Liu Hanbing found himself in the central tent, surrounded by the other slaves, sitting off to the side. The child who had been with him the previous night was nowhere to be seen. He had just returned from his first day in the mines. Though leveling up had cured his hunger and wounds, he was utterly exhausted. Still, glancing around, there was no doubt he was in better condition than anyone else. Bodies lay sprawled in the dimness around him, eyes closed, drained to the point where it was unclear if they were alive or dead. The low sounds of sick coughs and wounded moans filled the air, the stench of blood, rot, and feces still tormenting him—he hadn't grown accustomed to it yet—and with his hunger sated, the memory of the man ravenously chewing on a dead mouse churned his stomach.
But at the center of the circular tent, where the only lamp cast a faint, flickering light and a small chair and table stood for the overseer's nightly duties, a spectacle was unfolding that kept some of the weary slaves from resting—a rare occurrence. Timidly, they lifted their gazes toward the center to see what was happening. "Slave Stone Seven! Slave Stone Seven! Report to the center immediately! Don't make me call the guards to drag you here!" the overseer shouted, his voice thick with irritation. Liu Hanbing was still adjusting, perhaps a result of choosing the cheaper [Language Translator] option; he couldn't yet speak the local tongue, but now small letters appeared before his eyes, translating what he heard into Chinese. It wasn't what he'd expected—it took time to process—but it worked.
From the edge of the tent, a malnourished, almost skeletal man crawled over the bodies of other slaves, who cursed him for disturbing their sleep, some scurrying away in disgust. Each movement was accompanied by a pained gasp. He inched toward the center slowly. Liu Hanbing couldn't make out his face in the darkness, but from what he could sense, the man seemed… resigned. Upon reaching the center, Liu saw him more clearly: his clothes were nearly nonexistent, his skin dry and clinging to his thighs, almost entirely black with filth and dotted with purple sores oozing greenish liquid. Bald patches marred his head, as if clumps of hair had been torn out. He collapsed face-down in the center, his hips raised.
"Let's see," the overseer said, approaching the dying man without hesitation, unfazed by his filth and sickness—clearly accustomed to it. With a damp cloth, he began scrubbing the man's back, rubbing hard for a minute as the slave groaned in pain. An image emerged on the cleaned patch: a circle of black lines with a seven in the middle. "Good! You are indeed Stone Seven. Now, let's deliver the verdict," the overseer exclaimed, clearing his throat as he stood and declared with a cold expression: "Hmm… Slave Stone Seven has failed to bring at least one Small Water Crystal from the mine this month! As you all know, those who fail their task will no longer be fed nor receive the Frozen Venom treatment! Furthermore, he will not rest tonight; he will be sent back to the mines by the slave drivers to work." He paused, a near-encouraging smile spreading across his face, as if concerned for his pets. "Now, you may return to rest. We have hard work tomorrow."
No one cared a damn. The poor man remained prostrate on the ground as the overseer settled into his chair and began filling out a form like it was an ordinary office day. Liu Hanbing couldn't help but think: "How long has it been since I last found a crystal?" A shiver ran down his spine. "Pss, pss, Little Stone, Little Stone! Damn it, you don't even remember your name, you little fool!" From the tent's edge, Liu heard someone repeatedly calling to him. Little Stone—was that really his name? He turned and, two bodies away, saw the child who had spoken to him the night before. Like all the slaves here, his exact features were hard to discern; the crust of dust and grime embedded in their skin and the group's general malnutrition made them nearly indistinguishable. Ironically, Liu still didn't know what his own body looked like. What stood out about the boy before him were his bulging green eyes and the terrifying scar splitting his chin in two.
Seeing Liu Hanbing's gaze, the child cautiously edged closer and whispered, "Little Stone, it's me, Stone 49. Do you understand?" The boy asked. Liu needed to seize this chance; Stone 49 seemed to harbor no ill intent. He needed information. Stone 49 stared curiously as Liu Hanbing pointed emphatically at his throat, making strange noises, and asked, "Can't you speak? Touch your nose if you understand." Seeing an affirmative nod, he continued: "Being unable to speak might be the best thing that could've happened after tangling with that bastard Stone 11. In fact…" 49 paused, hesitant: "You look really good."
Stone 49 likely noticed the confusion on Liu Hanbing's face. "You really don't remember? Ha, ha! You should've seen yourself, kid—you looked terrifying fighting for that crystal. Until that maniac beat you to a pulp. I don't know how you're in this state. You're lucky they sent him to the Depths as punishment." "Shhh! Cough, cough!" The people around were losing patience with the two chatty boys. They needed to hurry; making enemies wasn't wise. "Listen well, Little Stone!" 49 said hurriedly. "This could be a blessing in disguise. If you can't speak, they might trust you more." Without giving Liu time to process, he added: "You still need a crystal in less than two weeks—you don't have much time to decide. Tomorrow, you'll work with 38; he'll guide your next moves. And remember! Don't tell anyone about anything." He paused. "Well, you can't."
"Shhh!" Murmurs were rising around them, and with a warning glance, 49 dropped almost flat, crawling past Liu and lying still on the ground. Liu Hanbing fell into contemplation. He'd learned much. People called him Little Stone—strange, though it made sense since he hadn't seen anyone younger here. Second, the previous occupant of this body had died beaten by someone, "11," apparently an unpopular figure now punished in a place called "the Depths"—something to watch out for, as he'd need to defend himself if that person returned. But most importantly: he seemed caught in the middle of a plot and had to decide whether to join, knowing nothing of the players or their plans. A tough choice. Another concern was the deadline—less than two weeks to find a "crystal." He'd been digging all day yesterday with no sign of one, nor had he heard anyone nearby celebrate, suggesting it wasn't easy to find.
