My eyes snapped open to an unfamiliar wooden ceiling.
"Where… am I?"
I pushed myself up from the coarse straw mat. A dull throb immediately bloomed behind my temples. The small hut was sparsely furnished—barely more than the mat I had slept on, a rough-hewn table, and a single three-legged stool. No hearth or pots. Unwrapped packages were thrown here and there.
I don't remember ever being in this place.
Frowning against the headache, I tried to stand. My body protested with sharp soreness in every muscle and joint. Each step toward the worn door felt like wading through mud.
When I pushed the creaking door open, a rush of cool, clean air washed over my face.
The sky stretched wide and impossibly blue. Lush green trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves shimmering with life. Birds sang in clear, bright notes that soothed the edges of my frayed mind.
"What a beautiful view…"
The pounding in my skull slowly ebbed. I took one cautious step outside.
Beautiful though it was, this scenery belonged to no place near my town. No coal dust hung in the air. No distant clang of hammers or roar of furnaces reached my ears. This was deep wilderness—untouched, verdant, and far too peaceful.
*Gulp*
A sharp sting clawed at my throat. Dehydration. My tongue felt like dry leather.
I scanned the surroundings and my eyes lit up when I saw my lifeline.
*Splash… splash…*
A narrow river glittered just a little distance away, its surface sparkling under the morning sun.
My parched body moved before my mind could catch up. Ignoring the ache in my legs, I stumbled forward and dropped to my knees at the water's edge. Cupping both hands, I drank deeply. Cool liquid flooded my throat, bringing blessed relief, though a faint soreness lingered.
"Ahh… finally."
Exhausted and still dazed, I let myself collapse backward onto the soft riverbank grass. My face felt feverish. Sweat and grime clung to my skin.
A bath. I needed a bath.
I stripped off my dirt-stiffened outer robe and slid into the shallows.
The current was gentle. The water deliciously cold against my overheated skin. For the first time since waking, the fog in my mind seemed to thin.
POV Shift —
Two figures moved steadily along the narrow dirt path that wound toward the humble wooden hut.
"Old Chen, who remains on the list?" the younger man asked, fanning himself lightly with one sleeve.
Old Chen, grizzled and broad-shouldered, unfolded a small sheet of yellowed paper without breaking stride.
"Hm. Only the poor woodcutter is left."
"But didn't the woodcutter die more than a month ago?"
Li's brows knitted in confusion. Everyone in town knew of Old Man Zhang—the gambling-addicted woodcutter whose debts had long outlived his meager earnings. Two strings of bronze coins plus interest. A trifling sum to most, yet ruinous to a man who preferred dice and drink to honest labor.
"It is not the master who will repay," Old Chen replied evenly, "but the disciple."
"Disciple?" Li let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Since when does chopping firewood require its own lineage and secret teachings?"
Old Chen shot his junior a withering glance.
"If you hadn't spent every spare coin and hour drowning in the perfumed halls of the Green Fox Pleasure House, you might have heard the news yourself."
Li rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish but unrepentant.
Old Chen continued, voice low and patient, as though lecturing a particularly slow child.
"Ordinary trees require only strength and an axe. But the Earthwood trees of this forest are different. They are spirit-nurtured. Their timber is prized by artifact craftsmen and array masters alike. A second-rate martial artist is the bare minimum required to fell one without ruining the heartwood. Proper techniques must be used—both to cut cleanly and to preserve the tree's lingering qi so the stump does not wither uselessly."
Li frowned, finally beginning to understand.
"Then why did the Black Fox Merchant Group keep employing a useless gambling addict? They could have hired any number of proper martial artists."
*Pa!*
Old Chen's palm cracked sharply against the back of Li's head.
"The decisions of the Black Fox Merchant Group are not our concern," he growled. "What matters is that the debt was borrowed from *our* moneylender. And debts must be repaid with interest."
Li winced but said nothing more.
They walked on in silence until the small hut came into view beside the river.
A young man—bare-chested, hair dripping wet—was just climbing out of the water, hastily wrapping his outer robe around himself. He looked no older than twenty. He looked thin and frail with sunken cheeks and dark circled eyes.
Old Chen stopped at a respectful distance and cupped his hands slightly.
"Young friend."
The youth turned sharply, water still trickling from his dark hair.
"…Who are you?" he asked, voice hoarse and filled with questioning.
"This old man is Chen Fu. This is my junior, Li Wen. We have come on behalf of the Golden Abacus Hall, disciple of old woodcutter Tian, Bai Haitian."
'Bai Haitian?'
He felt an inexplicable chill crawl up his spine.
"Golden Abacus Hall…?"
Old Chen's gaze remained calm and he explained their arrival.
"Your master, the Gambler the whole town knows, has a debt of two strings and seventy bronze coins principal plus three months' interest. The debt left by your late master, the woodcutter Tian is to be paid today."
He paused, letting the words settle in the heart and mind of the youth.
"The debt now falls to you, Bai Haitian—disciple of the Earthwood Cutting Technique."
Bai Haitian stared at the two men, the river still murmuring quietly behind him.
His mind reeled.
Disciple?
Debt?
Master?
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Old Chen sighed softly and produced a thin bamboo tally from his sleeve—the kind used by every respectable moneylender from the eastern provinces to the western marches.
"The amount is not large," he said quietly. "But it must be paid. In coin, in service… or in blood."
He extended the tally toward the bewildered young man standing dripping on the riverbank.
"Choose, little brother. How will you settle your master's debt?"