Two years had passed since Li Yuan left the Yunfeng Kingdom. His journey had taken him down from the high mountains, through fertile valleys, across vast plains, and finally toward a drier region where vegetation began to thin and the land turned from green to yellowish-brown.
In those two years, he had visited a dozen places—some for only a few days, others for a few weeks. A fishing village where he helped mediate a conflict about fishing rights. A merchant city where he gave advice on how to combat corruption without destroying the economy. A small community struggling with a drought, where his Understanding of Water helped them find a hidden underground spring.
Each place left a mark on his memory—the faces he met, the stories he heard, the small lessons he learned or taught. But none required a deep intervention like Tianshan or Yunfeng. Just a small help, a brief guide, a listening presence.
And now, as spring turned into summer in his second year, Li Yuan arrived at a border town named Shacun—the last place before the land turned into a vast desert.
Shacun was a city that thrived on its strategic position. It stood at the crossroads between the fertile region to the east and the barren desert to the west, becoming a transit point for merchants who dared to cross the sands to reach the kingdoms on the other side of the desert.
The city was full of a restless energy—merchants negotiating loudly, pack animals waiting to be loaded, warehouses filled with exotic goods from both sides of the desert. But there was also a tension in the air, something Li Yuan sensed as soon as he entered the city gates.
Through his Wenjing Realm, he heard restless whispers, conversations that were abruptly stopped when a stranger passed by, and intentions filled with an unspoken moral discomfort.
Li Yuan found a simple inn near the main market—a low building with a flat roof designed to withstand the desert heat that sometimes seeped into the city from the west. The innkeeper—a middle-aged woman named Lian with tired but friendly eyes—greeted him with cautious hospitality.
"Welcome to Shacun, wanderer," she said while showing him an available room. "You have come at a busy time. The season of the great caravans is about to begin."
"Caravans?" Li Yuan asked in a neutral tone.
"Merchant groups that cross the desert," Lian explained. "They go twice a year—once in spring and once in autumn, when the heat is not too extreme. They carry goods to trade with the kingdoms west of the desert and return with exotic goods—spices, fine cloth, rare metals."
There was something in her tone—a subtle discomfort—that made Li Yuan pay closer attention.
"Only goods?" he asked softly.
Lian looked at him sharply, as if assessing whether he could be trusted. Finally, she spoke in a lower voice.
"Mostly just goods. But... there are also other caravans. Caravans that are not spoken of loudly. Caravans that carry... a different kind of 'merchandise.'"
She did not say more, but through his Wenjing Realm, Li Yuan heard what was left unsaid: guilt, discomfort, an acknowledgment of something wrong that was accepted because it had been a part of city life for too long.
Li Yuan did not press further. He had learned that some truths take time to reveal themselves.
On his second day in Shacun, Li Yuan spent time in the market, observing the flow of city life. Merchants of various races gathered here—some with skin as dark as ebony, others with skin as pale as snow, and many variations in between. Different languages mixed into a chaotic but vibrant symphony.
In a corner of the market, he saw a group of men gathered around a merchant who carried a scroll of maps and documents. Li Yuan approached casually, pretending to look at goods at a nearby stall while listening to their conversation.
"...is the route through the Red Oasis still safe?" one of the men asked.
"As long as we pay tribute to the controlling clan, yes," the merchant answered. "But the price has gone up again. They know we have no other choice."
"How long is the journey this time?"
"Forty days if the weather is good. Sixty if there is a sandstorm."
"And... special goods?" another man asked in a lower voice. "How many can we take?"
The merchant looked around carefully before answering.
"As many as we can buy. The market in Zhardar is very hungry right now. Prices have doubled from last year. Especially for the young and healthy ones."
Through his Wenjing Realm, Li Yuan heard the intentions behind those words, and something cold began to flow through his consciousness. "Special goods." "The young and healthy ones." Coded language to hide a terrible reality.
He began to understand what Lian meant by "a different kind of 'merchandise.'"
On the evening of the third day, Li Yuan sat in the common room of the inn, where a few merchants had gathered to drink and share stories. He sat in a corner, inconspicuous, just listening.