***
Liu Hanbing now understood the guards' shouts when waking them each morning. "Up, you pieces of trash! Get your asses moving!" At least ten men in leather armor with clubs were present. The slaves' bodies dragged themselves toward the pickaxes piled in the center. Liu Hanbing followed. Forming a line with the heavy pickaxe in hand, he focused on the person ahead. A boy noticeably taller, perhaps a few years older, with almost no hair on his head—it was the one with 49 last night; this must be Stone 38. He'd wait for a signal to confirm.
The slaves walked in single file, heads bowed. The guards escorted them toward the mine, the orange sky bathed in dawn rays visible beyond the mountain. This time, Liu paid attention to his surroundings: a forested area, the uneven dirt path making it hard to keep pace. Two slave drivers trailed the procession, striking the ground with their wooden rods and taking turns shouting: "Stone Fourteen!" A slave ahead let out an exhausted wail, as if saying "present." "You have four days!" "Stone Twenty-Three!" A grunt of acknowledgment came from behind in the line. "You have five days." They continued, naming a few more slaves with only days left to deliver a crystal, one with just a single day remaining. Until they reached the mine's entrance. The tunnel, as dark as Liu remembered. The boy followed the person ahead into one of the labyrinthine stone passages until, like yesterday, they stopped in a small stone chamber off the corridor, marked with pickaxe scars—that would be their workday spot today.
***
Several hours of digging had passed; Liu wasn't sure how many. His hands burned, the heat was suffocating, his chest heaved frantically, every muscle felt on the verge of imploding, and occasional spasms nearly made him drop his tool. His work partner, whom Liu suspected was 38, hadn't said a word or even shared a knowing glance. His focus remained fixed on the stone, his expression cold. But that wasn't what troubled Liu Hanbing now—his attention was on the letters in his vision:
[You have acquired an experience point!].
It seemed like good news, but it wasn't. Liu had calculated that it took about fifty strikes to earn a point. Worrying. Very worrying. Especially given how exhausted he felt.
[Liu Hanbing. Namer. Lvl: 1]
[Experience: 14%]
[Class: No class]
[Spells: No spells]
[Cultivation: No cultivation]
[Names: Name of Strength (Lvl. 1)]
[Modifiers: Language Translator]
[Erosion: 1%]
[Amulets: 0]
[Coins: 0]
[Shop] [Exit]
"Fourteen percent," he thought. "Roughly seven hundred strikes. Too slow. I need to find another way." He'd noticed each experience point equaled one percent. Catching another mouse might help, though he doubted it happened often, and fighting to the death for one didn't seem wise—he didn't want to make enemies yet. He hadn't had time or a safe place to use his new Name of Strength, unsure how much attention it would draw or how much energy it would cost, doubting it came free.
They kept digging a while longer, Liu Hanbing now measuring time by strikes against the stone. About a hundred more strikes passed when a tumult shattered the monotonous rhythm of stone strikes, labored breaths, and the suffocating silence of the mine. From the adjacent chamber, the sudden echoes of chaos reached his ears: furious shouts filled the air, an explosion of voices hurling insults with a mix of rage and despair. "You damn bastards, you again! Get out! Leave!" rang out a hoarse voice, followed by the sickening crunch of a stone smashing into flesh.
The conflict erupted into a full-blown melee. A cacophony of gut-wrenching screams bounced off the stone walls, mingled with the metallic clang of pickaxes clashing against each other and the ground. Liu Hanbing, still clutching his trembling pickaxe, froze for a moment, his heart pounding as he pictured the scene. He could hear the dull thud of bodies hitting the floor, the sharp snap of bones under savage blows, and the cries of pain morphing into roars of fury. A fight to the death, a total uproar, the echo amplifying every strike and insult until the mine's air pulsed with unrestrained violence.
Liu Hanbing subtly glanced at his partner. The boy didn't flinch. His cold gaze stayed fixed on the stone as he delivered a precise strike. Amid the chaos, fragments of the struggle stood out: the whoosh of a stone hurled with force, followed by a piercing groan, and the rattle of a pickaxe torn from hands to be wielded as a weapon. Voices blended into a frenzied chorus—some pleading, others cursing—as the tumult seemed to spread, as if more slaves joined the frenzy. Liu, trapped in his own passageway, felt the weight of uncertainty; he couldn't see, but the clamor painted a vivid image of blood and chaos.
His confusion made him falter at his task. The shock left him paralyzed, long enough to delay his next strike and keep his partner waiting. The absence of the pickaxe's dull thud against stone for so long snapped Liu Hanbing out of his daze. Worried, fearing he'd angered his work partner, he glanced aside to ensure all was well. Beside him, he met the icy stare of his companion, sending chills down his spine. He could feel the boy's eyes dissecting him, as if trying to unravel the child's secrets. Only now did Liu Hanbing notice his features: thick eyebrows with a scar slicing through one, a sharp chin, a nearly bald head, his face almost black with dust, and that cold gaze—intimidating. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he spoke for the first time, his voice deep: "Hey, kid, do you remember what the world outside this place was like?"