Volume One: The Dragon Soul Awakens Chapter 2: The Beauty of Poetry and the Elegance of Cotton

A shaft of light pierced into Mo Xing's eyes. His body was immobile, yet his mind was clear, for he could faintly hear a conversation.

"Everything should be fine, right?"

"Yes, it's all under control."

"This child is part of the plan?"

"Yes, a crucial piece."

Water dragons, royal city—murmurs and whispers. The more Mo Xing listened, the more indistinct it all became, as if a swarm of bees buzzed about his ears. He desperately wanted to see who was speaking, but his body was numb, as if he'd been injected with a sedative. He could only make out a child standing behind someone dressed in white, seemingly about his own age, and somewhat plump.

Why did this person seem so familiar? He wished he could get closer, for there was something about him—so familiar, almost as if—

"Yi!"

Mo Xing shouted, lunging forward. A youthful face appeared before him, scented faintly of lilacs, a pair of limpid, clear eyes meeting his gaze.

A girl!

Mo Xing's face flushed instantly. He was only two finger-widths away from touching her; never in his life had he been so close to a girl. What should he do? This was… unbearably awkward!

"Beast! Let go of my little sister!"

A curly-haired boy in a white hoodie burst through the door, brandishing a thick book as if to strike Mo Xing.

"Enough, stop it!" The girl spoke, reaching out to signal the curly-haired boy to lower his 'weapon.'

"No way, I knew this guy was trouble. We just saved him a few days ago, and now he wakes up and starts pawing my little sister—it's like the real-life farmer and the snake!" The boy shook his head, eyes blazing with fury, ready to devour Mo Xing.

"So… you were the one who saved me?" Mo Xing paused, looking at the curly-haired boy, "Thank you."

"Oh, wow, such a half-hearted 'thanks.' I told you, this guy is unreliable!" The boy raised his eyebrows, glaring at Mo Xing.

"Enough, enough, Mianhua cousin. Keep this up, and I won't play with you anymore." The girl was a bit angry. "I was only taking his temperature. Stop making a fuss."

"Alright, alright, my fault. Won't happen again." Mianhua scratched the back of his head.

"Your temperature's almost back to normal. Here, drink this bowl of herbal soup." The girl brought over a small bowl from the table, still warm, freshly made. "Prepared with special ingredients—drink it, and you'll recover."

Mo Xing tried a sip; the medicine was mild and not too bitter, so he drank it all in one gulp. He was now sitting in bed, wrapped in a quilt, with a chair, desk, and some small plants and decorations nearby—a cozy little room. Except for Mianhua's hostile glare, everything seemed quite normal.

"Hello, I'm Shiyan, and this is my cousin, Mianhua." The girl smiled, pointing to her cousin. "May I ask your name?"

"Um… I'm Mo Xing." Again, his face reddened; he wasn't good at talking to girls, his words stumbling. "Is this your home? How did I get here?"

"Yes. That night, it was pouring rain, and someone knocked on our door. When I opened it, I found you collapsed on the doorstep, unconscious, and your clothes were soaked." Shiyan explained.

Mo Xing looked down, only now realizing his clothes had been changed, and there was a faint scent of lilacs lingering on them, just like Shiyan's. The heat on his face, which had just faded, rose again.

"Don't overthink it! I was the one who changed your clothes!" Mianhua interjected, thumping his chest, as if warning Mo Xing not to covet their family's rice.

"So I called my cousin and grandma, dragged you inside, he changed your clothes and gave you medicine, then settled you here to rest," Shiyan continued.

"Did you see an old man? I recall, before I passed out, he saved me," Mo Xing suddenly remembered the elderly man from that rainy night.

"No, when I opened the door, I looked around. Other than the torrential rain, there was no one else," Shiyan shook her head, frowning. "Besides, there aren't many elderly people in the village."

Mo Xing was taken aback. In his experience, villages were full of elderly, with more old people than youngsters. His village was the classic 'elderly village,' with many empty-nesters and left-behind children, often featured in the news. Only in recent years had some young and middle-aged returned, paying more attention to family ties.

"Aside from Shiyan's grandma and the village chief, there aren't many elders. Those needing care have gone to the neighboring village. Our workforce is strong; the textile industry thrives. We're famous as—Aslant's Number One Scarf Town!" Mianhua thumped his chest again, clearly proud.

"Wait, what did you just say? As… what?" Mo Xing had been listening, but suddenly a name he didn't recognize—a place name, sounding almost English—made him wonder if he'd somehow crossed into a European city.

