Chapter 12 — Returning as a Stranger
The town walls looked exactly the same as Hao Tian remembered.
Low.
Old.
Stained with dust and time.
And yet, as he stood on the dirt road and looked at them from a distance, he felt as though something was wrong.
Not with the walls.
With himself.
Just a few weeks ago, those walls had seemed tall. Safe. Like a boundary between life and the dangerous unknown.
Now, after what he had experienced inside the mountain, they felt… fragile.
As if they could be crushed with a single careless step.
Hao Tian stood silently for a long moment, the cold wind of the forest brushing against his back. Behind him was the mountain that had nearly swallowed him whole. Ahead of him was Blackstone Town—the place where he had struggled, suffered, and survived for three years.
He exhaled slowly and began walking.
His clothes were worn and scratched, still carrying traces of dried mud and stone dust. A simple spear was strapped to his back, a dagger at his waist, and a pickaxe hung from his side. A rough satchel rested against his shoulder, its weight pressing against him with every step.
Inside it were things that could change his fate.
And things that could also get him killed.
The road sloped gently downward. The afternoon sun painted the town walls in a dull orange glow.
Two guards stood at the gate.
They were not real soldiers—just hired men in worn leather armor, holding spears more for show than for war. They were chatting lazily until they noticed him.
"Hey, you."
Hao Tian stopped.
"Where are you coming from?"
"The mountain."
The guard looked him up and down.
"You a miner?"
"Yes."
"Name?"
"Hao Tian."
The guard paused.
Then frowned.
"Hao Tian…?"
The second guard leaned closer.
"Old Hao's boy?"
Hao Tian nodded.
"It's me."
They stared at him in surprise.
"You weren't gone long," one of them said. "Just a few weeks, right? People said you got trapped in a collapsed tunnel."
"I did."
"Thought you might be dead."
"Almost."
The guard laughed.
"Your luck's not bad, kid."
Hao Tian did not answer.
Luck had very little to do with it.
They waved him through without charging him.
As he stepped into the town, familiar sounds washed over him.
Vendors shouting.
Carts creaking.
Metal clanging.
Children running.
The smell of food, dust, iron, and waste mixed together into the same unpleasant but living scent he had known for years.
Blackstone Town had not changed.
But he had.
He walked slowly through the streets.
The small weapons shop was still there.
The cloth stalls were still there.
The grain store still smelled faintly moldy.
Everything looked the same.
And yet, he felt like a stranger walking through someone else's life.
People passed him without paying much attention. To them, he was just another poor miner who had survived another accident.
But Hao Tian knew something they didn't.
He passed the mining hall.
The massive building stood like a beast that never rested. Men entered. Men left. Some walked normally. Some limped. Some were carried.
This was where his life had been spent for three years.
He did not go inside.
He turned away.
And then—
"Hao Tian?"
He stopped.
Turned.
A boy about his age stood there, holding a bundle of firewood. His clothes were patched, his face thin.
Li Ming.
They had worked in the same mine team.
"You're back already?" Li Ming looked surprised. "They said you were trapped underground."
"I was."
"Only for a few weeks though, right?"
"Yes."
Li Ming exhaled in relief.
"Good. That's good. I thought you were dead."
Hao Tian didn't know how to respond to that.
Li Ming glanced at the spear and dagger.
"You look… different."
"Do I?"
Li Ming nodded.
"A little."
He hesitated, then asked, "So… what are you going to do now?"
Hao Tian looked toward the eastern part of town.
Toward the poor district.
Toward the row of collapsing houses.
"Go home."
Li Ming was quiet for a moment.
"…Your old place?"
"Yes."
Li Ming scratched his head.
"Well… good luck."
Hao Tian nodded and walked away.
The farther he went, the quieter the streets became.
This was the part of town where poor people lived.
Where widows, orphans, and broken men waited for life to end.
His house was at the very edge.
A small, crooked building with cracked walls and a roof that had been patched too many times.
The wooden door was old.
The courtyard was empty.
He stood there for a long moment before opening it.
It creaked.
Inside, everything was exactly as he remembered.
One table.
Two chairs.
A bed.
A small stove.
Dust covered everything.
This house had belonged to his parents.
His mother had died giving birth to him.
His father had worked himself to death in the mines and died of illness when Hao Tian was ten.
Three years.
For three years, he had lived alone.
Working in the mines.
Coming back to an empty house.
He put down his things and sat on the bed.
The silence was heavy.
Only then did he open his satchel.
The fire crystals were still warm, even through the cloth.
He looked at them for a long time.
These were hope.
And danger.
He carefully hid them beneath a loose floorboard.
