Sixteen years, you only have sixteen years of life.

These were the words Edward Foster, the prophecy master of Louis Carter, gave to William Carter the first time he saw him.

That year, William Carter was sixteen.

Upon first entering the Northern Territory, a brand new and mysterious world opened up to William Carter: three beautiful and enigmatic female masters, a seemingly predestined path of fate...

The moss in the corner of the wall is bitter and chokes the throat, because "I" have tasted it. The mud underfoot is filthy and ugly, because "I" was once there.

Because as long as you live, there is hope.

This is a struggle and resistance against fate.

Soaring, soaring,

The years tried to keep you,

But you were forgotten by time.

Soaring, soaring,

Hear the sound of a sword,

And remember, do not forget.

Volume One

Chapter 001 What Do People Do Before They Die (Part 1)

My name is William Carter.

But more people like to call me "trash," "little punk," "stinking rascal," or even "pervert."

In truth, a name is just a code. Just like I'm called William Carter, but I haven't soared to the sky; instead, I'm more like a pile of rotten mud by the gutter at the base of Louis Carter's city wall.

Lying atop the big locust tree, with a wide lotus leaf covering my head, I squinted my eyes, stretched my neck, and stared at the garden of the Wang family's estate across the way.

I'm a man, so of course I'm watching a woman—and not just any woman, but a beautiful young lady.

She sat on the swing in the garden, head tilted back, happily swaying to and fro, her snow-white neck flashing in the sunlight. Sometimes the swing soared high, flying over the wall; sometimes it disappeared into the shade of the trees, her bell-like laughter scattering all over the ground.

The scorching sun wilted the leaves, and sweat streamed down, nearly gluing my eyelids shut, but I still peeped greedily, utterly entranced.

"Second brother, you're spying on the Wang family's young lady again!" Down below, someone looked up and shouted at me, his dirty little face sporting two green dragons that shot out from his nostrils and then quickly retracted.

"Shh!" I put my index finger to my lips and waved my fist at him.

His name is Grace Thompson, the youngest in our gang of beggars, swindlers, thieves, and robbers. I'm ranked second in the gang because I'm smart; I can't be the boss—if we get in trouble, the authorities will always go after the boss first.

The bird that sticks its head out gets shot.

"Stop looking and come down! The brothers are all waiting for you at the White Horse Temple gate." Grace Thompson looked at me eagerly. Not many in the gang dared to climb such a steep locust tree, so when I bravely climbed up to spy on the Wang family's young lady, with a dozen brothers watching, I earned a bit of pitiful pride.

"Incredibly bold," the brothers finally said.

Does someone like me even deserve pride?

Taking one last greedy look at the Wang family's young lady, I slid down the tree, took Grace Thompson with me, and swaggered toward the White Horse Temple in the south of the city.

Along the way, passersby pinched their noses and frowned, avoiding us. Even burly men would detour around us.

Because Grace Thompson really stank—like leftovers gone bad for days, with flies buzzing around him. Any brother with a stuffy nose would sniff him and instantly clear up.

Of course, I wasn't much better—hadn't bathed in half a month, my smile black and dazzling.

But my clothes were very clean. Though tattered, they were clean.

The White Horse Temple in the afternoon was quiet; the worshippers had all left, and from within the yellow temple walls came the faint, listless chanting of monks.

A dozen ragged youths gathered by the wall—some dazed, some lounging and dozing, some intently picking lice.

"Xiao Fei, you finally made it!" Among the boys, the big, dark, burly Jack Foster came up to greet me.

I lazily said hello, "Boss, how are you?"

Jack Foster is the boss of our gang of beggars, swindlers, thieves, and robbers. True to his name, he's big and dark, with hairy arms. I suspect his father might be a wild man from the mountains.

We're all orphans, wandering the streets with nothing to do. To fill our bellies, I suggested forming this gang with a ridiculously long name.

Seeing me, the dozen brothers gathered around. Jack Foster rumbled, "Xiao Fei, same as always—you come up with the plan, and everyone follows your lead."

I quickly waved my hands, "No, no, no! The plan comes from you, boss. I just make a suggestion, a suggestion, understand?" If something goes wrong, I don't want to take the blame.

Jack Foster said impatiently, "Alright, alright, whatever you say. We all know your dead old man was a scholar—you're the one who likes to nitpick!"

I grinned sheepishly. I always liked to remind them that my late father was a scholar. Scholar, you know? Literate, could take the imperial exams and become an official!

But when he was alive, it seemed all he did was get yelled at by the county yamen's constables.

"This time, the plan is at the White Horse Temple's Grand Hall, and the target is the merit box full of copper coins." I deliberately coughed, put my hands behind my back, and struck a pose: "You all understand?"

Grace Thompson sniffed hard. "Second brother, we already know. Just tell us what to do."