"A pitiful kid."
Gao Xian sorted through the remnants of the boy's memories. The boy had been born prematurely, and his mother had died because of it, leaving him constitutionally frail from birth.
Fortunately, the boy's father had been a swordsman of some skill.
It was said that deep within North Cloud Mountain lived white-furred tigers whose blood was especially nourishing and could cure congenital weakness. The father had brought the boy to stay temporarily in Great River Town.
Some time ago, the father had gone into the mountains to hunt and failed to return for more than ten days. Later, someone found his mangled corpse in the mountains.
It was precisely because the boy's father had died so miserably, leaving him without support, that the townspeople—knowing his father had some ability—set their sights on him. That was what had led to today's events.
The boy had no family or support here, and he was frail and weak, yet his household still possessed a little remaining wealth. Even if he had not died today, he would have died tomorrow.
It was only a matter of a day sooner or later.
That was how the world was: the weak were meat for the strong. It was only when everyone had full bellies that they would make their eating manners look a little prettier.
When they were hungry, who cared about such things?
Especially in these isolated, backward little villages and towns, where resources were scarce. People particularly liked to band together through bloodlines and surnames, while being exceptionally vicious toward outsiders.
Gao Xian had not deliberately sought out someone this unlucky. It was simply that people who died sudden, accidental deaths were inherently unfortunate.
The world's laws here were extraordinarily peculiar. Even his pure-yang divine consciousness could not roam freely for