The Fortune-Stealing Pearl: From Farmer's Son to Leading His Clan to Ascension

From Farm Boy to His Clan’s Ascension

The night was pitch-black, like a tattered rag soaked in ink, pressing heavily down upon the earth. The torrential rain lashed the muddy highway like a whip, splashing up murky water that quickly gathered into rushing streams, careening through deep wheel ruts. The air was thick with the smell of wet earth, moldy decaying vegetation, and the rank, musky stench of livestock.

An old mule cart was stuck in a muddy pit, half its wheel buried. The mule pulling it panted heavily. No matter how loudly Old Wang, the driver, cracked his whip, it only pawed helplessly at the ground, splattering even more mud.

“Come on! Put your back into it, you lazy beast!” Old Wang’s voice was hoarse from shouting. Rainwater streamed down his deeply lined face, mingling with sweat.

Li Xuan jumped down from the cart without a word and braced his shoulder against its soaked, freezing sideboard. Cold rain trickled down from the edge of his battered bamboo hat and into his collar, making him shiver. He clenched his teeth. The veins stood out on his bare arms, and the mud sucked at his feet. Every time he pushed, he felt as if the wretched sludge would swallow his whole leg. Fifteen years, a full fifteen years! Ever since that bewildering “reincarnation,” tinged with a hint of absurd hope, he had been ground down by fate into this broad-boned, dark-skinned, mud-soaked escort. Cultivation? Immortality? Those distant fantasies had been worn away by ten years of sleeping rough and risking his life on the road. All that remained was this wretched cart stuck in the mire, and the burning pain in his shoulder.