"Su." Su Li nodded.
Fine. At the docks, everyone called him "Little Su" or "Suzi." One less character didn't matter.
Along the way, Lumi began teaching him vocabulary.
She pointed at the stream on the ground. "Ake."
She pointed at the remains of a campfire ahead. "Wofu."
She pointed at the bread in Gelu's hand. "Paen."
Then she pointed at the strange cries drifting from distant treetops, her expression turning solemn. "Kalan."
Water, fire, food, danger. The four essentials of survival.
Su Li repeated them one by one after her. His pronunciation was imperfect, but he remembered them. In his first life, he had learned three dialects at the docks. In his second, he could understand six kinds of underworld slang in Dark Alley. All through his ears and repetition.
By the end of the first day, he could already say around twenty basic words.
Gelu walked at the rear of the group, occasionally lowering his head to inspect the tools in his waist pouch. He rummaged through them, taking one out and putting it back, then pulling out another for a glance.
Su Li noticed that he kept staring at a short knife.
The blade was short, with a chip the size of a bean in its edge. The craftsmanship was crude overall, and its handle was wrapped in leather cord, worn fuzzy with age.
The fourth time Gelu took out the knife, Su Li set down the wooden crate from his shoulder and held out his hand to him.
"Knife." He used one of the words he had just learned.
Gelu hesitated for two seconds before handing over the short knife.
Su Li gripped the handle with his left hand and pressed his right palm against the blade.
The dark-gold node lit up. His perception poured into the