The Zero Tier of Dai Long was a place where sunlight rarely dared to descend. The cobblestone paths were slick with moisture, walls bloomed with green moss, and from the rusted drainage cracks, thin streams trickled down, carrying a stench that clung to every breath. No one lived here without knowing how to keep their head low… or how to pretend they saw nothing.
That afternoon, the man who hired him to haul cargo told him to deliver a few heavy sacks to a wooden house at the end of Alley Seventeen. The path he took reeked of foul odors; his feet trod upon brick and stone, some spots overgrown with moss and dust. Some places were slimy, like dried blood stuck to the ground. He arrived at the delivery point, and before him stood a dilapidated house that looked as though it could collapse at any moment. The wooden door groaned as it opened, revealing a thin, silver-haired man seated before the dim glow of an oil lamp. The weak yellow light traced every line of his aged face—ancient, yet not entirely frail—and in his clouded eyes flickered the strange sensation of being pierced straight through flesh and into bone.
Resting one hand upon the table, the man tilted his head and spoke as if he saw something intriguing. Before him stood Khanh, a scrawny child with pallid skin, but when the boy lifted the cargo, the old man saw streams of yellowish-brown energy swirling around him. "Tell me… do you see a thread of mist, thin as silk, drifting about you?" the old man said.
Khanh froze, a warning bell ringing in his mind. Smoke? What is he seeing? Could it be that energy I use to…? He quickly suppressed the thought, forcing his face to remain calm. He frowned slightly: "What? Probably just smoke from the forges or the oil lamp. You've inhaled too much of it." He said, his tone deliberately dismissive, but his hand had subtly clenched the hem of his shirt.
The old man did not reply. His gaze only sharpened, tinged with a rare glimmer of curiosity. It made Khanh feel as if he were being scrutinized, every minor action like his petty thefts suddenly coming to life in his mind. What does he know? Could he have caught me?
Then he reached out, his skeletal hand pressing against Khanh's forehead.
Cold.
So cold it felt as though hundreds of needles were driven into his skull.
Visions flashed—darkness, a sea of blood, the howl of wind, and sounds from nowhere whispering into the marrow.
When the hand finally withdrew, Khanh saw the old man gasping for breath, beads of sweat sliding down his withered cheeks. His shoulders trembled, as though the simple touch had drained almost all his strength. His skin had turned pale, lips bloodless.
A pang of unease stirred in Khanh, mixed with a vague fear. What is this? What did he do to me? Should I run now? He shot to his feet, retreating toward the door. "I… I still have to work on the docks. You should rest."
But the man's voice followed, slow and deliberate, like a blade cutting through his intent to flee.
"You… are of the Tran bloodline."
Khanh let out a dry, mocking laugh, a reflex to cover the turmoil and suspicion in his heart. The Tran? What nonsense is this? He's truly mad.
"You're mad. I grew up in an orphanage; how can you jest that I'm from the annihilated Tran Clan?" he said with a scornful tone.
The old man's eyes were deep, cold. Each word he spoke was not a memory, but an insight that sent a chill down Khanh's spine.
"I am not speaking of where you live. I speak of what is inside you. You have a 'third arm,' do you not? A power that lets you take objects from a distance, even if just by a few inches. You think it's dexterity, or simply luck? But it leaves traces – tiny ripples in the Earth-type spiritual energy. And I have been tracking those ripples."
Khanh's chest tightened, his breath hitched. He knows. He truly knows that secret. Panic washed over him. "And... you don't use it for yourself, do you?" Old Ly's voice lowered, no longer a question, but an affirmation. "You give away what you obtain. But have you ever wondered, why are you the only one who can do it?"
Khanh could not refute it. The exposed truth paralyzed him. He could only stand there, silent.
The old man looked straight into his eyes, his voice dropping to almost a whisper, full of weight. "Because it is not some marketplace trick. It is Earth Manipulation – the ability to manipulate space on a microscopic level. And in this Dai Long, only the Tran clan, those who maintain the balance of the land, possess it so purely within their bloodline as you do. The clan was wiped out because of that power."
That explanation did not immediately make Khanh believe in his heritage. But it decoded something he had always pondered: his own difference. Earth Manipulation... manipulating space? A new thought, sharper and more practical, suddenly flashed in Khanh's mind, overshadowing all the confusion about his origins. The Tran clan? Annihilated? What does that even mean to me? But… manipulating space… If this 'trick' is truly a power, not for stealing crumbs of bread, but for… shifting? For passing through walls? For escaping this deep pit?
A fragile sliver of hope, cruel yet vital, sparked within him. Perhaps this was not a curse or a burden of bloodline. But a tool. The only tool he had to fulfill the promise to Little Boy, and to himself.
"Then what am I supposed to be?" Khanh asked.
The old man said nothing, only smiled faintly.