The northern port of the Sikeqinya Empire: Ceylon City.
A sudden rainstorm poured in through the gap of the fort. The sky darkened as though it was tinted with the ink of dragon's blood. The fishing boats cowered inside the harbour as huge waves hit the dam forcefully. The waves also created a mist over ten meters tall with a crashing sound.
As the rainwater mounted and rapidly spread to the slums, the water on the streets deepened. The drainage system, which had not been maintained for at least five years, was inadequate; in an instant, the slums became a vast ocean.
Ceylon City's Magnolia Bay was no longer as it was before. The withering fishing industry provided limited income, and the Lord was powerless to help. To improve the drainage system, they would need a mage well-versed in alchemy, as well as many of his numerous disciples. It would cost thousands of gold coins just for them to prepare the drawing. No mage had appeared in Ceylon City in the last two hundred years, and the municipal services department had almost become just a showcase.
Lightning tore across the sky, followed by rolling thunder. As the lightning danced in the sky, it illuminated the stormy city. On the empty streets, a youth about 10 years of age was struggling to move forward against the water.
This youth, who was very skinny and weak, had short, brown, unruly hair. The rain splashed past his eyelashes, causing him to keep his eyes closed. As he breathed out a faint white vapor from his nose, his legs trembled non-stop. He hugged an oil-paper packet tightly; it contained all the food he had begged for that day.
Bang!
A loud thunder. The youth could no longer hold on and fell to the ground. With his face submerged in the water, he immediately started to choke and cough. He struggled vehemently, desperately wanting to stand up again. However, his thin, weak body could no longer withstand it. He turned over and passed out. In his unconsciousness, his hand still grabbed the oil-paper packet tightly.
The sky finally cleared after two hours of intense rainstorm. As the flood water slowly receded, pedestrians started to appear on the streets. The unconscious youth was flushed to some eaves under a roof, with his body against a stone.
The door pushed open. A person dressed like a servant saw the unconscious youth, ran up to him, gave him a forceful kick and shouted angrily, "Beggar, get lost and don't die here!"
His voice was sharp and chilling, closely resembling that of a Tanggulasi Empire palace eunuch who had been castrated. The kick caused the youth to wake up moaning. This was followed by a bout of severe coughing. He felt warm and realized that he was having a fever. Subconsciously, his hand was still holding onto the oil-paper packet tightly. He heaved a sigh of relief, and turned over before crawling two steps away. Then, he struggled to open his oil-paper packet.
The oil-paper packet contained aged rice that had turned moldy. He had planned to cook it at home before eating it. However, he could not wait any longer, because if he still did not eat anything, he would not have energy to even walk.
The aged grains tasted like sand in his mouth, disintegrating as they were chewed and swallowed into his stomach.
"Unlucky!" the fierce-looking servant saw that the youth really could not get up on his feet and spat at him forcefully before he turned and went through the door.
The youth lay on the icy cold ground and forced himself to wolf down the remaining half portion of the raw rice. Then he got back on his feet unsteadily, and without turning back, walked towards the east of the city. His house was situated at the outskirts of the city. If he did not reach home before the sky turned dark, a subsequent rainstorm could cause him to freeze to death on the streets.
A plump businessman walked out of the bright red door behind him. He was wearing poor quality silk, and his hair was oiled. He looked like he had been drenched in the rain.
"Wait, isn't that the kid from the Metatrin Clan? What was his name again?" The plump, sharp-eyed businessman looked at the back of the youth as he asked the two servants behind him.
"Saleen, Master, his name is Saleen." The servant gave a toady laugh, sounding like a chicken being strangled. The wretched-looking trio of master and servants looked at the youth in an unfriendly manner.
"Why is he not dead?"
"Who knows? No idea which jerk was willing to give him food," the other servant answered angrily.
"Hey, you two monitor him closely. Should he die, buy the house immediately, lest others take advantage," the plump businessman instructed as he twisted his heavy body and walked in the other direction.
"Noted, Master," the servants replied as they carefully followed behind him, the two of them almost able to hide in the plump businessman's shadow.
In the chilly night, the youth named Saleen dragged his exhausted body out of Ceylon City. He carried the oil-paper packet, left the main road and walked haltingly back to his ancestral home.
This huge stone house was the last asset of the Metatrin Clan. Saleen pushed the door open and entered the house shakily.
The stone wall, covered with green moss, exuded a wintry feel. All the windows of this two-storied house had no glass, making the lonely stone house seem eerie and desolate.
Saleen gasped for air; he was finally home. He practically crawled up the stairs to his bedroom, and laid his head against the bed board. The bed board was like the wall - wet, cold and stiff.
His clothing, which was drenched by the rain, had been half-dried by the strong wind on his journey home. It was now stuck onto his body. It was Saleen's one and only piece of clothing. Saleen struggled to push himself up, removed his clothes and lay onto the bed board. The oil-paper packet was placed next to his head. He felt a sharp pain at his waist, and bent his head to take a look. It has been badly bruised.
This was from the kick from that servant. Saleen gritted his teeth as he lay down. The pain would be gone if he were asleep.
The moonlight and cold breeze that trickled into the room were hardly poetic. Saleen felt as though his body was burning, with a splitting pain in his head. He might lose his life if the fever persisted. He struggled to climb out of his bed and pulled out a box from under his bed.
The lock on the box had long been dismantled. The silver lock was used to trade for a week's worth of food. No one would buy the pest-proof camphor wooden box, and Saleen had every intention to use it to start a fire one day.