Then he lay down.
That night, Blackstone Town was noisy.
Someone was shouting.
Someone was fighting.
Someone was crying.
Hao Tian stared at the ceiling.
And thought about how small this town really was.
The next morning, he woke early.
Washed.
Changed.
And left the house.
He did not go to the mines.
He walked toward the market district.
Toward the real trading houses.
As he walked, he felt it.
A strange pressure.
Someone was watching him.
He did not look back.
He simply tightened his grip on his bag and kept walking.
The streets grew wider as Hao Tian approached the market district.
The air changed.
It no longer smelled only of dust and sweat, but of spices, cooked meat, ink, medicine, and burning charcoal. The noise multiplied—vendors shouting, customers bargaining, porters yelling for space.
This was the beating heart of Blackstone Town.
And also the place where people disappeared most easily.
Hao Tian slowed his steps and let his gaze sweep across his surroundings.
There were open stalls selling ordinary goods.
There were small shops selling tools and clothes.
And then there were the real places.
Large trading houses built from stone and hardwood, with guards standing at the doors. These were where ores, herbs, beast materials, and occasionally even cultivation items were bought and sold.
He did not go to the smaller ones.
He went straight to one of the largest: Golden Scale Trading House.
Two guards stood at the entrance, wearing proper armor, not the patched leather of the town gate. Their spears were clean. Their eyes were sharp.
Hao Tian stopped in front of them.
"I want to sell something."
One of the guards looked him over.
"What kind of something?"
"Fire-attributed materials."
The guard's expression changed slightly.
"Wait."
He went inside.
A moment later, he returned and gestured.
"Follow me."
Hao Tian was led into a side hall.
Inside, an old man sat behind a wooden counter, wearing simple robes. His hair was white, but his eyes were bright.
"Take it out," the old man said calmly.
Hao Tian hesitated for a fraction of a second, then opened his bag and placed the wrapped bundle on the table.
He carefully unwrapped it.
The faint red glow filled the room.
The old man's eyes sharpened.
"Fire crystals," he said. "Four of them. Low-grade, but pure."
Hao Tian's heart tightened.
"How much?"
The old man thought for a moment.
"Normally? Each would sell for about eighty silver coins."
Hao Tian's breath almost stopped.
Three years in the mines, he had barely earned twenty silver coins in total.
"Eighty each?" he asked.
The old man nodded.
"But," he continued calmly, "you won't get that here."
"Why?"
"Because you are a child with no backing, no strength, and no protection."
The old man looked at him.
"If I give you the real price, you will be robbed before you leave this street."
Hao Tian's fingers slowly tightened.
"Then how much?"
"Forty each."
Hao Tian's heart sank.
Half.
But he knew the old man was right.
"I accept."
The old man nodded.
"Wise."
He began writing something down.
Then—
A cold pressure suddenly filled the room.
Hao Tian's body stiffened.
The air felt heavier.
The old man's expression changed.
The curtain at the back of the room was lifted.
A man walked out.
He looked to be in his early twenties. He wore clean robes and carried a sword at his waist. His eyes were calm, but there was something in them that made Hao Tian's instincts scream.
A cultivator.
A real one.
"Fire crystals?" the man asked casually.
"Yes, Young Master," the old man said respectfully.
The man's gaze fell on Hao Tian.
"You found them?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"The mountain."
The man smiled faintly.
"You are lucky."
Then he took a step closer.
Hao Tian felt his chest tighten as if something invisible was pressing down on him.
Qi Refining.
Even the lowest stage was like a mountain compared to him.
"I'll take them," the man said.
The old man hesitated.
"Young Master, the transaction is—"
"I'll pay."
He placed a silver note on the table.
"Two hundred silver."
Hao Tian's eyes widened.
That was less than even the lowered price.
The man looked at him.
"You can accept."
"You can refuse."
"Refusing means you leave with them."
"And someone else takes them from your corpse."
Silence filled the room.
Hao Tian understood.
This was not a negotiation.
This was a lesson.
He looked at the fire crystals.
Then at the man.
Then slowly nodded.
"I accept."
The man smiled and took them.
The old man handed Hao Tian the money with a complicated expression.
Hao Tian took it.
And for the first time since leaving the mountain…
He felt poor again.
As he walked out, he could feel eyes following him.
He did not look back.
He did not stop.
Only when he turned into a narrow alley did he finally breathe out.
Two hundred silver.
It was a fortune.
And also proof of how insignificant he was.
Back home, he counted the money once.
Then hid it carefully.
That night, he sat in silence.
And finally understood:
The mountain had only been the beginning.
The real danger…
Was the world of cultivators.