"Aslant! Don't you know it? Are you from some ancient era?" Mianhua laughed heartily.

"Something's wrong! Trouble!" Mo Xing was about to ask more, but was interrupted by urgent footsteps and shouts. At the door appeared an old grandmother and several middle-aged villagers.

"Grandma, what's wrong?" Shiyan hurried over, grasping the old woman's trembling hands.

"The village chief… was gathering herbs on the Aslant Highlands and ran into a gang of bandits," the grandmother said anxiously, "They're trapped!"

"The young men who went to help were all beaten back," a villager added.

"So—brazen?!" Mianhua dragged out the word, brimming with confidence. "With me here, sweeping through a thousand foes is no dream."

"Mo Xing, you rest here. We'll handle it and be back soon," Shiyan said, quickly taking down her coat from the door.

"But… it's… dangerous," Mo Xing protested, barely finishing his words before Shiyan had already run out. "You—you're a girl…"

"Ahem, our little Shiyan is quite formidable," Mianhua boasted, heading out as well, leaving behind, "And it's not your concern!"

"Everyone inside, come out now! Surrender!" A loudspeaker blared outside. Mo Xing's bed was beside the window; he saw below a group of people with wild hairstyles shouting—surely the bandits. They had tied up several villagers with ropes, the older man in the center must be the village chief.

"Hand over the goods—" The bandit with the loudspeaker hadn't finished when a sudden shadow kicked him down.

In the midst of shocked cries, Mianhua appeared in the road, wielding a silver longsword. All the bandits raised their daggers, watching him.

"Ah, don't come any closer. I'm a brute," a bandit in a blue scarf waved his dagger at the village chief's throat, sneering, "Heh, one move and your chief is dead!"

The village chief trembled, sweating heavily, the blade only centimeters from his neck, not daring to speak.

"Tch, such an old, worn-out scenario," Mianhua lowered his sword, planting it in the earth. "I've done countless practical lessons on this."

"What do you mean?" The blue-scarfed bandit frowned, puzzled.

Suddenly, two blue-and-white shadows flashed past. The bandit spun around—his comrades all collapsed, and his own feet seemed to trip, sending him to the ground.

In the blink of an eye, Shiyan appeared behind the village chief, untying him.

Other villagers rushed over, helping untie those who had been bound, some even pinning the fallen bandits to the ground.

"Shiyan's Shadowstep is getting more polished," Mianhua pulled his sword from the soil and walked straight to the blue-scarfed bandit.

"Who… who are you people?" The bandit spat blood and a bit of dirt.

"Hahaha, why are you stammering like Mo Xing?" Mianhua laughed, his trademark chest thump. "Let me tell you—we are—"

"Royal Academy of Saint Sky!"

"What? The strongest school in Aslant?!" The bandit's expression changed dramatically.

"How about it? I even have a student ID, want to see it?" Mianhua boasted.

Suddenly, he frowned, sensing something was amiss.

Shiyan glanced back at him, a hint of unease on her face.

"It's a magic array!" they exclaimed together.

A pale blue light glowed beneath the villagers' feet, a giant circle appeared on the land, its complex interwoven hexagrams spinning endlessly. Everyone was frozen in place.

"Hehehe—you've all fallen for it! So much work setting up this array was worth it."

At that moment, the leaves rustled, and a man in a straw hat jumped down, clapping his hands. His left arm bore a striking green rat tattoo, hands in his pockets, walking toward the array.

"Boss Tian!" the bandits shouted in unison.

"Haha, I said these people wouldn't be easy to deal with. Had to use brains," Boss Tian grinned. "Bet you didn't expect we had a trump card!"

"This Royal Academy girl is quite the beauty," Boss Tian leered, slowly reaching into his pocket, "I ought to feel that soft, tender little face."

"Bang—"

A violent collision of porcelain and skull echoed, Boss Tian was knocked to the ground by a sudden flying bowl.

Everyone was stunned. Never mind the bowl's destructive power—a strike so precise, without warning, was truly extraordinary.

All eyes turned toward the third floor of Shiyan's house, where Mo Xing stood at the window, right hand raised, body trembling.

He was bewildered too—he'd only wanted to save Shiyan and the villagers, yet something within seemed to guide him. He grabbed the empty medicine bowl and hurled it at Boss Tian, the motion fluid and masterful.

As all gazes fixed upon Mo Xing, the shattered bowl on the ground began to restore itself, piece by piece.