At the entrance of a dilapidated alley along the back street of the Third District, passersby were always few and far between, nowhere near as bustling as the main thoroughfare.
Further down the alley, an old awning hung halfway up against the wall. A few holes in the canvas were first patched with plastic bags and then weighed down with broken roof tiles. To shed the rain, the awning was tilted at an angle.
Beneath this awning was the old man's scribing stall.
Couplets, letters, shop signs, or invitations—he wrote them all. His Huaxian characters mainly followed the Yan and Slender Gold styles, both of which he had mastered to their core. Naturally, he could write other styles as well, though not to the level of a grandmaster. Most impressively, the old man had even developed his own flair and patterns for those tadpole-like English letters.
In a chaotic city like this, it certainly wasn't a lucrative trade, but it was the best living the old man could find.
He brought out a square table and stools stored at the home of a fellow countryman nearby, then took the paper, brushes, inkstone, and ink from his personal chest and set them out...
Another day of business began.
This was the tenth year.
The old man leaned back in his chair, waiting for customers, while his granddaughter crouched on the ground, practicing her calligraphy in the dirt. The sun climbed higher and higher until it reached the zenith, then gradually began to sink.
It was New Year's Day, a time when there should have been some business, yet there was none. Today, the already quiet back street hardly saw any pedestrians at all.
It was likely due to the fallout from last night's battle. After all, a colossal superpower had abruptly vanished; the city was bound to be in turmoil for a while.
"Time to go, Xin'er."
The old man waved. Once his granddaughter ran over and grabbed the hem of his jacket, he swung the chest onto his back and retraced his steps home.
Passing along the street, the aroma of cooked meat drifted from a shop.
On a day with zero earnings, according to the agreement between grandfather and granddaughter, there were supposed to be no snacks.
Still, it was New Year's Day, and he had made some money writing couplets before the holiday. After hesitating for a moment, the old man pulled out his money and bought three slices of beef from the impatient shopkeeper.
The walk home was somewhat long, bathed in the fading glow of the setting sun. The little girl nibbled away at two of the slices bit by bit, then stood on tiptoe to firmly stuff the third slice into her grandfather's mouth.
Afterward, she smacked her lips and secretly licked her fingers.
*Swish! Swish!*
Blades thrust from behind with a faint whisper through the air.
Perhaps his money had caught someone's eye when he bought the meat? Or perhaps it was just passing thieves who saw an old man and a young child and decided to try their luck.
In any case, they were definitely petty crooks. As chaotic as the city was, how could any truly capable expert care about their meager scraps of wealth? Besides, the sound of their source energy activating was utterly mediocre.
*Whoosh!* Turning around, the old man twisted his body in an uncanny dodge past the blade edges, slipping between the two weapons to close the distance. His left hand seized one thief by the collar and spun him around, allowing his right hand to grab the collar of the other.
Then, planting his foot, the old man sprang directly into the air with both men in hand, vaulted over an old, vine-covered courtyard wall, and landed inside an abandoned yard next door.
*Crack, crack.* Two crisp snaps.
The sound of breaking breastbones. Handled.
"Tsk! So broke—no wonder they don't have brains." The old man weighed the Generation 6 devices, broken weapons, source energy blocks, and cash in his hand. Though full of disdain, he still meticulously tucked each item into his chest.
"I've kept my stall open for ten years."
As he packed up and stood, the old man thought to himself, *Have you ever seen an old man with zero strength, dragging a granddaughter along, who could live peacefully in this city for ten years?*
He emerged from the yard with the chest on his back.
His granddaughter stood waiting by the roadside, her eyes and expression serene, without a trace of panic.
This was not the first time such a thing had happened; it occurred three to five times a year. She didn't know what actually went on inside the yards, but every time, her grandfather would calmly walk back out after a short while.
Once it became routine, she naturally felt safe.
"Time to go, Xin'er," the old man said.
Then, letting out an "Oh-ho," he added, "Who would've thought they were part of a gang?"
A commotion rose behind them as more than a dozen people came charging over. The old man turned, planted his feet, surveyed the scene, and reached for the battle blade on his back.
Usually, people in the source energy world carried sheathless blades, hooked onto their combat suits or held directly in their hands.
The old man's blade had a scabbard.
"Xin'er, close your eyes for a moment."
"Mm."
Just then, *whoosh!* An eruption of source energy surged from the flank, followed by the appearance of a figure...
In less than five seconds, the fight was over.
Wu Xu turned to glance at the old man and the little girl. Seeing that they were unharmed, he said nothing.
"Thank you," the old man said.
"Thank you," the little girl said.
Wu Xu gave a slight nod, crouched down, and began gathering the spoils. As he collected them, he suddenly looked up.
"Um, do you know how to get to my place? My house is..." He gave an address.
The old man froze entirely, his gaze filled with suspicion.
"Wait, big brother, didn't you just leave this morning? I remember seeing you this morning," the little girl asked, tilting her head as she looked in confusion at the large bag of youtiao dangling from Wu Xu's hand.
"Ah, yes. The youtiao shop I usually go to was closed today. I asked around and went to another district to buy them, and then... I got lost," Wu Xu said.
The little girl: "..."
By this point, the old man finally worked out where that address was. With an incredulous look, he asked, "May I ask your name?"
"Wu."
"Black Binggu Spear... you are Wu Xu, Lieutenant Wu Xu?" the old man asked.
Under the little girl's thrilled, flustered gaze... Wu Xu gave a nod.
"...Come with us, then. It's on our way," the old man said.
The grandfather and granddaughter escorted Wu Xu back home.
"Goodbye, Brother Wu Xu."
"...Goodbye."
There was no one in the house. *They must have gone looking for me.* Not daring to run off and search for them in return, Wu Xu could only sit by the doorway and wait.
The slightly stooped figure of the old man and the skipping silhouette of the little girl gradually vanished into the distance down the road.
"His name is Wu Xu, Grandpa! The Lieutenant Wu Xu from your stories—the one with Major Qing!" Once they turned a corner, the little girl dropped all restraint and leaped up excitedly.
"Mm." The old man nodded thoughtfully, muttering to himself, "What on earth is going on?"
The little girl blinked. "Grandpa, do you know him?"
"I don't. But Grandpa just remembered something—I seem to have heard of the Binggu Spear before," the old man said.
"Wow, when?" The little girl grew thrilled at the thought that her grandfather had some connection to Lieutenant Wu Xu's Binggu Spear.
"Before Grandpa came here," the old man replied with a wry smile. "Before coming here, we lived deep in the mountains, and some other people lived in other mountains..."
The old man's surname was Yuan, and his name was Yuan Youque. Back then, the strongest branch among the hidden clans had not been the Qu clan, but the Yuan clan—except rumors said they had died out long ago.
"Then do you want to go ask him, Grandpa?" the little girl asked.
The old man pondered for a moment, then looked down at his granddaughter. "Later."
"Why? Why later?"
"Because Grandpa heard they have negotiations with the other three factions tomorrow. What if a fight breaks out and they lose?" the old man said, his eyes filled with warmth and a touch of slyness.
Chapter 510