Sultan woke up late that morning.
He didn't know exactly how long he had slept, but the sunlight seeping through the cracks in the wooden door was stronger than usual, meaning he had overslept by at least an hour. He sat up slowly in his bed, his body heavy with a deep, dreamless sleep, a rare occurrence.
Then he remembered.
The pouch.
He reached under the pillow quickly, touched the rough fabric, felt the weight of the small metal coins. Still there. It hadn't been a dream.
He took out the pouch and opened it carefully. Ten small silver coins, each worth five points. Fifty whole points. He stared at them as if they were treasure from another world. With his cracked fingers, he touched each coin individually, contemplating their faint gleam in the morning light.
Fifty points meant: twenty loaves of soft bread, or five full hot meals, or a low-grade cultivation pill that could shorten months of arduous training. Or all of it together if he managed them wisely.
He carefully returned the coins to the pouch, placed it under the pillow again. Then he stood, put on his worn-out garment, and looked through the door crack at the outside. The sun was high, meaning most disciples had already had their breakfast. Perhaps he had missed the rush hour, which might be for the best.
He opened the door and went out.
The air was slightly warmer than yesterday, but still cold. He passed by the sweeping courtyard and saw that someone else had done the task in his place, probably one of the other trial disciples wanting to earn extra points. He didn't mind. He was thinking about something else.
The pouch in his pocket. Fifty points.
The dining hall was quiet when he arrived. The disciples who had eaten early had already left for their training, and only a few remained, eating lazily. The smell of fresh bread still hung in the air, mixed with the aroma of warm soup served to ordinary disciples.
Sultan headed to the trial disciples' table in the corner. The table was empty, with leftover stale bread from yesterday on it. Nothing new. He sat and took a loaf.
He chewed slowly, thinking about the pouch. What would he do with these points? So many options. He could buy good food for days, or he could save them to buy a cultivation pill. Or he could...
"Sultan!"
Naghme's voice made him turn. She was standing at the hall's entrance, waving her small hand at him. Then she pointed urgently outside.
Sultan rose and went out to her.
"What is it?"
Naghme looked around nervously, then whispered: "Come with me quickly."
He followed her to a corner behind one of the buildings, where no one could see them. There, she pulled out from under her robe a carefully wrapped piece of cloth. She opened it, revealing a soft white loaf of bread, a small piece of cheese, and some dates.
"Take it," she said, smiling.
Sultan looked at the food, then at her. "Where did you get this?"
"The Dark Hall sometimes gets the elders' leftovers. I told them I was really hungry, so they gave me my share early." She laughed shyly. "I'm not really hungry. Take it."
He hesitated for a moment, then took the loaf. It was warm, soft, smelling of real bread, the kind he hadn't eaten in months. He took a small bite. The taste was indescribable. Soft cheese, sweet dates, delicious bread.
Naghme watched him with joy. "Delicious, isn't it?"
He nodded, his mouth full. Then he remembered something. The pouch in his pocket. Fifty points.
"Naghme, I..." he began, then stopped.
What would he say? That he had points now? That Muneer had given them to him? This was a secret no one should know. Not even Naghme.
"What?"
"Nothing. Thank you."
She smiled broadly. "Don't mention it. You're my friend."
My friend. The word sounded strange to his ears. How long had it been since he'd heard it? Had he ever heard it at all?
He returned to the dining hall after bidding Naghme farewell. He sat at his table, the food still in his belly giving him a warmth different from that mysterious warmth in his chest. The warmth of gratitude.
Minutes passed. He thought about Naghme, about Muneer, about the pouch under his pillow. Then he heard footsteps.
He raised his head. Harith was standing at the hall's entrance, looking directly at him. This time, he wasn't with his followers. He was alone. But his gaze was sharper, more focused.
Harith walked slowly towards Sultan's table. He stood before him, casting his shadow over him.
"You."
Sultan didn't raise his head. He continued chewing the stale bread.
"Look at me when I speak to you."
He raised his head. His eyes were tired, but sharp.
"What do you want?"
Harith leaned in slightly, getting closer. "Don't think Suad will save you every time. I don't forget insults."
"I insulted you?" Sultan's voice was calm, cold. "You came to me and provoked me."
Harith exhaled sharply. "You'll pay for that. Not today, but soon. I'll show you your real place, you despicable trial disciple."
He turned and walked away.
Sultan remained where he was, thinking. Harith was a real threat. He was an ordinary disciple, with followers and influence. If he truly wanted to harm him, Suad couldn't protect him every time. Nor Muneer. Nor Naghme.
He needed to become stronger. Faster.
His hand touched his pocket, where the small pouch was. Fifty points. Maybe it was a start.
In the afternoon, he headed to the Contribution Hall. The place was crowded as usual, disciples jostling in front of the windows, exchanging points for goods. Sultan stood in the corner watching, as he usually did. But this time was different. This time, he could actually buy something.
He approached one of the windows cautiously. The clerk behind it was a young man in his twenties, his eyes half-closed with boredom.
"What do you want?"
Sultan hesitated for a moment. Then he took out the pouch and placed it on the counter.
The clerk looked at the pouch, then at him. He raised an eyebrow. "Fifty points? Where did you get this?"
"None of your business. I want a low-grade cultivation pill."
The clerk pursed his lips but didn't comment. He took the coins, counted them, then disappeared behind the curtain. He returned moments later carrying a small wooden box. He opened it, revealing a brown pill, small, gleaming with a faint shimmer.
"Here. This is a basic Qi pill. It will help you gather energy faster. But be careful, only take it when you're truly hungry, otherwise it'll upset your stomach."
Sultan took the box carefully. He looked at the pill for a long time. He had always seen them in the hands of other disciples, envying them. Now, it was in his hand.
"Thank you."
He left the hall feeling that the world looked slightly different. The sun was brighter, the air purer, his steps lighter.
In the evening, he sat in his room contemplating the wooden box. The pill was inside it. His first step towards strength. But he remembered the clerk's words: "Only take it when you're truly hungry."
Maybe not now. Maybe he needed the right time. Maybe he needed to make sure his body was ready.
He closed the box and placed it under the pillow, beside the remaining points. He still had some silver coins left. He hadn't spent them all. There was still enough for good food for a few days.
He took out his mother's picture from the old wooden chest. He looked at it for a long time.
"I'll do it, Mother. I'll become strong. Wait for me."
Outside, the moon was full. Its silver light seeped through the door cracks, drawing lines on the earthen floor. Sultan lay on his hard bed, his hand on the box under the pillow, his eyes on the ceiling.
He heard light footsteps outside the room. His heart stopped for a moment. Then the footsteps continued. Someone passing by.
He breathed deeply. He thought about Muneer. About his words. About his dead son. He thought about Naghme, about her soft bread, about her innocent smile. He thought about Suad, about her strange coldness, about her timely intervention. He thought about Harith, about his threat, about his malice.
Then he closed his eyes.
And in the darkness, before sleeping, he felt that mysterious warmth in his chest again. This time, it wasn't as strong as yesterday. It was calm, reassuring, as if something was whispering to him: "You are not alone."
He didn't know what it was. But he felt grateful for it.
He slept.
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