Outside a small city, by the forest.
A ten-meter-wide river cut through the forest, winding into the distance. A layer of ice covered its surface.
Everything seemed so quiet.
Five children wrapped in thick brown clothes walked across the frozen ground by the river. The oldest was six or seven, the youngest three or four.
Their faces were all red from the cold as they eagerly hurried toward the river.
It was February, and the weather had begun to warm. Spring would arrive soon.
Now was the perfect time to catch fish. If it got any warmer, the ice would not support people; if it was colder, they would not be able to break through it.
The group found a suitable spot and gathered around the oldest child. The child proudly puffed out his chest and held his hands in the air as though gripping something. He actually conjured an iron pickaxe out of thin air.
It was as long as he was tall.
The pickaxe head gleamed coldly, sharp at both ends and looking exceptionally imposing.
The moment the iron pickaxe appeared, the surrounding children's eyes shone as though stars were about to spill from them. Some even wanted to reach out and touch it with their grimy little hands.
But the boy stopped them.
"Shoo, shoo. Keep your dirty hands away from my martial soul."
Iron swords, arrows, iron pickaxes, and iron hoes—these four were the most enviable. The first two could be used to fight and hunt, while the latter two could be used to fight and work.
Another child conjured a wooden stick.
They began.
Xia Yan sat in a tree at the edge of the forest. He had only intended to rest for a moment, but when he saw the children arrive, he quietly watched