One afternoon, Old Jack was in a hurry to repair a broken plowshare and sent Loa to Baruch Mansion to collect the garden tools that needed repairs.
It was his first time entering a noble estate: ancient stone walls, ivy climbing all over them, a solemn atmosphere.
The rain began as Loa stepped into the backyard of the Baruch Clan's mansion.
At first, there were only a few drops, leaving dark circles where they struck the flagstone path. By the time Loa reached the rose-covered corridor with the bundle of repaired garden tools in his arms-three pairs of pruning shears, a small spade, and a rake-the rain had become continuous streaks, pouring noisily off the eaves.
The corridor was quiet, with only the sound of rain and the rustling of turning pages.
Hiri, the old butler, sat in a wicker chair with a thick ledger open on his knees. He wore his old-fashioned butler's uniform, washed almost white but still immaculate, his silver-white hair combed meticulously back and a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. Afternoon light filtered through the curtain of rain, spreading a soft halo around him.
Loa stood three paces away and waited a while before speaking softly. "Grandpa Hiri, I've come to collect the tools."
The old man looked up. Behind his reading glasses, his gaze first fell on the tools in Loa's arms, checking that the number was right, before moving to Loa's face. His eyes were gentle, yet seemed able to see into a person's heart. They lingered briefly on Loa's thin clothes-Old Jack had made them from old canvas, washed pale, with frayed cuffs.
"The tools are by the storeroom door, already bundled up." Hiri's voice was even, with the rasp peculiar to the elderly. "It's raining hard. Wait here a while. Leave when it eases."
He paused, then raised a hand toward an old bookshelf against the wall on the other side of the corridor. "There are some old books over there. You can browse if you're bored. Just don't dirty or damage them."
He spoke casually, as though merely mentioning it in passing. But Loa heard the meaning beneath his words-the old man had noticed his thin clothes and feared he would catch a chill going home in the rain.
"Thank you, Grandpa Hiri." Loa set the tools against the wall and bowed. Old Jack had taught him to mind his manners around members of a noble household and not disgrace the smithy.
He walked over to the bookshelf. It was oak and very old, its corners worn smooth and its finish mottled. Two rows of books stood neatly on it, most with worn spines that exposed the hemp-thread bindings beneath.
Loa reached out, then stopped and turned to look at Hiri. The old man had already lowered his head to his ledger again, as though he had said nothing.
Only then did Loa carefully draw out a book. It was thick, with a cardboard cover bearing a title in bold print: "An illustrated guide to common magical beasts (beginner's edition)."
Holding his breath, he opened it.
The first page was a woodcut. The lines were rough, but the distinguishing features were captured with great precision-a Wind Wolf baring its fangs, its eyes fierce and the fur on its neck bristling; a Poison Arrow Frog lurking in swamp mud, its skin covered in raised bumps and its colors startlingly vivid; a Thunderbird soaring beside a cliff, its wings spread, lightning-like patterns marking the ends of its feathers.
Beside each illustration was a brief description. Wind Wolf: lived in packs, commonly found along grassland edges, capable of releasing weak wind blades, danger level: low to moderate. Poison Arrow Frog: solitary, skin secretions highly poisonous, range of three to five meters, danger level: high. Thunderbird: solitary or paired, capable of summoning localized lightning, usually nested on high peaks and cliffs, danger level: extremely high.
Real.
So real.
Loa brushed his fingers across the rough paper. When he read "Coiling Dragon" in his previous life, these magical beasts had been nothing more than written descriptions and imagined pictures. Now they appeared before him in such concrete, detailed form. Involuntarily, he began running scenarios through his mind-if he encountered a pack of Wind Wolves, what terrain should he put at his back? If he found signs of a Poison Arrow Frog, how should he judge the wind direction to avoid its venom? Roughly how far could a Thunderbird's attacks reach? The relationship between its wingspan and its diving speed...
He became completely absorbed.
The rain grew distant, and so did the corridor. Even the occasional sound of Grandpa Hiri turning a ledger page became background noise. All that remained of the world were the pictures and words on the pages, and the combat scenarios he kept building and overturning in his mind.
He had no idea how much time passed before he reached the guide's last page. When he closed the book, his palms were sweaty.
He carefully returned it to its place and drew out the next one: "A gazetteer of the Yulan continent (abridged edition)."
This one was even thicker. He opened it to a hand-drawn map. The lines were not particularly fine, but the mountains, rivers, and kingdom boundaries were clearly distinguishable. The Holy Union occupied the continent's south and comprised six great kingdoms, with the Fenlai Kingdom at its center. Fenlai City was marked with a special golden symbol. To the north lay the O'Brien Empire, beside which a note read: a holy land for warriors, with an exceptionally strong martial culture. In the far north was the North Sea, labeled: paradise for magical beasts, forbidden ground for humans. To the west was the Yulan Empire, and to the east, the Chaotic Territory...
