Linhui Town was loud as a fish market. Hawkers shouted from all sides, one call crashing into the next.
At a street corner, a little beggar no more than five or six lay curled into herself, barely hanging on.
“Have you heard? The Immortal Sect came to our town to take disciples!”
“For real?”
“Why would I lie? They say if a child gets picked, not only can they go to the Immortal Sect and cultivate, the family gets a reward too. A whole hundred taels of silver!”
“Hiss... that much? Quick, I’m going home to fetch my kid.”
This was the kind of luck people might not see once in a hundred years.
A chance to become an immortal.
A chance to get silver.
The news spread through the whole town in no time.
Even the little beggar dying in the corner forced her eyelids up when she heard it.
Cultivation?
Had she really fallen into a cultivation world?
Just one day ago, she had still been in her studio, grinding through work, drawing until her hands were numb. In her old life, Scarlett Calloway had been a genius illustrator everyone knew by name. Commissions never stopped coming to her door.
Then fate played dirty.
She forgot to shut the window, and a meteor dropped from the heavens and smashed her to death on the spot.
When she opened her eyes again, she had become a beggar.
This body had no father, no mother, no one to care whether she lived or died. Sores covered her from head to toe. The original child had been starved to the edge of death. By the time Scarlett came into the body, there was only one last breath left in it. If not for half a stale, sour bun begged over by a kind old beggar, she would not have made it through the night.
Now her whole body itched like ants were chewing through her flesh. Her stomach was so empty she had no strength at all.
She wanted to scratch, badly.
But she did not dare.
If she tore the sores open and pus and blood came spilling out... just the thought made her scalp tighten.
She lifted her eyes with effort and looked down the main street at the center of town.
A line for spirit testing had already formed.
All of them were children, roughly six to sixteen years old, half-grown boys and girls packed together.
The queue stretched from one end of the street nearly all the way to the other.
A steamed bun cost two copper coins.
A hundred taels… that was enough to buy countless buns. Enough to keep a person alive.
But with this body, rotten as a broken straw mat, if she really crawled over to that long line now, would she even last till the front?
Scarlett Calloway could not help it. Her eyes drifted to the old beggar across from her.
He was no better off than she was. Skin and bone, like a dried corpse left in the sun. His hair was clotted into greasy knots. His clothes were rags hanging off him in strips. Even his shoes were split open, half his foot showing through.
He was already living like this, yet last night he had still been willing to give her half a bun.
That thought made Scarlett’s nose sting.
She dragged herself forward with what little strength she had left, inch by inch, clawing toward him.
But before she got close, the old beggar waved her off.
“Go, go, go. This old beggar can’t even keep himself alive. I can’t look after you a second time.”
Scarlett did not get angry. She just lifted a trembling hand and pointed toward the spirit-testing line in the distance. Her voice came out weak, thin as thread.
“Grandpa… I’m out of strength. Can you carry me to the very front of the line? If I get chosen, they’ll give a hundred taels of silver. I only want one tael. The rest is yours…”
The old beggar cast her a muddy look and let out a long sigh.
“Child, that’s not something beggars like us should dream about. We can’t even fill our bellies, and you still want to become an immortal?”
Scarlett’s fingers dug into the dirt.
“I won’t accept that.” Her voice was soft, but there was iron hidden in it. “Winter is coming. Even if we don’t starve, we’ll freeze. Grandpa, help me take this gamble. If there’s even the tiniest bit of hope, then both of us can live.”
The old beggar paused.
He lifted his head and looked at the long, winding queue, his brows knotting together.
“If you just want to try, you can line up by yourself too. The line’s already not far from us.”
Scarlett shook her head with effort.
“I need to go to the very front… Grandpa, my body’s covered in sores. I’m dying.”
The old beggar stared at her for a moment, then sighed again, heavier this time.
“Ah… even if I carry you to the front, we’re beggars. They’ll drive us off all the same.” He rubbed his face and gave a bitter laugh. “Fine. We won’t survive this winter anyway. I’ll count it as doing one good deed before death. Maybe next life I’ll be born into better luck.”
Hearing that, Scarlett finally let out a small, relieved smile.
“No, Grandpa… if you get silver, you can buy a house, wear new clothes, find some honest way to live.”
The old beggar shook his head and laughed, like he did not dare believe a word of it.