Master Zhi Kong's Opportunity

Broken bricks and shattered tiles lay strewn everywhere; the village was a complete wreck.

Fortunately, there was still some rotten timber that could be put to use. Thrown together haphazardly, it could barely provide people with shelter.

But those beams were quite heavy, far beyond what starving refugees could carry.

These dozen or so wooden huts had all been built by that lean man alone.

He looked weather-beaten, with dry, cracked lips and a set of tattered cloth clothes. He was not particularly tall or strong, and no one knew how far he had walked; the straw sandals on his feet had long since been worn to rags.

Most striking of all was his head. His hair seemed to have only recently grown back, cropped short like pig bristles.

At that moment, the man carried a round log thicker than his own body and strode through the crowd as swiftly as if flying. Faced with the refugees' many thanks, he merely smiled a little.

"Heroic master, have some water—"

A small child timidly approached and offered him half a broken porcelain shard filled with precious clean water.

The man paused, bent down, dipped his fingertips into the water, casually wiped his lips, then chuckled as he rubbed the child's head. "I've had enough. Take it back."

War ravaged the Eastern Continent without end. Water and grain were more precious than human lives.

How could the child understand the meaning behind those words? He only thought this master, blessed with divine strength, truly possessed the ability to quench his thirst with a single drop of water.

He licked his lips enviously. If only I had that ability too. Then I would never have to suffer hunger and thirst again.

Holding the porcelain shard, he turned and ran toward a dark, gaunt