Loa turned page after page. He saw mountain elevations, descriptions of river discharge, and the specialties and distinctive features of major cities. He saw that the Magical Beast Mountain Range stretched across the continent, dividing the Yulan continent in two. Beside it, small lettering read: dangerous; high-ranking magical beasts roam its depths.
For the first time, the outlines of the world unfolded before him so systematically, so concretely.
So Fenlai City was that large. So Wushan Town was only a tiny, unnamed dot on the map. So the holy land for warriors was called the O'Brien Empire. So magical beasts larger than mountains swam in the North Sea.
So... the world was this vast.
The rain kept falling, but Loa was utterly unaware of it. He devoured every line and every picture like land that had been parched for too long finally receiving welcome rain. The vague concepts from his previous life were now filled with real detail and texture.
In the shadows beside the bookshelf, Hiri had closed his ledger at some point.
The old man did not move. He simply sat quietly, watching the child absorbed in his books.
Loa's concentration surprised Hiri. These were not the eyes a child should have-there was no darting curiosity, no impatient wandering, but a deep, almost hungry absorption. He turned the pages gently and slowly, sometimes lingering over one for a long time, his brow slightly furrowed as though thinking about something.
Even more unexpected to Hiri was that the child could read.
Had Old Jack taught him? Hiri remembered Hillman coming to the mansion a few days earlier to report on the guards' training and mentioning in passing, "That child at Old Jack's smithy is rather interesting. His eyes look different from the others' during training."
Hiri had thought little of it then. There were plenty of children in Wushan Town, and quite a few had talent, but most eventually became ordinary farmers or craftsmen.
Now, however, watching Loa brought back memories from many years ago.
Back then, he had not yet become the Baruch Clan's butler. He had been only a boy who followed his father around town running errands. Old Jack, too, had still been a young blacksmith's apprentice, sweating beside the forge all day. Once, when local thugs bullied Hiri, Old Jack had swung a hammer and shielded him behind his back. Later, Hiri entered the Baruch household as an apprentice servant, while Old Jack continued his smithing. They gradually saw less of each other, but their friendship remained.
Some years earlier, when he heard that Old Jack had found a child outside his shop and taken him in, Hiri had even sent a bag of old clothes through someone. He had never expected that child to be the one before him.
The rain gradually eased into a light patter of drops.
Loa finished the third book and let out a long breath. He rubbed his aching eyes, only then noticing how much the daylight had dimmed. The rain was almost over.
He carefully returned the book to its original place, making sure its position was unchanged and the spines aligned. Then he approached Hiri and bowed again. "Grandpa Hiri, the rain has eased. I should go home."
Hiri nodded, his gaze lingering on Loa's face. "Could you understand them?"
Loa paused in surprise, then nodded honestly. "Grandpa Jack taught me to read."
"Do you enjoy reading?"
"...Yes."
Hiri was silent for a while. The corridor was quiet except for water dripping from the eaves. After a long moment, the old man spoke, his voice soft but clear:
"When you come to deliver or collect things in the future, you can read here if you have time. Same as I said before: don't dirty or damage them."
Loa looked up sharply, his eyes lighting up. But he quickly reined in his emotions and said respectfully, "Thank you, Grandpa Hiri."
"Off you go. Be careful on the way."
Loa picked up the bundle of tools and stepped into the drizzle. His steps were a little unsteady-not just because his legs had gone numb from staying in one position too long, but also because his mind held so much, heavy and full.
By the time he passed through the estate's side gate, the rain had stopped completely. A gap opened in the clouds to the west, letting sunset spill through and dye the wet flagstone path gold.
Loa drew a deep breath of the fresh, rain-washed air and felt something growing in his chest.
Knowledge.
This was the power of knowledge. It could not make you stronger directly, but it told you how vast the world was, where the roads lay, where danger hid, and where opportunities waited.
He walked back step by step, carrying the tools. The images from the books still replayed in his mind-the Wind Wolf's fangs, the Poison Arrow Frog's skin, the Thunderbird's wings, and that unfolded map of the vast, boundless continent.
So this was what the Coiling Dragon World truly looked like.
And all of it had begun with that corridor in the rain, with the simple words, "You can read here."
What Loa did not know was that after he left, Hiri remained seated in the corridor for a long time.
The old man looked at the bookshelf and the books Loa had leafed through, his eyes holding a complicated expression. There were memories, wistful feelings, and a faint trace of anticipation that even he had not noticed.
Finally, he rose, walked to the bookshelf, and adjusted those books again to make them look neater.
Only then did he gather up the ledger and walk slowly deeper into the mansion.
The corridor stood empty.
Only water from the eaves still struck the flagstones, drop after drop.
Like the footsteps of time, unhurried as they moved toward the unknown ahead.
Before you continue