The Brown Boar squad lingered in the fishing village for only a single day before following a well-tested route through the forest to a river cove hidden from prying eyes. There, the mountain bandits boarded the ships of smugglers who were pirates as well, and set off downstream. The goods they had carried on their backs underwent a miraculous transformation, changing from stolen junk into perfectly respectable merchandise fit for sale at market.

  Along with the rest of the cargo, the wounded Zhang Ming was brought aboard and left in the hold. Morning and evening, bandits brought him food and water; once, they even replaced his bandages with fresh ones. He slept through most of the journey, striving to recover as quickly as possible, and when awake, he meditated, circulating energy according to the technique recorded in the scroll.

  In his dreams, he saw a woman, the one whose enchanting voice he had heard by the stream. His imagination painted her as an elegant and noble lady, slightly mischievous, yet breathtakingly beautiful, like a goddess who had descended from the heavens. On a fleeting whim, she had saved him, then vanished like a spring breeze carrying the scent of flowers. No matter how hard he tried, he could not make out her face behind the pink veil, only the vague impression of a captivating smile. Zhang Ming longed to thank the owner of that beguiling voice, yet he had no idea who she was.

  His wounds healed far faster than those of any ordinary person. The delirium had long since passed, and now he sat on an improvised bed made of bundled cloth, guiding healing energy through his body. Though many among the Brown Boar squad already knew of his breakthrough into the Body Tempering Realm, they could now witness it with their own eyes. Men who had never spoken to him before brought him food made from the finest ingredients, smiling broadly as they wished him good health.

  “Brother Zhang! How are you today? Feeling better?” asked a bandit whose name Zhang Ming couldn’t recall. “Our generous Commander Tang bought medicine in the village. Expensive stuff! Rare herbs! Yes! It’ll have you back on your feet in no time. Just focus on recovering.”

  What’s going on? Why don’t they give a shit about me like they used to? Zhang Ming thought. It’s not just the breakthrough to the Body Tempering Realm, I never hid that. There’s something else.

  I just hope no one figured out I’ve reached the second stage. Otherwise, questions will follow.

  Disguised as a merchant fleet, the smugglers’ ships docked at the port of a major city a couple of days later. The Brown Boar squad disembarked under the guise of sailors, eager to indulge in drink and other pleasures. More than a hundred mountain bandits poured into the streets, filling cheap brothels, taverns, even gambling houses. Everyone who sold alcohol rejoiced at the sudden influx of customers. While the squad entertained itself, their leader made money selling stolen goods.

  Zhang Ming remained aboard the ship, as walking still caused him pain. Wounds from weapons healed far more slowly than bruises and contusions. For three days, he did not leave the shared cabin, devoting himself to breathing exercises from the scroll, determined to regain his strength as quickly as possible. Only on the fourth day did he manage, without assistance, to leave the crew quarters and climb up onto the deck.

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  Leaning on a crutch fashioned for him by one of his newly found friends, Zhang Ming approached the railing and looked out at the city spread before him.

  “Ah… this feels good,” he said, drawing in a deep breath. “Hm? This port looks awfully familiar…”

  The sounds and smells stirred memories of his first days in this new world, and a nostalgic smile touched his lips. Lines of porters hurried along the pier; in the distance stood the silhouette of an overseer, exactly like the one from his memories. The harbor buildings, narrow streets, and little shops were no different from those he had once passed on his way to work.

  “Are all ports in this world built the same?” He called out to a sailor nearby. “Hey, friend, what’s the name of this city?”

  “Baohe.”

  “…What?”

  For a moment, Zhang Ming stood motionless, staring at the harbor. Then, leaning heavily on his crutch, he hurried down from the ship. Crossing the wooden pier, he stepped onto the familiar square where goods were transferred to carts. He limped past workers he had once labored alongside, yet no one recognized him. His hair still covered half his face, tied back with a strip of cloth; his unkempt beard stuck out in every direction. Bare-chested and wearing torn trousers, Zhang Ming didn’t even look like a beggar.

  “Please… let them be safe,” he muttered, tapping his crutch against the stones as he hurried on.

  Soon, the port lay behind him, and he entered the streets of Baohe itself. The familiar bustle of a large city greeted him, roadside stalls, a river of people flowing toward the sea. To avoid the crowds, Zhang Ming turned into side alleys dangerous for ordinary folk but familiar to him, and before long, he reached the slums. Nothing had changed. The same rough houses, dirt roads impassable to carts when it rained, and the same grim faces of the residents.

  The closer he came to his home, the stronger his unease grew. His heart tightened with a bad premonition. Spotting the familiar flimsy shack at the end of the street, Zhang Ming unconsciously slowed his steps. Normally, upon returning, he would see two tiny figures playing with sand or pebbles in front of the house. At the sight of him, they would run toward him with joy. But now, no one was there.

  “They’re probably busy…”

  As he reached the door, he heard men’s voices inside. His heart dropped. For a moment, his vision darkened, then his fists clenched on their own. The crutch slipped from his grasp and fell into the dust. For several breaths, Zhang Ming didn’t move, staring at the ground. Inside him, his internal energy went wild, surging like a swollen river, rushing through his body in an unstoppable torrent. He opened the door and stepped into his home.

  “Hey! Who are you?”

  “Why aren’t you answering? Deaf or something? Get out!”

  “Beat it, beggar!”

  “Told you to leave! You want a beating?”

  Looking at each of the four vagrants in turn, Zhang Ming slowly closed the door behind him.

  The unexpected gesture silenced the new occupants. They exchanged uneasy glances. At first, the wounded drifter didn’t seem dangerous, but on closer inspection they noticed his solid build, his muscular arms and alarm rang out in their guts. Even their skin sensed the change: the air had grown heavy, thick with the scent of blood, as if a starving predator were staring at them from beneath that curtain of hair. All four swallowed loudly, panic-stricken eyes searching for an escape.