were only two paths - either to greatness or destruction because he was not going to remain a peasant!

You need scrolls, books, and crystals - not adventures and feats, but knowledge, techniques, and training! Surely, over the years, books have become even more accessible, crystals have become cheaper, and not only aristocrats or rich merchants can afford them! And even if not, there are libraries in big cities where you can learn everything you need for free!

But shopping and traveling require money, so it all comes down to the headman, the traveling merchant, and the tax collector. None of them would do business with a boy who didn't even have an adult name, and besides, no one was interested in an ordinary peasant either. Therefore, it was necessary to raise his status in the village hierarchy to become a significant figure. And at the same time, without stopping to train every moment. After all, five years, no matter how long it seemed to Feng, would fly by in an instant. And all these years will be sort of randomly killing animals, getting food and hides. Coins will appear by themselves, and then respect will come.

But these are matters of the distant future, the one where he has qi and can stand up for himself.

* * *

Chapter 11, in which the hero learns the dangers of nature and finds a like-minded friend