The other children were as young as five or six. They were skin and bones, their arms and legs as thin as twigs, and every rib stood out beneath their dirt-encrusted skin.
Their little faces were sallow from malnutrition, but their eyes were large and bright, though that brightness held a longing for food.
"Big brother, you're finally back!" a little boy said, his voice faint but urgent. His small, tender hand clutched the boy's sleeve. "We're so hungry."
The boy's eyes reddened slightly. He gently stroked the little boy's head and said softly, "Go on and eat. There's enough for everyone." With that, he began dividing the steamed buns and rice among them.
Watching from his hiding place on the roof, Yu Tianheng was slightly moved by the sight.
Stealing money was indeed wrong, but if it was for survival, there was little reason to condemn it.
If one could not even stay alive, what meaning did anything else have?
As it happened, the gap between rich and poor in the Heaven Dou Empire was vast. Noble children were born into fine clothes and rich food, pampered and privileged, never having to worry about food or drink. Commoners, by contrast, often went hungry and lived in dire poverty, and if they died, their deaths counted for nothing.
Changing that divide was difficult. Only by awakening a Martial Soul and possessing Innate Soul Power to become a Soul Master could one gain the chance to change one's fate.
Once someone became a Soul Master, even a commoner could receive support from Spirit Hall or the empire, an early investment meant to build goodwill. But if one was a commoner, then sorry-neither Spirit Hall nor the empire had so little to do that they would support a group of utterly useless commoners.
The system seemed decent enough, but how many commoners could awaken a Martial Soul? There might not even be one in a thousand.
The Martial Dao was different. Anyone could cultivate it. Whether commoner or noble, anyone could grow stronger through the Martial Dao and thereby change their fate, instead of being forever crushed beneath the nobles' heels without a chance to catch their breath.
That was what Yu Tianheng wanted to do.
He wanted everyone to be able to change their fate through the Martial Dao!
Over the next few days, Yu Tianheng stayed hidden, observing the boy who had stolen the money.
Once, several thugs, taller and more heavily built than the boy, blocked his path, clearly intending to rob him of the things he had painstakingly begged for or stolen.
Though small, the boy was fearless and fought back bravely. Even when he was knocked to the ground, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, he stubbornly got back up and continued to resist, showing no sign of begging for mercy. His tenacity made Yu Tianheng nod to himself.
Another time, Yu Tianheng saw the boy buy some food with stolen money. He divided it among the other children, keeping only a small portion for himself. As he watched them wolf it down, his eyes were full of care and satisfaction. This showed Yu Tianheng that he was a caring and loyal person.
Through his observations, Yu Tianheng felt that the boy met his requirements in every respect, so he decided to teach him the Martial Dao.
But he still needed an opportunity.
After waiting for some time, Yu Tianheng finally got his chance.
One day, the boy was searching the streets for a target as usual when his gaze settled on a group of people. Among them was a young noble.
The young noble wore splendid clothes, and every gesture was full of arrogance and conceit. Several burly, fierce-looking attendants followed at his side. They were all Soul Masters; though their ranks were not high, they were already powerful in the eyes of ordinary people. The boy knew that people like this were always rolling in wealth. If he pulled this off just once, it would keep them fed for days.
Crouching low, he crept closer without a sound. While the young noble was talking to someone, he swiftly reached out and grabbed the heavy purse at his waist.
But walk by the river often enough, and sooner or later your shoes will get wet. His luck was poor this time, and he was caught red-handed.
This young noble was not as easygoing as Yu Tianheng.
"You wretch, how dare you steal from this young master! Tired of living, are you? Get him! Teach him a lesson he won't forget!" the young noble shouted angrily, ordering his attendants to attack.
The attendants obeyed without hesitation. The boy tried to run, but how could he possibly escape? One of them kicked him in the back.
Like a kite with its string cut, he crashed to the ground, his cheek scraping across the rough flagstones and leaving several bloody gashes.
Before he could get up, the other attendants surrounded him, raining punches and kicks down on him. The boy curled into a ball and shielded his head with both hands, but the blows still fell on him like rain, each one bringing piercing pain. His ribs felt as though they were about to break, his abdomen spasmed under the kicks, and his mouth filled with the taste of blood.
After an unknown amount of time, the attendants grew tired of beating him. They spat and stopped, cursing as they did.
The boy lay on the ground, his breathing faint. Only after a long while did he struggle to his feet. His legs shook so badly that he could only limp away. His injuries slowed him down, and it was almost evening by the time he returned to the rundown house in the slums.
The door creaked open, and he could hold himself up no longer. He fell headlong onto the cold, damp floor, gasping in pain again and again.
"Big brother!" His younger sister was the first to react. Her little body shot toward him like an arrow loosed from a bow. Her small hands trembled as she tried to hold him, but afraid of hurting him, she could only leave them hovering helplessly in midair.
Hearing her cry, the other children in the house swarmed around him. Their faces were filled with fear and worry, their eyes wide as they looked at his bloodied face and battered body, at a loss for what to do.
"Big brother, what happened to you?" his sister asked through her tears, her voice trembling violently as teardrops the size of beans rolled uncontrollably down her cheeks.
The boy tried to raise a hand to wipe away her tears, but his arm had barely risen before it fell heavily. He opened his mouth, but could only manage a faint, broken whisper: "Don't... cry..."
One of the older children came to his senses and hurriedly said, "Quick, let's get some water and clean his wounds!"
The children sprang into action. Some ran to fetch water in a chipped, battered bowl, while others rummaged through the house for rags.
But when they clumsily began wiping his wounds, they discovered that the gashes were deep enough to expose bone. The bleeding would not stop, and the rags were soon dyed crimson.
"What do we do? What do we do?" one child cried, his voice full of despair.
The boy's breathing grew weaker and weaker. His gaze slowly passed over each child, full of attachment and reluctance to leave them, before finally settling on his sister's face.
She gripped his hand tightly, crying herself hoarse. "Big brother, don't die! You can't die!"
The other children also burst into tears, filling the little house with their cries. In those cries were their reluctance to let the boy go, their fear of the life that awaited them, and the despair beyond words that they felt in this cruel world.