Practicing is easy when one has infinite skill points.

"Young Brother Zhong, if you ever need anything, just send someone to Huaihua Lane. This old man wouldn't dare refuse."

"You're too kind."

The group parted ways at the city gate. Zhong Lin took Little Shi's hand and stepped into Heishan County.

The moment they entered, the lively bustle hit them—vendors hawking wares, shouts, arguments—all filling their ears.

Walking into the town, the residents barely spared the brothers a glance, as if they'd grown used to seeing refugees.

At first, they might've helped newcomers, but as more and more refugees flooded in, they could only turn a blind eye. In times like these, every household struggled—taking care of their own patch of land came first.

Zhong Lin led Little Shi straight to an open-air noodle stall.

"How much for a bowl of noodles?" Zhong Lin asked.

"Soup noodles are five coppers a bowl. Flatbreads are one copper each," the stall owner replied.

He didn't show any disdain for the brothers' tattered clothes, greeting them with a smile.

"Two bowls of soup noodles and three flatbreads," Zhong Lin said with a grin.

"Pay first."

It seemed past experiences with refugees eating for free had taught the owner caution.

Zhong Lin pulled thirteen copper coins from his chest and slapped them on the table. The owner's demeanor warmed instantly.

"Right away, sir! Just a moment."

Two bowls of steaming soup noodles soon arrived—plain boiled noodles with a sprinkle of salt, no other seasoning. The flatbreads, though, carried a toasty wheat aroma that made their mouths water.

The past few days had been spent eating in the wild. They'd had meat aplenty but lacked carbs. Now, a hot bowl of noodles warmed their bellies, leaving them refreshed.

"Full yet? We can get more if you're not," Zhong Lin asked, smiling at Little Shi, who'd slurped down the last of his broth.

Little Shi patted his swollen belly, beaming with satisfaction. "I'm full, Second Brother! Can we go explore?"

Kids will be kids. Yesterday's bloodshed had already faded, replaced by the county's lively scenes. Little Shi's eyes sparkled with excitement and curiosity, eager to roam and play.

"Let's go."

Zhong Lin held Little Shi's hand to keep him from darting off, and they strolled down the street, taking in the sights.

The county was livelier than Zhong Lin had imagined. Vendors lined the roads, selling all sorts of goods: fruit teas, fabrics and tailoring, steamed buns, meat soups, wine, women's hairpins, children's toys, sugar figurines, and candied hawthorns…

The variety was dazzling.

Zhong Lin bought a stick of candied hawthorns for Little Shi, who nibbled on it gleefully while bouncing around. Without Zhong Lin holding him, he'd have vanished into the crowd by now.

Of course, not everything was rosy. As they wandered through the eastern market, they stumbled upon "human bidding"—refugees selling themselves.

Those with strength or skills might fare better, but for those without—especially women—many ended up sold into servitude for wealthy households.

No one wanted to be a slave if they had a choice, but they didn't. Servitude beat starvation.

After nearly an hour, Zhong Lin had a rough grasp of the county's layout. As dusk approached, they found an inn to settle into.

A private room was out of the question. They opted for a communal dormitory—a vast room, larger than a basketball court, with no beds. The floor was layered with straw, spacious enough for hundreds. You picked a spot, lay down, and slept. Just three coppers a night.

The brothers claimed a corner spot. Little Shi drifted off quickly.

Nearby, others settled in—some sleeping, some sitting on the floor. From a corner came the wail of a baby; a woman turned to the wall, unbuttoning her shirt to nurse.

Ignoring the room's mix of odors, Zhong Lin pondered their next steps.

Now that he knew this world had martial arts cultivation, he couldn't let it slip by. From Cui Xian, he'd learned the easiest way to train was through a martial school—but it wasn't cheap.

He had some silver: savings from his predecessor, "condolence money" from Xiahe Village, and the haul from Zhen Shan Hu—about nine taels total.

That wasn't nearly enough for a martial school. He'd need to earn more and spend wisely.

"So first, settle down, make money—and learn to read," Zhong Lin mused.

He had a fist manual tucked away but didn't dare practice it. Who knew if the text held vital warnings? One wrong move could spell trouble.

As he thought, exhaustion crept in. With a yawn, he fell asleep.

Days of trekking through the wild, guarding at night, and napping briefly by day had drained him. Finally in the county, his mind eased, and he couldn't hold out any longer.

The night passed quietly. At dawn, Zhong Lin was jolted awake by a clamor.

Opening his eyes, he saw the dormitory's guests already up and leaving. He yawned and sat up from the straw.

A quick pat confirmed his money pouch was still there—no thieves.

He woke Little Shi, and they washed their faces with well water in the courtyard, banishing sleepiness.

"Let's grab some food."

The inn offered breakfast—for a price. They ordered two bowls of rice porridge and five vegetable buns, wolfing them down heartily.

"Boss, a question," Zhong Lin said, setting down his bowl with a smile as the innkeeper came to clear the table. "We're refugees looking to settle here. Renting an inn every day won't do. Know any cheap places to rent? Nothing fancy—just enough for me and my brother."

"Renting a place?"

The innkeeper sized them up: a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boy with a four- or five-year-old brother.

"You're refugees? No relatives in town?"

"Nope, just the two of us."

"Any requirements for the place?"

"Not much—just room for us to stay. Cheaper's better," Zhong Lin said with a grin.

"I see. I know a spot, but the rent…" The innkeeper hesitated.

"Don't worry, boss. We're refugees, not beggars. We've got some money."

"Good then," the innkeeper nodded. "Sit tight. Once I'm done cleaning up, I'll take you to check it out."

"Thanks, boss!"