In the box was a messy pile of collection slips. Most of them were debt-related documents. Saleen fished out a metal badge and stuck it onto his forehead. The coolness seeped through his forehead and he felt as though his headache was waning. Saleen sat on the floor and weeped as he looked at the box full of collection slips.
The Metatrin Clan was a noble tribe, and the honorable name was a sign of fortune in the northern part of the Empire. When it came to Saleen's generation, the Metatrin Clan was left with nothing. The pile of collection slips had become useless pieces of paper. The debtors who had owed money then had since passed on. Major shifts of power and wars had caused the gradual decline of the Metatrin family.
If the debtors were still alive and had repaid him the amounts indicated on the collection slips, Saleen would have been able to buy Ceylon City 10 times over.
The badge, which was pressed upon Saleen's forehead, was a symbol of the Metatrin Clan. Saleen did not attempt to sell the palm-sized badge, as like the collection slips, it was left to him by his father.
Saleen's parents both died when he was six years old, and left him the box and ancestral home. Saleen was not able to make a living by himself at the tender age of six, and had to sell the things in the house to feed himself. Scheming businessmen took advantage of the situation to make money. What would a six-year-old boy know? Within half a year, Saleen had sold almost everything in the house.
Although Saleen was already 12 years old, he looked more like a 10-year-old as he was malnourished, skinny and weak.
Saleen did not sell the ancestral home. It was not that he did not want to, but property transactions had to be processed at the City Hall, and could not be falsified. The greedy businessmen who were eyeing his property would rather Saleen starve to death. Upon his death, the property would not have an owner. They could then just buy the land for next to nothing.
Saleen's will to survive was very strong, and he managed to last to the age of 12 through begging.
Saleen fell onto the bed. The family badge had sent coolness through his body, such that the pain at his waist had lessened. Saleen fell asleep, with no idea if he would wake up from his sleep this time.
Bang Bang Bang!
Saleen forced his eyes open and sat up. Sunlight streamed into the house through the window, the dirt on the floor obvious.
It was strange to have someone knock on the door this early in the morning. Saleen's ancestral home was not near any main road, but was situated at the foot of a mountain across a spot of forest. Ever since he had sold everything, no one had called upon him.
Bang Bang Bang!
The knocking at the door persisted. Saleen jumped out of bed, feeling healthier and much lighter. He put the badge back into the box and shoved it under the bed before going downstairs to get the door.
Having been in a daze the night before, he had forgotten to lock the door. Fear gripped Saleen suddenly. There were beasts in the area and he could have been devoured in his sleep if they had entered.
The door opened with a shriek. Saleen felt the warmth from the sun's rays streaming in. A middle-aged man was standing among the trees' shadows. He had long black hair, wore a long grey robe and held a wooden staff in his hand.
This man could not be more than 40 years of age. He had long, straight eyebrows that were pointing upwards and no beard. The hand holding the wooden staff was wearing a huge silver-black ring, which was engraved with many complex symbols. Saleen felt a little lost. The man had an odd appearance; could he be a high priest from the Roman Curia?
His expression was very genial, but he had the air of a nobleman, as if that was just how he was and had nothing to do with you.
Life as a beggar had made Saleen more sensitive — he knew the types of people he could approach versus the types he should avoid. But this man who had knocked on his door was different from the people of Ceylon City. He was standing right in front of Saleen, but the youth could not feel his existence.
The man smiled and asked Saleen, "Where are the adults at home?"
This man must be from foreign lands, because the people of Ceylon City would know of him as a jinx. Saleen's inner voice quieted down as he rubbed his temples and answered, "There is no one else here. Sir, may I know what is the matter?"
Saleen asked this politely, trying to appear at ease. To keep his life, he knew he needed to get into the other party's good books. This had been Saleen's mantra in his 12 years of life experience.
"Oh", the man looked at Saleen baffled. Saleen dashed out, topless and clad only in his shorts. He had a palm-sized mark on his forehead, left behind by the family badge.
"This house is yours?" the man asked gently.
"Yes," Saleen looked down at the ground as his brown pupils contracted. Could this man be a bandit?
"The thing is, I would like to buy this house. May I enter to discuss?"
Buy the house? Saleen tried to reconcile what he had heard. He had long planned to sell the house and then find a job in the city. He would not have minded work processing fish, as long as he could fill his stomach. However, he knew that apprentices were mostly given lodging instead of meals. If he were to get work, he would have starved to death by the end of the first month. Saleen turned to his side blankly and said, "Please come in."
As the man stepped into the stone house, the dust under his feet disappeared without leaving any imprints. There was a soft breeze and the dampness in the living room instantly disappeared. Saleen's heart fluttered with excitement, carefully calculating how much to sell the house for as he closed the door.
The man glanced around the house, taking in everything that was in it. There was nothing in the house except for its four walls. There was nothing to admire. The man looked satisfied. He turned to Saleen and asked, "You mentioned that this house is yours? Do you have the title deed?"
"I do", Saleen nodded his head, but he did not return to his bedroom to retrieve the title deed. As he grew older, he realized that he had previously been cheated by those businessmen, and had learnt to become more vigilant.
The man smiled as he reached out his hand to stroke Saleen's head, saying, "You need not worry, I am a mage and will not cheat you. Tell me, how many gold coins do you intend to sell this house for?"
Gold coins! Saleen's eyes lit up. He had never seen gold coins, even since he began to sell the things in the house. The person who took away his four-foot oil painting had only left him a silver coin. The gold-plated lampstand, which was exchanged for two silver coins, was considered a fair transaction. When he was six, the businessman who had moved away the full set of cupboards had left Saleen only two loaves of bread.