The eatery was already half full when a man stepped inside. Wooden tables were pushed close together, bowls and cups scattered across them without order. The smell of fried grain and stewed meat hung thick in the air, mixed with wine that had soaked into the floor over the years.
He chose an empty seat near the center and sat.
A server came over, sleeves rolled, a cloth tucked at his waist. He glanced at the empty table and asked what the man wanted.
"Whatever you serve that fills the stomach," the man said, setting his bundle down by his feet, "and a jug of decent wine, if you have one."
The server laughed as he turned. "We don't have much choice, but it does the job." He paused, looking back at the man. "You're new in town, aren't you?"
The man raised an eyebrow slightly. "Is it that easy to tell?"
The server set the jug down with a soft thud. "Qingshi's not big enough for strangers to hide. After a while, you remember who belongs and who doesn't."
A man at the next table leaned back in his chair, cup in hand. "If you don't know our faces, then we don't know yours either."
The man smiled and inclined his head. "Fair enough. Name's Lu Wen. I've been on the road for a while and thought I'd rest my feet here."
"Well," the man said, lifting his cup toward him, "you picked a quiet place. Not much happens here most days."
Another voice chimed in, amused. "Quiet, but not bad."
Lu Wen accepted the bowl when it was set in front of him and took a sip of wine. "I wouldn't mind staying a bit," he said. "If there's work to be had, at least."
That drew a few glances.
"Work?" the man with the cup repeated, dragging the word out slightly. "Depends what you're good at."
"I'm not picky," Lu Wen said. "If it keeps me fed, I'll manage."
Someone laughed. "You won't find much for strangers here."
"Unless," the first man said, waving his hand lazily, "you go to the Chen family."
Lu Wen looked at him. "The Chen family?"
"Who else?" the man replied. "They run most of what's worth running in this town. Shops, warehouses, transport. If anyone's hiring, it's them."
"And they don't short you," another added. "That counts for something."
Lu Wen nodded slowly. "Sounds like they're doing well for themselves."
"They are," the server said. "Always something going on with them."
Lu Wen took another drink. "Maybe I'll ask around tomorrow."
"Can't hurt," the man said. "Worst they do is tell you no."
Lu Wen smiled. "I've heard worse."
The conversation drifted after that, moving on to the harvest, the heat, and a cart that had lost a wheel earlier that day. The Chen family came up again once or twice, mentioned casually and without weight, before being left behind with the wine.
When Lu Wen finished his bowl, he paid and stood.
"Good luck," someone called, already turning back to their drink.
Lu Wen nodded and stepped back into the street, the noise of the eatery settling behind him as the door closed.
***
Morning light rested over the academy yard, warming the packed earth and the low stone walls that enclosed it. Dust rose and settled with every step taken inside, clinging to hems and sleeves.
Chen Ming stood just beyond the wall, one hand gripping the stone as he leaned forward, weight rising onto his toes.
Inside, the yard was already full. Teenagers stood in loose lines, feet planted wide, arms moving in steady rhythm. Their breaths came out together, rough at the edges but firm where they met.
"Haah."
Fists thrust forward. Elbows drew back. Bodies turned, then settled.
An old man moved between them at an unhurried pace, his staff tapping the ground now and then as he corrected a stance or nudged a shoulder into place. He did not raise his voice.
Chen Ming's eyes followed him closely.
When the old man lifted one hand, the lines slowed. When it fell, they moved again.
"Yaah."
Chen Ming glanced over his shoulder, then slipped through the open gate while the students were mid-motion. He stayed close to the edge of the yard at first, copying what he saw without stepping fully into the space.
He spread his feet too wide and nearly tipped backward. He steadied himself, jaw tightening, then tried again. His arm shot forward with a sharp breath that came out too fast.
He watched the others and adjusted.
On the next movement, his foot slid on the dirt. He stumbled, windmilling once before dropping onto his side. Dust puffed up around him as he hit the ground.
He pushed himself upright quickly, brushing at his sleeve, eyes flicking up toward the lines of students.
They had stopped.
The old man stood a short distance away, his staff resting against the ground. He looked at Chen Ming for a moment without speaking.
Chen Ming straightened and bowed, a little too quickly. "Elder."
The old man tilted his head slightly. "Whose child are you?"
"Chen Ming," he said. "From the Chen family."
The old man's gaze lingered, moving from the boy's face to his hands, then to his feet. "You're young."
Chen Ming nodded.
"What are you doing here?" the old man asked.
