When Madam Shen saw An Jing return to the shed with a whole chest of grain and medicinal herbs, the situation dawned on her and she broke down crying. She had far more life experience than An Jing, so the moment she saw the white-robed scribe, she felt a prickle of unease and quickly deduced his intentions.

How could she miss the fact that these precious resources came at the cost of the freedom of her own child? He had sold himself into the service of powerful figures to save her life!

"Jing'er." She tried to sit up. An Jing quickly set the chest aside and gently helped her into a sitting position.

Madam Shen wept, "It's my fault... It's all my fault... You're from a good family from the northern frontier. If they're indeed respectable people, then so be it; but if they're some evil gang who used my illness to profit from your talents, then I... I'd rather die!"

"Mother..." His voice softened and he sighed. "How could I have crossed the wilderness without you? If it weren't for you, I would've died months ago on the banks of the Embrace River, in the ruins of Concordia, or at the hands of bandits in the wilderness! Besides, even if these were evil crooks who would make me hurt others, I'd never go along with it. I'd pay this deed back with a fortune or save their lives later on to settle my debt. Then, I'd escape when I can. I won't become like them. I'll never turn back on our ancestral principles.

"Forget about that for now. Look, this chest is full of herbs that can nourish the lungs and regulate qi. There are also blood-stimulating pills and lung-recovery pills. Take them now, Mother! By tonight at the latest, you'll get your aura back and be a real martialist again!" An Jing softly comforted his grieving mother. Then, pulling out a small porcelain bottle from the supplies, he looked eagerly at Madam Shen.

Her grief was profound, but seeing her child's earnest eyes, the woman felt compelled to take a light red pill and swallow it.

An Jing smiled when he saw his mother take the medicine. "Mother, you now have medicine and supplies. Once you recover, travel south, avoid all checkpoints, and don't stop. There's nowhere safe north of Brokeblade Mountain. Brightmont is probably doomed. It'll be too late if you wait until something happens. The North Han Highway and the entire province won't be safe anymore with a million Brightmont refugees. Keep heading south until you reach Brokeblade Mountain and Riverside. Leave as soon as possible. With your abilities, you'll be able to find your footing."

"Alright." Madam Shen nodded. Her child had been intelligent and opinionated since he was young. His father often took his advice, and a portion of the An clan's fortune was built upon his suggestions, so she knew better than to dismiss him.

"But what about you?" As a mother, her own future was the last thing on Madam Shen's mind. Instead, she looked at her son, her eyes heavy with worry. "Jing'er, what about you?"

"Me? You don't have to worry." Understanding his mother's concerns, An Jing replied with ease. "Whether they be a powerful clan seeking servants, officials or a sect training deathsworn, they need us alive. They're willing to exchange these herbs for my life, so we must be valuable to them in some way. I'm sure I'll live."

An Jing suddenly paused with a blank expression on his face. Valuable in some way? he thought. What value could refugee children have? Were they to be traded as food, turned into lumps of meat in the cooking pots of other refugees, or become a burden to their families? While An Jing was undoubtedly capable, what did the other children have, apart from surviving the hardships of fate?

The hardships of fate... Right! They might have fate! Realization dawned on him.

The people of Grand Chen placed great importance in destiny and the idea that special individuals were stars that had descended to the mortal world. An Jing's parents saw him as a starchild, a belief that stemmed from his early display of the Spark.

Established on martial principles and governed by laws, Grand Chen valued both intellectual and physical disciplines, both valid paths in life. An Jing's parents placed great importance on him and ensured he received training in reading, writing, and martial techniques from a young age, thereby building the solid foundation and strong physique he possessed today.

The lifearc was fundamental to the martial way. The martial tradition thrived throughout all of Grand Chen. Even shepherds in the most isolated border regions knew a few moves, though most of these were just simple, rural techniques. Occasionally, a talented individual might practice a particular technique to a high level, but without the necessary mental mantra, aura remained out of their reach. They had yet to embark on the true martial path and were still far from becoming genuine martialists.

An Jing's mother was an aura martialist who had reached the Silk Aura Stage. His father had gone further still, reaching the River Aura Stage, which allowed him to project his aura to deal bone-deep injuries to his foes.

