In the dim light of dusk, a white-browed tiger with piercing eyes trudged dejectedly along the main road. The sight of such a ferocious beast on a public thoroughfare was terrifying enough, but what sent chills down the spine was the figure riding atop its back!

Perched on the tiger was a disheveled young man, his face smeared with dirt and his hair a tangled mess resembling a bird's nest. His bare feet were caked in mud, and his only clothing was a tattered pair of shorts, making him look even more destitute than a beggar. Across his half-naked chest and back, aside from a broken black jade pendant, were countless crisscrossing scars—some from blades, others from burns, some resembling beast bites, and still others the grotesque remnants of festering wounds that had healed. Some scars were old, while others were freshly scabbed; some cut deep into his flesh, while others stretched across his entire back. It was impossible to fathom what horrors he had endured to bear such a multitude of injuries. Even his face bore two intersecting knife scars, forming a cross-like mark in the center of his forehead, as though branded with some ominous seal.

Fortunately, the late hour meant the road was nearly deserted, sparing passersby the shock of witnessing such a bizarre sight. The setting sun cast long shadows behind the solitary pair as they made their way toward the outskirts of Xu Yang City.

Xu Yang City was the second-largest metropolis in the Eastern Ridge Realm, thriving as a hub of commerce along a vital trade route. Its prosperity was evident in the bustling streets and the contentment of its people.

As the towering city walls came into view, the young man's throat bobbed with a loud gulp. "Hurry up, Tiger," he muttered, patting the beast's flank. "Run faster, or I swear I'll roast you for dinner when I get too hungry!"

The tiger shuddered as if understanding his words and immediately broke into a sprint, its powerful legs churning up dust.

"Slow down, slow down!" the young man yelped, smacking the tiger's head indignantly. "Don't you know I'm too weak from hunger to hold on?"

The tiger whimpered inwardly. First, he demands speed, then complains about being jostled. If he's so capable, why not walk on his own instead of riding me? But despite its grievances, the beast didn't dare defy the menace on its back and reluctantly eased its pace.

Satisfied, the young man ruffled the tiger's fur affectionately with one hand while rubbing his growling stomach with the other. "I'm starving..." he muttered to himself.

The tiger halted a few hundred meters from the city walls—not out of defiance, but because the area was now dotted with people.

Take the tea stall owner outside the city walls, for instance. His eyes bulged and jaw dropped as he stared at it, looking like he'd seen a ghost in broad daylight.

The young man finally caught on. With a nimble flip, he dismounted from the tiger's back and gave its head an affectionate pat. "Thanks for the ride—you've had a long haul."

The tiger stood docilely under his touch, its mind screaming: *Just leave already, you menace! Once you're gone, I can go back to being king of the mountain!*

"Off you go!" The young man waved dismissively.

The tiger bolted like it had been granted a royal pardon, letting out a kittenish whimper before sprinting away at full speed. It vanished in a cloud of dust down the road, putting every ounce of its strength into the escape.

With the tiger gone, the young man sauntered into the tea stall. Noticing the owner frozen in shock, he waved a hand in front of the man's face.

The stall owner jolted back to reality, stammering, "D-did you see that tiger just now?"

"What tiger?" The young man blinked innocently. "Didn't see a thing."

"Nothing?" The owner squinted down the road—not a trace of the beast remained.

"Could I have imagined it?" he muttered, utterly baffled.

"Hey, forget about the tiger for a sec. Got anything to eat here?" The young man sniffed the air and plopped down on a stool.

The owner shook his head. "Just tea here, no food. If you're hungry, there are plenty of eateries in the city."

Truth be told, the owner held back another thought: *With the way you're dressed, I doubt you've got a single coin to your name.* Any sensible merchant would turn him away.

The young man let out a resigned chuckle and stood up, heading toward Xuyang City.

Long after he'd gone, the tea stall owner kept rubbing his eyes and peering down the road, mumbling under his breath.

At the city gate of Xuyang, a vendor was frying golden-brown pancakes in a sizzling wok, their rich aroma wafting through the air. The moment the young man stepped through the gate, the tantalizing scent hit him, making his mouth water uncontrollably.

In a flash, he appeared before the stall, his eyes gleaming as he stared at the crispy pancakes. To most people, they were just ordinary street food. But for someone who had survived on nothing but nine and a half magma worms over the past 168 years, this humble stall might as well have been paradise. Those flaky, golden delights were like naked celestial maidens—utterly irresistible, beckoning him to devour every last one in a single gulp.

"Hey, you've been standing there forever! Either buy something or get lost—you're scaring off my customers!" the vendor snapped, shooting the young man a glare.

And no wonder. The young man looked like a walking nightmare, his presence alone enough to make others steer clear. If not for the crisscrossing scars covering his body—hinting at a past best left unprovoked—the vendor would have chased him off long ago.

"I *want* to buy, but I'm broke. Can I owe you a few?" The young man flashed a dazzling, sunlit grin, the corners of his lips quirking up.

"No credit here! This is a small business!" the vendor barked. What good was a pretty smile? Could he eat it? Spend it? Hell no!

The young man sighed, muttering under his breath, "If that damn thief were here, she'd swipe a few without anyone noticing. Or Big Beard—he'd just toss this snob into the frying pan and eat him with the pancakes. First Brother... got any tricks to score me some food? I'm literally starving to death..."

