At that moment, Eric Reed felt a bit lost.

A man had died, yet it seemed even less significant than the death of a dog.

What’s more, that man bore the surname Lu. Just the night before, he had been drinking with his elder brother to bolster his courage, brimming with excitement, vowing that he would one day rise to great heights and bring honor to the family name. The two brothers would no longer be frogs at the bottom of a well, but would join forces to make a name for themselves out in the world.

Even after leaving the Lu family mansion, Eric Reed’s mind remained a complete blank.

After that, Eric Reed began to feel fear. When questioned by unfamiliar nobles, his voice would tremble; when leading the way, his steps would falter. He knew that behaving like this would make him a laughingstock, would disappoint his grandfather, and bring shame to the family. But as a young man, he simply couldn’t control his fear—it was as if a chill was seeping from his very bones.

Last year, at the end of the year, Grandfather had taken the two brothers into a secret chamber and told them some news: the Lu family would soon be working for certain distinguished figures—a tremendous blessing. They must handle matters with utmost care. If they succeeded, the Lu family would turn the reward into a stepping stone for the brothers’ advancement. As long as the nobles nodded in approval, a broad and smooth road would open up beneath their feet, and they would rise swiftly to unimaginable wealth and glory. Only then did he understand why he and his brother had been made to learn so many strange dialects from a young age.

Eric Reed watched as Brian Clark drew closer and closer to the covered bridge. Suddenly, he felt an intense hatred for this person—this pauper he had once cornered in an alley, who had lain on the ground like a dead dog. If not for some little brat running to the alley entrance and shouting that someone had died, he and his cronies would have, as planned, taken off their pants and rained humiliation down on that ungrateful boy. To this day, Eric Reed still didn’t understand why these high-and-mighty nobles looked at Brian Clark with such newfound respect. As for their talk of treasured armor, sword scriptures, Zhengyang Mountain, the path to immortality, fighting for fortune and luck—Eric Reed seemed to understand, yet not really.

But there was one thing Eric Reed was absolutely certain of: he desperately wanted Brian Clark to die here.

As for the real reason, Eric Reed dared not admit it, nor did he wish to think too deeply about it.

Deep down, Eric Reed absolutely did not want someone as lowly as a dog like Brian Clark to see that he, the pampered young master of the Lu family, had fallen to the same level as that Liu fellow.

There is no greater humiliation.

The beautiful woman gazed at him and murmured, “He’s here.”

The tall youth approached, practicing his punches as he walked. His strikes grew faster and fiercer, until his very form was swept up in the momentum, making him stagger.

To the eyes of an expert, the embryonic intent in his punches already revealed a hint of mastery, blending hardness and softness.

There’s a saying in martial arts: Without grasping the true intent of the fist, you’ll remain an outsider for a hundred years. Once you grasp it, in ten years you can strike down ghosts and gods.

The beautiful woman let out a sigh of relief. As expected, this youth surnamed Liu was indeed the one they were looking for—his talent was remarkable. Even among the immortal clans, his natural aptitude would not be overlooked.

Of course, in the vast world of the beautiful woman and the burly white-haired old man, there were many such people.

The beautiful woman stood up and instructed Eric Reed, who was at the bottom of the steps, “Go tell that boy and ask him what he wants in exchange for handing over the family treasures—the armor and the book.”

As Eric Reed turned around, he was already bowing his head and bending at the waist. He replied in a dialect that the townsfolk would find utterly incomprehensible, “Yes, madam.”

The woman said calmly, “Remember, when you speak to that boy, be gentle and courteous. Mind your manners.”

The boy pointed his finger down from above and said harshly, “If you ruin this important matter, I’ll have you skinned and your tendons pulled out, then refine your soul into a lamp wick, making sure you suffer a fate worse than death until the lamp goes out!”

Eric Reed shuddered in terror, bowing even lower, and stammered, “I would never dare mess things up!”

The little girl finally felt she’d regained the upper hand and sneered, “You act all high and mighty in front of these commoners, but who was it on the way here that got called a bastard to his face by a peer and didn’t even dare talk back?”

The burly old man had disliked that snobbish mother and son from the very start, so he added, “Miss, you’re mistaken. It’s not that he didn’t dare fight back—he didn’t even dare talk back.”

The boy in the bright red robe clenched his teeth, glaring at the girl with a sinister expression, but in the end, he didn’t say anything harsh. Instead, he broke into a bright, dazzling smile.

The woman kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead, her expression calm and unruffled. Whether she harbored any resentment, who could say?

The little girl snorted, ran down the steps, and squatted by the stream, lowering her head to watch the fish swimming in the water.

From time to time, schools of carp swam past in her line of sight, their numbers varying, some red, some green.

Some of the elderly townsfolk, chatting under the old locust tree, often said that during thunderstorms, when they passed the covered bridge, they had seen a golden carp swim out from under the bridge.

But some said that golden-scaled carp was only as long as a palm, while others claimed it was huge—at least half a person in length, practically a spirit in the making.