Having achieved complete mastery and harmony, the one-eyed leader and white-robed scribe, whose strength An Jing couldn't gauge, were likely unfathomable experts at the peak of the Aura Realm, specifically the Tide Aura Stage. That was the peak of the martial path that mundane folk could aspire to.

One had to awaken one's lifearc to purify vigor. Without it, there was no way to break through to the Three Nourishments of Aura, which allowed cultivators to manifest wonders and advance to the Five Vistas of Fortification, not to mention the higher realms that lay beyond.

As the son of a family with martial tradition, An Jing understood these principles, so his doubts were quickly dispelled. Could they be using this disaster to identify and nurture children who stood a chance at awakening lifearcs? An Jing's expression turned solemn as he took his mother's hand.

"Mother, you must live. Father disappeared in Greenjade Pass after the northern barbarians invaded. We still don't know if he's dead or alive. I've sold myself, but I might be able to leave and travel someday. Do whatever it takes to survive! We can only meet again and have a future if we are alive!"

He hugged his mother tight. Then, he let her go, stood up, rummaged through the chest for rice, and smiled. "The leader let me come back for one last meal with you. I wasn't expecting such kindness when I went there. Let's have a good meal today, Mother."

Watching her son start a fire to cook the rice, Madam Shen felt both an ineffable sadness and a surge of pride. This is my son, a gift from the heavens. Emotion overwhelmed her, and she felt her blood surge as the pills she had swallowed earlier began to work. She suddenly expelled a mouthful of black blood—the congealed blood from her injured lung meridians. It was a sign that her injury had improved. The medicine was incredible; its results were nothing short of miraculous.

Seeing this, An Jing was overjoyed. His mother was stronger than him. With her lung meridians clear and her aura restored, ordinary bandits could no longer get close enough to harm her. However, full recovery would still take some time.

He then narrowed his gaze and scanned the area, sensing numerous prying eyes. The aroma of rice wafted through the air, attracting many desperate, starving refugees. Brightmont had long been closed to refugees, with all food relief centers permanently shut down. The refugee camp only existed because the checkpoints blocking the Rivers Embrace and Emerald left the refugees with no options but to stay and slowly starve to death. Perhaps this was exactly what the gentry of Brightmont and North Han Highway officials wanted. But life found a way, even if some paths lead to dead ends.

Among the many observers, a few refugees who were perhaps bolder than the rest or simply maddened by hunger picked up their wooden spears and crept toward An Jing's shed. They had prepared a pot of "meat soup" to finally fill their stomachs, only for the riders to trample their pot. Then, other refugees fought over the spilled contents. Seeing the sick woman and the skinny boy receive so much food from the riders filled them with a mix of resentment, jealousy, and gnawing hunger.

But before they could attack, An Jing was already on his feet. You jackals. An Jing coldly watched the approaching refugees, whose eyes glowed a menacing green. As the figures with wooden spears closed in, An Jing saw them as a pack of winter wolves. Their foul saliva, crazed eyes, and uncontainable malice felt as sharp and cutting as the freezing winter wind.

But he had never known fear. Drawing a knife he looted from a bandit from his waist, An Jing leaped forward and slashed down at the nearest refugee without a moment's hesitation.

"Aaaaaah!!!" A piercing scream erupted as blood sprayed from the greedy refugee's shoulder. The man staggered backward, dropping his wooden spear, but An Jing showed no mercy. Instead, he stepped forward, kicked him in the chest, and stomped on him. Then, switching to a reverse grip, he cut across the refugee's torso with the knife.

The sickening sound of flesh and organs tearing filled the air, followed by a rush of blood and fetid liquids that quickly solidified in the bitter cold. An Jing beheaded the refugee in one fluid motion and grabbed the severed head by the hair. As the other refugees screamed and scattered in fear, he calmly impaled the open-eyed head on a wooden spear, placing it beside the shed.

"Mother, this head will buy you enough time to recover your strength."

Inside the shed, the rice had just finished cooking. An Jing met Madam Shen's relieved gaze, unconcerned by the blood on his face and clothes.

"I won't have to worry about you suffering." Looking at her son with both tenderness and sorrow, Madam Shen reached out to wipe the blood from An Jing's face. "Sit and eat this final meal with me."

"Okay."

Amid the fearful gazes and lingering stench of blood, An Jing and his mother slowly ate their last meal in the refugee camp. Then it was time to part ways.