The sound of horses echoed again in the morning air, shaking the wooden walls of Hin Yue's small bamboo shack. He opened his eyes slowly, already fully awake before the world stirred. For a few moments, he remained still, lying on the old bedding, letting the cold seep into his bones.
He didn't hate the silence. In fact, it helped him think.
Today was not a day to waste.
He sat up cross-legged and closed his eyes, focusing inward. His breath slowed, his heartbeat steadied, and his thoughts honed into a single objective: finding someone to represent the business he would create. He couldn't do it himself. The villagers already saw him as a stain. Hiring him was out of the question; trusting him with coin, even less so.
If he wanted to operate from the shadows, he needed a face. A single person—unassuming, unthreatening, and most importantly, forgettable. Someone no one would suspect could hold anything of value. And yet, they had to be capable. Someone moldable, but not completely broken.
And where better to find someone like that than the slums?
Hin Yue left his hut, the morning mist still clinging to the dirt roads as he made his way toward the outermost edge of the village. The slums were just beyond the far wall—a chaotic patchwork of tarp-covered shelters, crooked houses, and makeshift fires that burned with desperation instead of warmth.
The air smelled of rot and smoke. Children with thin limbs scurried barefoot across the muddy ground. Adults leaned against walls with hollow gazes or slumped in corners lost to sleep, drink, or both. It was a place forgotten by the heavens.
Yet among the hopeless, Hin Yue searched.
He passed gamblers with missing teeth, beggars fighting over moldy bread, and women who'd long since given up their dignity. He studied every face carefully, but none of them were what he needed. Most were too broken. Others were too sly, their eyes already scheming for the next coin to snatch.
"Not them," he murmured. "They'll try to own the plan or sell it the moment it works."
He was about to give up and leave when he noticed something strange—a small group of children sitting in a half-circle, listening quietly.
Curious, Hin Yue approached.
At the center of the gathering stood a teenage boy. He was thin—painfully so—with pale skin that hadn't seen proper sunlight in weeks. His blond hair fell messily across his forehead, framing a pair of strikingly blue eyes that shimmered like ice in the dawn. A threadbare shirt clung to his bony shoulders, but he stood straight, a ragged book open in his hands.
"And then," the boy read softly, "the traveler climbed the mountain, not because he was told to, but because the stars above whispered that the peak held his answer."
His voice was gentle and steady, drawing the children into the story as if it were real.
Hin Yue stared in silence.
He couldn't explain it, but there was something… different about the boy. Not just his appearance, but a strange emptiness. A void where presence should be. In his past life, Hin Yue had cultivated senses sharp enough to detect even faint spiritual energy. And though his current self was nowhere near that level, he could still feel something—something cold and quiet, like a candle moments from flickering out.
He could feel the boy's fate slipping.
"He's about to die," Hin Yue muttered.
And yet… the thread of destiny shimmered faintly around him. Most people had too much noise around their fate—too many conflicting paths. But this boy? He had almost none. As if heaven itself had forgotten he existed.
"Perfect," Hin Yue thought. "He won't be missed. No one will suspect him. But he still has a spark."
He waited quietly for the boy to finish his story. When the last words were read and the children dispersed, Hin Yue stepped forward.
The boy looked at him, cautious but polite, lowering his eyes.
"Did you enjoy the book?" Hin Yue asked.
The boy nodded but didn't speak.
Hin Yue didn't waste time.
"Do you enjoy starving every day? Not knowing what you'll eat tomorrow? Not knowing if you'll even have a tomorrow?"
The boy blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting such a blunt question.
"Do you want to stay here forever?" Hin Yue continued, voice calm but firm. "Living like a shadow? Or… do you want to be free? Free to choose your path, your future. Free like the wind itself."
He extended a hand.
"Decide."
There was a long pause. The boy stared at the hand, then at Hin Yue's face, uncertain.
"...I don't know you," he said quietly. His voice was soft, almost hesitant. "Why would you help me?"
Hin Yue smiled faintly. "Because I don't need a servant. I need a partner. One no one would suspect."
Still uncertain, the boy looked at Hin Yue's outstretched hand… and slowly, hesitantly, took it.
The moment their hands touched, a notification rang in Hin Yue's mind.
[New Ally Registered: Hua Lio][Age: 17 | Species: Human | Talent: Heavenly (Passive/Dormant)]
Hin Yue's eyes widened.
"Heavenly Talent…?"
It was something he had only read about in ancient scrolls. Even in the Superior Realms, such talents were myth. A Heavenly Talent was said to appear once every million years—if that. It was the potential for absolute greatness, locked within the soul.
Hua Lio had no idea what he carried inside him.
Hin Yue looked down at the boy. "Your name?"
"…Hua Lio," the boy said shyly.
"Hua Lio," Hin Yue repeated thoughtfully. "From now on, you're not just some forgotten soul. You're the face of something bigger."
The boy tilted his head, confused, but didn't object.
Later that day, back in his bamboo hut, Hin Yue sat by the dim glow of an oil lamp, staring at the small wooden pendant resting in his palm.
It was old, carved from a dark, fragrant wood. It held no visible value—just a memory. The only thing his parents had left before abandoning the body's original owner.
He traced the curves of the carving.
"Sentiment doesn't feed you," he whispered. "And he's already dead."
He clenched the pendant.
He had made his decision.
He wouldn't try to sell it in some village market where greedy merchants would cheat him the moment they learned his status. No—he would go to the auction house. There, even commoners could make bids, and the items were handled anonymously. He wouldn't be seen as Hin Xue, the orphan. He'd just be a seller.
With the pendant sold, he would have enough money to buy materials, clothing, and packaging—everything needed to start small.
To start with a single, humble product: a toothbrush.
He had seen the villagers' teeth. Hygiene wasn't just neglected—it was nonexistent. People spat blood from rotting gums and smelled of old decay. Cultivators cared about power, not plaque. And that was an opportunity.
"Let's clean up the world," Hin Yue whispered with a smirk.
Tomorrow, the plan would begin.
And for the first time since arriving in this world, he wasn't just surviving.
He was building something.