One of the merchants—a portly man in expensive clothes—told a story about his last journey.
"...and in the Black Oasis, we met a caravan from the south. They were carrying fifty units—mixed quality, but some premium ones. We managed to buy ten at a good price."
"Fifty?" another merchant whistled. "That's a big caravan. Where did they get so many?"
"A war between the Nalir Kingdom and the Southern Confederacy. Lots of captives. They sold some to finance the military campaign."
"War is always good for business," a third merchant laughed—a sound that made Li Yuan feel something cold and hard crystallize in his chest.
Prisoners of war, he translated inwardly. Sold as "units." Talked about like cattle or merchandise.
Through his Wenjing Realm, he heard the merchants' intentions: no remorse, no moral discomfort. Just business calculations—how many could be bought, what price could be obtained, what profit could be made.
In my fifteen thousand years of life, Li Yuan mused with a cold awareness, I have never seen this. I missed so much in my long cultivation. And now, for the first time, I am facing a dehumanization that is so systematic, so casual, so accepted as normal.
His Understanding of Water—which usually calmed all extreme emotions—worked hard to suppress the anger that was beginning to grow. But even water has its limits. Even tranquility has a point where it can no longer hold back what must be felt.
On the fifth day, Li Yuan followed one of the merchants to an area on the outskirts of the city—a place that was clearly not for tourists or ordinary visitors. Large warehouses with barred windows, armed guards, and an atmosphere heavy with something unspoken.
From a distance, he observed as the door of one of the warehouses was opened briefly. And what he saw—even for just a glimpse—made something within him that had been dormant for thousands of years begin to stir.
Humans. Dozens of them. Chained together like animals. Most had dark skin, but some were lighter-skinned. Men, women, and—what made Li Yuan's anger almost surpass his control—children.
They sat in a desperate silence, their eyes empty of hope, their bodies thin from lack of food, their wounds not well-treated. Some cried silently. Others just stared blankly ahead, as if their souls had died even though their bodies were still alive.
And the guards—guards who stood around them with bored expressions, as if this was an ordinary job, there was nothing unusual about guarding humans chained like livestock.
Li Yuan turned and walked away before his presence attracted attention. But the image—the image of those empty eyes, the chained bodies, the crying children—burned into his memory with an intensity that could not be erased.
Slavery.
The word echoed in his mind with a terrible weight.
This is what happens when humans decide that other humans are not human at all, but just goods that can be bought and sold.
That night, Li Yuan sat in his room, looking out the window toward the west where the desert stretched—a desert he knew now was not just a vast expanse of sand, but a trade route for systematic cruelty.
Through his Wenjing Realm, he could hear—even from this distance—the echoes of suffering from the warehouses on the outskirts of the city. Fear, despair, a loss of hope so profound that some of them no longer even felt anything.
Two months, one of the merchants had said. The next great caravan departs in two months. We are already gathering supplies... and units.
Two months before hundreds of humans would be forced to walk across the desert—many of them would not survive. Those who did would arrive at a market on the other side to be sold to whoever bid the highest.
Li Yuan closed his eyes, letting his Understanding of Water flow through his consciousness, trying to find the serenity he needed to think clearly.
But for the first time in thousands of years, that serenity was hard to find.
Because he had seen something he had never seen before—something so contrary to his fundamental understanding of human dignity that even fifteen thousand years of wisdom did not provide an easy answer.
I have to go to the desert, he decided with cold finality. I have to see for myself how deep this cruelty is rooted. I have to understand this system before I can decide what—if anything—can or should be done about it.
He opened his eyes and looked at the western horizon where, beyond the distant mountains, the desert waited.
A new journey was about to begin—a journey into a darkness he had never faced before.
And Li Yuan, who had walked for fifteen thousand years and had seen the cycles of history repeat themselves countless times, felt for the first time in thousands of years something close to uncertainty about what he would find and what he would do about it.
Because some cruelties are so great that even ancient wisdom has no simple answer.
And slavery was one of them.