Chen Ming hesitated, then squared his shoulders. "I want to learn martial arts."
A corner of the old man's mouth lifted, not quite a smile. "That much was obvious."
He tapped the ground once with his staff and turned slightly, gesturing for the students to resume. The yard filled again with movement and sound.
"Come here," he said.
Chen Ming followed him to the side of the yard, stopping a step short as if unsure how close he was allowed to stand.
The old man looked down at him. "How old are you?"
"Eight," Chen Ming said.
The old man nodded once. "Too early."
Chen Ming's fingers curled into his sleeves. He looked down, then back up. "Why? Even my mother said it's too early for me."
The old man did not answer at once. He watched the students finish a movement before speaking.
"Because your body hasn't settled yet," he said. "If I teach you now, you'll copy the shapes but not hold the strength. Your bones will ache. Your breath will scatter."
Chen Ming shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "When can I start learning then?"
The old man studied him again, longer this time. "Four years," he said. "If you're patient."
Chen Ming nodded, but his shoulders slumped a fraction.
The old man turned away as if to leave, then stopped.
He looked back at the boy, still standing where he had been told, hands clasped tightly in front of him.
After a moment, the old man sighed and walked toward the small storage room at the edge of the yard. He returned with a thin booklet bound in faded string, the cover worn smooth from use.
"This won't teach you how to fight," he said, holding it out. "It teaches you how to breathe and move without hurting yourself."
Chen Ming looked at the booklet as if it might disappear if he blinked.
"If you practice it every day," the old man continued, "your body will be ready when the time comes."
Chen Ming accepted it with both hands. His grip was careful, almost reverent.
"Thank you, Elder," he said, bowing deeply.
The old man waved a hand, already turning back toward the yard. "Don't rush," he said. "You'll grow whether you want to or not."
Chen Ming stood there a moment longer before stepping back through the gate, the booklet pressed against his chest as the sound of training rose behind him once more.
***
The market had grown crowded by late afternoon. Cloth awnings cast uneven shadows over the street, and the ground was packed hard from constant use.
"Two copper less," a man said sharply.
"Two copper?" another snapped back. "Do you think I'm blind? Look at the quality."
A woman nearby clicked her tongue. "If you don't want it, move aside. You're blocking everyone."
A child tugged at her sleeve. "Mother, it spilled."
"I told you to tie it properly," she said, crouching to gather fallen grain. "Don't just stand there."
Laughter broke out a few steps away, rough and unrestrained.
"Drink slower," a man said. "You'll be asleep before noon."
"Then carry me home," came the reply, followed by more laughter.
Lu Wen moved with the flow of people, neither fast nor slow. His gaze drifted as he walked, passing over stalls and faces alike. When women passed close, baskets brushing his sleeve, his eyes followed for a moment longer than necessary. The movement was small, almost habitual. He caught himself and looked away, jaw tightening briefly before his expression smoothed.
He stopped near a spice stall.
"Pepper went up again," the seller said.
"Every time you say that," a customer replied. "Yet I keep paying."
"That's because you keep coming back."
Lu Wen listened without joining in, then moved on.
A short distance ahead, a shop bearing the Chen family mark stood open to the street. Crates were stacked neatly along the wall, and a man stood just inside the doorway, flipping through a ledger.
Lu Wen stepped inside.
"I'm looking for work," he said.
The man glanced up, then looked him over from head to toe. His gaze paused briefly at Lu Wen's hands before returning to the page. "We're not short on hands."
"I don't mind what kind of work," Lu Wen said. "I can lift, carry, guard, clean. Whatever needs doing."
The man's pen slowed. He looked up again, this time without impatience. His eyes shifted toward the street, then back.
"There isn't much," he said.
"I'll take what there is," Lu Wen replied.
"Can you mine?," he said, choosing his words. "It's not shop work, and it's not easy. Most people don't stay with it long."
Lu Wen nodded. "That won't be a problem."
The man closed the ledger. "Come back tomorrow," he said. "Same time."
Lu Wen inclined his head. "I will."
As he stepped out of the shop, his gaze slid briefly toward the woman inside, arranging goods behind the counter. She did not look up. Lu Wen looked away and merged back into the crowd.
He walked several streets, turning once, then again, until the noise of the market thinned. When he was satisfied no one followed, he crossed toward a modest house set slightly apart from the others and knocked.
The door opened just enough to reveal a strip of shadow.
Lu Wen leaned in slightly. "Where is the mine?" he asked. "Take me there."
The door closed behind him.