Midsummer, outside Qingyang City, Ten-Li Slope.

The light of dawn was faint, and a thin mist like gauze cloaked the winding riverbank. The air, damp and cold, smelled of mud and green grass. So silent was it that only the murmur of water and the occasional early birdcall could be heard.

At the edge of the riverbank, beside a boulder weathered by wind and wave into the shape of a crouching ox, a figure was moving.

It was Qin Wanchuan.

He wore only a pair of rough cloth trousers, long since soaked through with sweat and river water, clinging tightly to his body. Though only sixteen, his physique had already been forged into contours far beyond his years. His shoulders and back were broad and solid, his muscles sharply defined like rocky crags, brimming with a sense of primal, pure explosive power. Fine beads of sweat glistened faintly on his bronze skin in the pale morning light.

At that moment, he was hauling a stubborn stone the size of a millstone from the shallows onto the bank. Coarse hemp ropes bit deep into his shoulders and arms, leaving angry red marks. Head bowed, back arched, he gathered all his strength into a single torrent, fighting against both the water’s resistance and the sheer weight of the boulder.

“Hey! Look who it is! At it so early, wrestling a rock—Second Young Master Qin truly has refined tastes!”

A shrill voice, openly mocking, suddenly tore through the riverbank’s calm.

Qin Wanchuan’s movements didn’t pause for an instant; even the rhythm of his breathing remained unchanged, as if the voice were no more than a passing breeze. A bead of murky sweat rolled into the corner of his eye, bringing a sharp sting. He shut his eyes, thick lashes fluttering, and when he opened it again, his gaze was as still as an ancient well, locked firmly on the muddy ground beneath his feet.

The arrivals were a group of four young men in fine clothes riding tall horses. The one in front, about sixteen or seventeen, had passably handsome features, but his brows and eyes carried a frivolous, arrogant air. He was Zhao Pengfei, the young master of the city’s Weiyuan Escort Agency. Behind him followed three companions, equally richly dressed scions of wealthy families. They had clearly been heading out of the city to hunt and were passing by.

Zhao Pengfei reined in his horse, looking down from his height at the back on the riverbank, the corner of his mouth twisting into a mocking arc. The reputation of the Qin family’s second young master as a “blockhead” was no secret among the dandy circles of Qingyang City.

“Oi! Qin Wanchuan! I’m talking to you! Deaf or mute?”

Zhao Pengfei raised his voice, his tone turning nastier. Low snickers came from the companions behind him.

Finally, Qin Wanchuan reacted.

He stopped hauling and slowly straightened his back. His sweat-soaked chest rising and falling slightly, he turned his head and cast a calm glance at Zhao Pengfei on horseback. There was no anger in that look, no shame, not even a trace of feeling offended. There was only an almost indifferent blankness. That calm, however, annoyed Zhao Pengfei far more than any glare would have.

“Tch, a blockhead indeed.”

Zhao Pengfei laughed derisively, flourishing his riding crop.

“Tell me, Qin the Second, your elder brother is riding high now, married a beautiful wife, about to take the reins of the family business any day. And you? Grappling with rocks and mud all day, stinking of sweat, can’t even string a proper sentence together. What’ll you be good for in the future? A hired guard to watch over your big brother’s house? Hah!”

The snickering behind him grew louder.

Qin Wanchuan’s Adam’s apple bobbed almost imperceptibly. Zhao Pengfei’s words passed by his ears like a gust of clamorous wind. He knew that his elder brother Qin Wanlin had been married for two months, to Fang Qingxue, famed as a talented lady of Qingyang City, and that their father, Qin Lu, relied on him more with each passing day. But so what?

Inherit the family business? Take charge of the Qin Residence? Those tedious account books, the insincere socializing, speaking empty pleasantries to crowds of people... Just thinking about it made Qin Wanchuan’s chest tighten, a hundred times more oppressive than hauling this boulder weighing a thousand catties. That was not the life he wanted. He would rather face ten such stones than endure one boring banquet.

What he truly yearned for deep in his heart was the boundless, misty world of jianghu, the gallant heroes swift in vengeance, the art of qinggong scaling heights and spanning distances, and those legendary peerless martial skills that could pick a leaf and send it flying like a flower. He imagined himself alone, a great blade on his back, roaming famous mountains and great rivers, challenging masters of all kinds, tempering his body and bones. Sweat, pain, even life-and-death combat—any of it would be ten thousand times better than being trapped within the confines of Qingyang City.

So Zhao Pengfei’s mockery landed on his heart weightlessly, even somewhat laughably. A hired guard? Hah, what he longed for was to wander the world with a sword, to see a truly magnificent, boundless world! How could this tiny Qin Residence, this Qingyang City, ever contain the fierce tiger in his heart that craved to break its chains?

He remained silent, his gaze not even lingering a second longer on Zhao Pengfei’s self-satisfied face. The other was merely an annoying fly, unworthy of a moment’s distraction.

He bent down again, both hands once more gripping the coarse hemp rope with a death grip. The muscles of his shoulders, back, arms, and abdomen instantly swelled and bulged. Beads of sweat rolled down the sculpted lines, splattering onto the gravel. The boulder was pulled once more, laboriously breaking free of the silt’s suction, plowing a track through the shallow water, slowly moving toward the bank.

“Hmph! Boring! A thoroughgoing fool!”

Zhao Pengfei, having made a fool of himself, spat viciously. His face livid, he tugged the reins. “Let’s go! Don’t let this blockhead spoil our hunting fun!”

With that, he jabbed his horse’s flanks and charged off first. His companions exchanged glances and hastily spurred their mounts to follow.

The clatter of hooves faded into the distance, soon vanishing down the path leading to the wooded hills.

The riverbank fell silent again, leaving only Qin Wanchuan’s heavy breathing and the scrape of stone against the riverbed.

Step by step, he finally hauled the boulder onto the relatively dry, firm gravel bank.

Thud!

The stone hit the ground with a muffled boom. Qin Wanchuan released the rope, his chest heaving violently. Sweat poured ceaselessly from his forehead, temples, torso, dripping down.

He stumbled backward a few steps, leaned his back against the huge ox-shaped boulder, and gradually slid down to sit. After resting a moment, he rose and walked to the water’s edge. Bending down, he scooped up the ice-cold river water and splashed it hard onto his face, his head, his burning chest. The cold water made him shiver, jolting his spirit awake.

Standing at the water’s edge, he looked down at the riverbank. But his brow furrowed slightly. The water... there was too little.

In past midsummers, while this river was never raging, its volume was still considerable. The shallow area where he had hauled the boulder would in previous years have been at least knee-deep, the current more forceful. But now, the water barely covered his ankles, the flow soft and weak. Large swaths of the riverbed lay exposed; only the main channel near the center still maintained a current.

“In a few more days...”

Qin Wanchuan gazed at the shrinking river surface, a shadow passing through his heart. This method of his, using the water’s resistance to temper his strength, probably wouldn’t last much longer. This water would not hold out until the end of midsummer.