Volume One: The Emperor’s Edict Chapter Thirty-Five: Ten Thousand Miles Beneath My Feet

“Flatbreads, freshly baked flatbreads!”

An old man pushed a clay stove along the street, dressed in clean linen clothes, selling flatbreads as he walked.

“Two, and a bowl of soup.”

The old man reached into the round-mouthed stove, pulled out two steaming hot flatbreads, and deftly used a large brass ladle at the stove's edge to scoop oily meat soup from a wooden barrel.

“Seven copper coins, young man, you’ve got a good appetite!”

He took the coins, wiped his hands on the white towel draped over his shoulder, propped up his wooden cart, and laid out his stall for a while.

From Zhongzhou to Yanliang Province, the distance stretched three thousand li. Liu Xiaoyi didn't ride a horse, walking no more than a hundred li a day, leisurely making his way toward the Heavenly King Path.

The Heavenly King Path was both the site of a sect and a perilous ground for trials. Some said it was the treasure left by the Heavenly King who oversaw weapons in the celestial court, and that whoever survived its ordeals would gain the method to become immortal. Others claimed that the mere thousand-meter path was one every martial hero must tread at least once.

Yanliang Province lay in a desolate, barren land: scarce rain, capricious climate, infertile soil, most of it saline and alkaline. Locals, thin-faced and short in stature, suffered from malnutrition in their youth. Vegetables and fruit refused to grow, livestock was plentiful but expensive, and common folk could not afford it, leading to mornings filled with vendors selling meat soup and flatbreads.

Liu Xiaoyi carried two crossed swords on his back, a pouch of loose silver at his waist, and banknotes in his breast pocket. After the Fourth Prince sent him off with an escort from the capital, he walked for over ten days, finally leaving Zhongzhou behind.

“You have a year. Bring back the token from the Heavenly King Path to exchange for Miss Yu’s life, or you’ll never see her again.” The Fourth Prince had said helplessly.

Not only for the sake of the old master thief, but also because the Flying Horse Statue that night was closely connected to Liu Xiaoyi. For several days after sending him off, the prince sighed repeatedly.

“If only he wasn’t blessed by fortune, what a brother he would be!”

Yet the struggle for dynastic fate left no room for sentiment. The prince stayed in the capital only briefly before hurriedly leaving with the old master thief, seeking reinforcements from the Northern Reliance Sect.

Liu Xiaoyi found a quiet spot in front of an empty shop, sat on the flagstones, drinking soup and biting into his flatbread.

Passersby wore head scarves and cotton clothes. Though it was November, it was already cold here. As they drank meat soup, white vapor rose above their heads.

If it were in Sanshan City, the scene would be just as tranquil. Liu Xiaoyi felt a vague sense of nostalgia, as if he glimpsed a tearful child on the street, looking around, unable to move.

After eating his fill, he noticed the child still there and realized the boy was indeed flesh and blood before him.

“Little one, did you get separated from your family?” Liu Xiaoyi approached, crouched down to face him, but the child only cried harder, attracting curious glances.

Puzzled, Liu Xiaoyi heard the child’s stomach rumble—it was hunger.

“Another flatbread and a bowl of meat soup, please.”

The child was famished, devouring the food with astonishing speed, eating far more than his peers.

He didn’t look like a commoner, so Liu Xiaoyi took him from door to door, soon learning the boy belonged to the family of a boxing master at the Li Martial Arts School.

The Li Martial Arts School wasn’t far, just ahead on the street, and a woman stood at the doorway, weeping.

The child, upon seeing her, shouted and ran over. The woman, stunned, opened her arms and hugged him tightly.

“Thank you so much, young man…” Overjoyed, she caught sight of Liu Xiaoyi in the distance, waved, and turned away.

Around midday, Liu Xiaoyi left the town, following the mountain path onward.

Travelers marched by day and hid at night, lazily walking along the roadside. Many traveled alone like Liu Xiaoyi, but none so young.

“This mountain is mine, this tree I planted…” In a desolate stretch, several burly men leapt out, blocking the path with knives.

Liu Xiaoyi drew a sword from his back. In a few breaths, several large ‘earthworms’ lay groaning on the ground, battered and bruised.

These bandits had some skill, but their iron knives were shoddy, breaking at the slightest contact. Starved in this drought, their muscles were wasted and strength little.

He was just about to leave when behind him came the sound of fervent kowtowing: “We were blind to offend you, young hero. It’s only disaster and hardship that drove us to this!”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind. Go on your way,” Liu Xiaoyi said as he walked, but the men followed closely behind.

“Seeing your martial prowess, you must be headed to Salt City for the alliance—take us with you, please?” The bandits followed him for over ten li, along the way meeting other highwaymen.

Most were refugees, relying on their strength to risk their lives for a bite to eat.

By the time Liu Xiaoyi exited the woods, hundreds had gathered in his wake. Any patrols of soldiers he encountered were frightened off by the sight.

“Friends, I am merely a traveler. Why follow me?” Liu Xiaoyi stopped and turned.

With dusk approaching, even lodging would be a problem with all these people.

The leader, Hu San, once a spear and staff instructor in town, had turned to banditry only because of the chaos.

He clasped his hands and knelt, pleading, “Young hero, with your skills and heading for Salt City, please take us with you.”

“What is Salt City all about? You’ve been mentioning it, but I truly don’t know.”

Seeing Liu Xiaoyi’s puzzled frown, Hu San explained, “Grand General Cui Ran has led two hundred thousand troops out of Yanliang Province to support the king. His son Cui Ying is recruiting a new army in Salt City—anyone with ambition can join.”

“I’m not interested. You’d best seek another path.”

As they spoke, clouds of dust rose behind them—a troop of cavalry charged forward. “Move aside, all of you!”

Hundreds stood in the middle of the road, nowhere to escape. The leader swung his long blade, intending to cut a path.

Liu Xiaoyi twisted, blocking the blade with his sword. The bandit beneath the blade was so terrified he wet himself.

Feet planted, Liu Xiaoyi was pushed by the warhorse, gouging a trench half a meter deep. The rider, angered at being stopped, reversed his blade to strike Liu Xiaoyi.

Seeing the deadly intent, Liu Xiaoyi ducked and sliced the horse’s leg, then seized the blade’s shaft, “You, get down!”

The rider never imagined Liu Xiaoyi possessed such strength, dragged forcibly from his mount.

The cavalry rushed in to rescue him, and instantly a skirmish broke out between them and the bandits, tangled and chaotic.