Dayan Dynasty, a small town on the eastern border of Tianxuan Continent, a bitterly cold winter night.
Wang Ergou was huddled in the corner of the ruined temple, wrapped in tattered linen, with a chipped and broken bowl in front of him. There are only a few copper coins in the bowl, which I got from begging today. He is sixteen years old this year, but he is already an orphan. His parents died young and he makes a living by picking up rags and begging. . . . . .
