Sun Yanwan's current body was only eleven or twelve, not particularly strong. He struggled to support the youth's weight as they left the inn. His shoulders ached under the burden, but he grit his teeth and bore it. As they passed the corpse of the golden-faced Hu, he couldn't spare a hand to search the body—but his sharp eyes noticed the long sword lying beside it. The ornate weapon had silver and gold threads on the ebony scabbard. "That thing must be worth a fortune," he thought, and hooked it up with his foot to grab it.
The youth glanced at him with an odd smile. Sun Yanwan gave a sheepish excuse, "Just bringing my Master a weapon. In case of trouble, you might need it."
"I don't use swords," the youth replied blandly.
Sun Yanwan chuckled nervously and didn't go back for a saber. After all, he'd helped ambush Hu—those bandits would surely think he was in on it. If they returned, they'd kill him without hesitation. He didn't dare waste time.
He helped the youth out of the inn, chose two horses, tied the reins together, and rode with him on one. With a squeeze of the knees, the horses neighed and galloped south.
The youth was mildly surprised that Sun Yanwan knew how to ride but didn't ask. He had other thoughts.
And if he had asked, Sun Yanwan wouldn't have known how to answer. Should he say he once spent a small fortune on riding lessons just to chase a female equestrian coach? The chase only earned him one dinner and a "nice guy" card. He never returned to that horse ranch.
After several hundred meters, Sun Yanwan glanced back, remembering the silver he'd stashed under a snowy tree. But no matter how he yearned, he dared not return. Though his body was young, his mind wasn't. He knew: risking their escape for some silver wasn't worth it.
They rode through the night without incident. By morning, the youth was burning with fever and passed out. Panicking, Sun Yanwan spotted a village and rode in, knocking on the door of a random house.
In a practiced tone, he said, "My companion is ill. We need shelter for a few days."
He had no money on him but smoothly fished a silver piece from the youth's pocket and tossed it to the elderly man who answered the door.
The old man had kind eyes but noticed the bloodstains and weapons on the two youths. This wasn't illness—it smelled of vendetta. He hesitated, wanting to refuse, but greed overruled him. "If you don't mind my humble home, you may stay."
Sun Yanwan lacked experience in the martial world, but he'd traveled before. He barged in confidently, claimed the best room, laid the youth down, and asked, "Elder, is there a pharmacy in town?"
Before the old man could respond, the youth murmured, "I have medicine."
Relieved that his "Master" was awake, Sun Yanwan added, "Please prepare some food—hot soup, if possible."
Glad to get away from the pair, the old man agreed quickly and left.
The youth, again impressed by Sun Yanwan's composure, said, "Bring me some clean water."
Sun Yanwan returned with a bowl. The youth took a porcelain bottle from his robe, shook out a pill, and swallowed it with water. Then he sat cross-legged to meditate.
Sun Yanwan let out a breath. "He knows how to channel internal energy. He should be okay."
"To have a powerful thigh to cling to—that's real luck," he mused. "Better to cling now than to be picky and end up with nothing."
Tired from their journey, he dozed off on a chair, slumped over a table.
After two hours, the youth coughed up black blood. Seeing Sun Yanwan fast asleep, he couldn't help but smile. Getting up, he nudged him. "You don't even stand guard for your Master? What if enemies came?"
Sun Yanwan rubbed his eyes, still groggy. "I'm useless in a fight. Even if someone came, warning you wouldn't change the outcome."
The youth shook his head at that twisted logic. "Do you even know your Master's name?"
Sun Yanwan blinked. "I don't."
He was a transmigrator. He barely knew anything about this world.
Even his original identity was that of a provincial inn servant. How could he know any famous martial names?
The youth chuckled. "My surname is Miao. Name: Youxiu. The man I killed was Hu Fengwei—known as the Demon-Slaying Sword."
"The Miao and Hu families are old enemies. My father and grandfather both died at their hands. It was only justice that I killed him today."
Sun Yanwan nodded. "Master is always right."
He didn't care about grudges. He just wanted to survive and thrive.
Suddenly remembering something, he stepped outside. The old man who'd welcomed them was nowhere to be seen. Alarmed, he returned. "That elder who promised food is gone. This place isn't safe. If you can still move, let's leave now."
Miao Youxiu nodded. "Sharp thinking."
Though still weak, he figured he could manage. They left the room—only to find one horse missing.
They now knew the old man had other intentions. Wasting no time, they mounted the remaining horse and rode off.
After half a day, they reached another town and settled at a larger inn.
Despite only a few days as a servant, Sun Yanwan had a good eye. He ordered food, bought clean clothes, and arranged for hot water. He attended to his new Master with care.
Miao Youxiu ate, then summoned him. After confirming his background was clean, he said, "My martial art is passed down in my family—I cannot teach it to outsiders."
Seeing Sun Yanwan's disappointment, he added with a grin, "But you've served me well. Once I recover, I'll teach you a couple techniques from other schools. That'll be enough to survive."
Sun Yanwan didn't care what school the skills came from. What mattered was getting any skills at all. He bowed deeply. "Your willingness to teach is a great kindness. I dare not ask for more."