The romanticism of running away lasted exactly four hours.
After that, the reality set in. The crate was cramped, smelling of dry straw and stale air. Tang Chen's legs had fallen asleep hours ago, and his stomach was growling loud enough to compete with the hum of the spatial engines.
"I'm an idiot," Tang Chen mumbled, shifting his weight and getting poked in the ribs by a stalk of hard wheat. "I left a soft feather bed for this."
He wasn't meditating. He wasn't cycling his Qi. He was just a bored, hungry six-year-old boy curled into a ball, regretting his life choices while simultaneously telling himself to tough it out.
When the hum of the engines finally died down, the lurch of the ship landing threw him against the wooden wall of the crate.
Thud.
"Ow," he whispered, rubbing his head.
Voices erupted outside. The shouting wasn't the disciplined, polite chatter of the Burning Flame Valley disciples. It was rough, coarse, and filled with profanity.
"Unload this trash! The auction house wants the herbs in an hour!"
"Move it, you maggot!"
Creak.
The lid of his crate was pried open with a crowbar. Tang Chen froze, burying himself deeper into the straw. Light flooded in, blinding him after hours of darkness.
A rough hand reached in, grabbing a bundle of herbs right next to his head. The worker didn't notice the small boy huddled in the corner; he was too busy yelling at someone else.
As soon as the worker turned his back, Tang Chen scrambled.
He rolled out of the crate, hit the wooden deck of the dock, and immediately ducked behind a stack of barrels. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. This wasn't a calculated stealth maneuver; it was pure panic.
He peeked around the barrel.
The sky was a murky grey. The air smelled of blood, cheap spices, and unwashed bodies.
This was the Black Plains, the docking area for the Black Corner Region.
Tang Chen took a deep breath, trying to calm his shaking hands. 'Okay. You're out. Step one complete. Now, don't look like a rich kid.'
He rubbed dust from the floor onto his face and messed up his red hair until it looked like a bird's nest. He pulled the grey linen clothes tighter. He looked less like the Young Master of a superpower and more like a war orphan—which was a common sight here.
He slipped into the crowd.
The noise was deafening. Merchants were screaming prices, mercenaries were shoving people out of the way, and in the distance, he saw two men fighting with knives over a spilled bag of coins. Nobody intervened. People just walked around the corpse.
Tang Chen swallowed hard, his throat dry. Reading about the "cruelty of the cultivation world" was one thing. Seeing a guy bleed out in the mud ten feet away was another.
'Don't throw up,' he told himself. 'Just keep walking.'
He needed to get to Maple City.
Maple City was the territory of Han Feng, the Pill Emperor. It was the most prosperous city in the region, and crucially, it was the transportation hub that connected the Black Corner Region to the neighboring empires, including the Jia Ma Empire.
But Tang Chen knew he couldn't just use his Dou Qi to fly or run fast. A six-year-old with the cultivation of a 5-Star Practitioner? In this place? He'd be kidnapped and sold as a slave or a cultivation cauldron within ten minutes.
He had to walk.
Two days later.
Tang Chen sat on a roadside rock, miles away from the port, chewing on a piece of dry jerky that tasted like shoe leather.
His feet hurt. He was tired. He wanted a bath.
"Being a protagonist sucks," he grumbled, taking a swig from his water skin.
The road to Maple City was busy. Tang Chen had joined the tail end of a merchant caravan, keeping his distance. He didn't pay for protection; he just walked fifty meters behind the last wagon. If bandits attacked, the mercenaries would fight them, and Tang Chen could bolt into the woods.
It was a cheap tactic, but he was small and broke. well, not broke—he had gold in his spatial bracelet—but pulling out gold here was a death sentence.
"Hey, kid!"
Tang Chen flinched, nearly dropping his jerky.
A mercenary from the back of the caravan waved at him. He was a burly man with a scar running down his nose.
Tang Chen tensed, his small hand inching toward his pocket where he kept a small dagger. He didn't channel Qi. He just looked wide-eyed and pathetic.
"Y-Yes?" Tang Chen squeaked. It wasn't acting; the guy was scary.
"You've been trailing us for ten miles. You got parents?"
"Dead," Tang Chen lied immediately. "Going to Maple City to find my uncle."
The mercenary looked him up and down. A dirty kid with red hair, skinny, eating dried meat.
"Road's dangerous for a brat," the mercenary grunted. He reached into his pocket and tossed something.
Tang Chen caught it reflexively. It was a green apple.
"Don't get eaten by wolves," the man laughed, then turned back to his wagon.
Tang Chen stared at the apple. He felt a strange warmth in his chest. He had expected to be robbed or yelled at.
'I guess not everyone in the Black Corner Region is a psychopath,' he thought, taking a bite. It was sour, but it was the best thing he'd eaten in days.
Maple City.
The city walls were towering, made of green stone that shimmered slightly under the sunlight. It looked majestic, a paradise compared to the chaotic port.
But Tang Chen knew better. This was Han Feng's city. The man who murdered Yao Lao lived in the central tower that pierced the clouds.
Tang Chen kept his head down as he entered the gates. The guards didn't bother checking a beggar child.
The city was bustling. Pill fragrances wafted from shops. High-level cultivators walked the streets openly.
Tang Chen felt the pressure immediately. There were Dou Spirits and Dou Kings everywhere. If his father, Tang Zhen, was here, he could crush this city with a thought. But Tang Chen was just an ant.
He found a secluded alleyway and finally caught his breath.
He opened his map.
Current Location: Maple City.
Target: Wu Tan City, Jia Ma Empire.
It was a long way. He would need to cross the Great Desolate Swamp and pass through the border fortress.
"I can't walk that," Tang Chen whispered. "I'll die of old age before I get there."
He needed a ride. But he couldn't rent a carriage—too expensive, too suspicious.
He wandered toward the city's transport plaza. There were massive Griffins and Flying huge birds being loaded with cargo.
He spotted a banner fluttering near a convoy of heavy wagons.
[Miteer Auction House - Cross-Border Supply Convoy]
[Destination: Jia Ma Empire Capital]
Tang Chen's eyes lit up. The Miteer family! They were the richest merchant group in the Jia Ma Empire. Ya Fei's family.
If he could hitch a ride with them, he'd be safe. They were strictly business.
He walked over to the recruitment desk. A fat steward was checking a list.
"Excuse me," Tang Chen said, trying to make his voice sound steady.
The steward looked down, frowning. "We aren't hiring child labor, kid. Scram."
"I don't want a job," Tang Chen said, reaching into his shirt. He pulled out a single, high-quality Fire Crystal. It was something he had grabbed from his room back home—just a decoration there, but valuable here.
"I need a ride to the Jia Ma Empire," Tang Chen said softly. "I'm small. I won't eat much. I just need to sit on a wagon."
The steward's eyes widened when he saw the crystal. It was worth at least 500 gold coins.
He looked around to see if anyone was watching, then snatched the crystal from Tang Chen's hand.
"Back of the third wagon," the steward muttered, pocketing the gem. "If you cry or cause trouble, I throw you off mid-flight. Got it?"
Tang Chen nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir!"
He scrambled up the wheel of the massive wagon and wedged himself between crates of medicinal ingredients.
As the convoy began to move, heading toward the massive city gates, Tang Chen let out a long, shaky sigh. He curled up against a soft sack of grain.
He was exhausted. He was dirty. He missed his dad.
But as the wind hit his face, carrying the scent of the unknown, a small, genuine smile appeared on his face.
"I'm doing it," he whispered to himself. "I'm actually doing it."
Next stop: The Xiao Clan. And a certain ring.