To onlookers, his rambling made him look like a half-mad beggar.

"Where'd this stinking bum come from? Scram!" A sharp, impatient voice cut through the air from behind.

The young man turned to see a rotund man draped in fine silk, his fingers adorned with ten gaudy gold rings—the very picture of a nouveau riche.

"Ah, Boss Wang! Please, right this way!" The vendor rushed over, fawning as he ushered the man to the cleanest table.

"Five pancakes and two bowls of tofu pudding—extra toppings!" the fat man wheezed as he plopped down, his voice booming.

"Right away, Boss Wang!"

The young man watched, stomach growling and temper flaring, as the man shoveled food into his mouth. Just as he was about to snap, someone yanked him aside, dragging him into a nearby alley. "You new here? Don’t mess with that guy—he’s from the Wang family’s branch!"

The kind soul was a beggar around eighteen or nineteen years old, dressed in similarly tattered rags—though compared to the young man, he was practically well-dressed. At least he had a shirt, pants, and a pair of worn straw sandals, unlike the youth who wore nothing but a ragged pair of shorts.

"Really that powerful?" the young man asked.

The beggar lowered his voice. "The Wang family’s got influence, no doubt. They run a pawnshop in the east side of town—shady as hell!"

"Just a pawnbroker..." The young man shrugged dismissively.

"Not the kind of people we can mess with," the beggar said, waving his hands. "I’ve been watching you for a while. You hungry? Come with me—I’ll take you to get some porridge."

"I don’t have any money!" the young man shook his head.

"Free porridge!" The beggar grinned.

The young man’s eyes lit up. "Free? Perfect! Lead the way!"

"Easy now—it’s at the Lu family’s ancestral hall. Today’s their charity porridge day. They’ve got three huge cauldrons boiling, enough to stuff yourself silly."

Side by side, they headed toward the Lu family’s ancestral hall in the eastern district. As they walked, the beggar asked, "I know every beggar in this city, but I’ve never seen you before. Where’d you come from?"

"Somewhere... very far away," the young man answered vaguely.

"Well, what’s your name?" the beggar pressed.

"Deng Xiaoxian. Just call me Xiaoxian." The young man touched the dark jade pendant hanging against his chest as he spoke.

The pendant was broken in half, its surface faintly engraved with three characters: *Deng Xiaoxian*—the very origin of his name.

"Xiaoxian... That’s a nice name. I’m A’Tong. From now on, we’re friends. If anyone gives you trouble, just tell me!" The beggar thumped his chest proudly. "Oh, and I’ve got an old shirt lying around. If you don’t mind the rags, it’s yours. With all those scars of yours, they might turn you away if you don’t cover up!"

When the two arrived at the Lu Family Ancestral Hall in the eastern part of the city, Deng Xiaoxian was already wearing the tattered clothes A’Tong had given him. Though he still looked down and out, at least he no longer had to go bare-chested.

The entrance of the ancestral hall was brightly lit, turning the dusk as bright as day. A crowd had gathered, packing the place to the brim.

"Wow, so many people. Surely they can’t all be here for the porridge?" Deng Xiaoxian sniffed the air, catching the faint aroma of congee. His stomach betrayed him with an audible growl.

A’Tong shook his head. "Today’s also the day the Lu Family holds a recruitment contest for new servants. Most of these folks are just here for the spectacle."

Lowering his voice, he added, "Just look at them—a bunch of misfits and oddballs. And they think they stand a chance at becoming Lu Family servants? What a joke!"

"Servants have to meet standards now?" Relieved that these people weren’t here to compete for porridge, Deng Xiaoxian still found it puzzling. The world felt unfamiliar to him, like a newborn baby encountering everything for the first time.

"You must be from out of town if you don’t know this," A’Tong said. "The Lu Family is one of the Four Great Clans of Xuyang. Their servants have to be decent-looking, physically strong, and skilled in martial arts—only then do they have a shot!"

"That’s a pretty high bar," Deng Xiaoxian remarked in surprise.

"Of course it is for a great family! If it were the Wang or Li Families, the standards would be even crazier!" Despite being just a beggar, A’Tong seemed to know the ins and outs of the city like the back of his hand.

"Sounds impressive," Deng Xiaoxian mused. "Do they at least feed their servants?"

"Feed them? They get meat with every meal! Rumor has it they even earn two taels of silver a month!" A’Tong swallowed hard, as if savoring the thought.

"Meat! And silver!" Deng Xiaoxian’s eyes gleamed. "Alright, let’s get some porridge first. Once I’m full, I’m signing up to be a servant!"

A’Tong gaped at him, thinking, *Is this guy out of his mind? Does he think the Lu Family is some public outhouse you can just waltz into?*

"Gulp, gulp..." Deng Xiaoxian tipped back a chipped bowl, downing the entire serving of porridge in one go.

Wiping his mouth, he immediately rejoined the line for more. A’Tong stared in disbelief, muttering, "Eleven bowls... Even if it’s just watery porridge, that’s one hell of an appetite. How long has it been since this guy last ate?"

"168 years..." Standing in line, Deng Xiaoxian was pondering the same question. Though many memories had faded, he knew exactly how many scars marked his body. For each of those 168 years, he had endured torture—once a year, leaving behind a gruesome scar. As of yesterday, he bore precisely 168 of them.