“Young man, from the look of your face, sure, you’ve had it rough for years. But this time, when you come to the city for work, you’ll definitely meet someone important who’ll help you out. Your future’s bright. Seriously bright.”

On the high-speed train, Gerald Whitfield said this with a mysterious smile to the honest-looking country boy sitting across from him—Gary Stokes, the kind of guy who looked like he’d never lied a day in his life.

“Really, Master?”

Gary’s eyes lit up on the spot. “Then who’s my lucky person?”

Gerald Whitfield chuckled and waved a hand like some seasoned expert.

“How would I know that for sure? Could be him.”

He pointed at the middle-aged man beside them, who was busy on the phone, then shifted his finger toward the young man nearby—around twenty, maybe—who had closed his eyes the moment he got on the train and had been sleeping the whole ride.

“Or maybe him…”

“Old sir, cut the nonsense already.”

Nathan Ashford opened his eyes and looked straight at Gary.

His tone was calm, but what he said hit like a brick.

“Your forehead looks dark. Forget a bright future—you’re about to run into a bloody disaster.”

Gary’s expression changed instantly. “You’re the one with a bloody disaster!”

He spat to the side a couple of times, like trying to get rid of bad luck.

Nathan saw that and couldn’t be bothered to argue.

His gaze shifted and landed on the little boy sitting beside Gerald Whitfield.

The child looked four or five, very quiet the whole trip. He held a small yellow duck toy in his hand and played by himself without making a fuss, obedient to a fault.

“Old sir.”

Nathan pulled his eyes away from the boy and looked at Gerald Whitfield, his voice carrying a rare trace of sincerity.

“When you get to Guangshi, take the child to the hospital for a checkup. Right away. If you wait any longer, it’ll be too late.”

“What did you say?”

Gerald Whitfield froze for a second, then anger rushed right up his face.

“Old sir, I said your grandson doesn’t have much time left.”

Nathan thought maybe he hadn’t heard clearly, so he repeated it.

That did it.

Gerald Whitfield exploded.

“Are you sick in the head? Just now you said I was talking nonsense. Fine, you’re young, so I let it slide. But now you’re pushing it, huh? First acting smart, and now you’re cursing my grandson?”

“Exactly!”

Gary immediately jumped in, full of righteous anger, like he’d just found a moral high ground to stand on.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you really that petty? The kid didn’t offend you, didn’t provoke you, nothing. And you’re sitting here saying he’s about to die? What kind of messed-up thing is that?”

The middle-aged man on the phone had just ended his call. He took a careful look at the little boy, who was still quietly playing with his toy as if none of this had anything to do with him.

Then he turned to Nathan and spoke in the tone of someone used to lecturing others.

“Young man, you should watch your mouth and keep some virtue. I’m the head of surgery at Guangshi People’s Hospital. Surname Harrington. From what I can see, there’s nothing wrong with this child. In fact, I’d like to ask you—what exactly are you trying to do by saying this?”

Getting blasted one after another by all three of them, Nathan didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh.

He felt both helpless and faintly amused.

His mind drifted back to his master’s words:

The law is not taught lightly.

The Way is not sold cheaply.

A master does not take disciples off the street.

A doctor does not force treatment on the unwilling.

His master really had been right.

He meant well, yet in other people’s eyes, it became pure malice.

If the train hadn’t been about to arrive, Nathan honestly wouldn’t even have bothered reminding Gerald Whitfield in such a hurry.

Once they got off, Nathan picked up his beat-up, old-school backpack. On it, the faded words “Love Our Huaxia” could still vaguely be seen. The bag looked so rustic it practically screamed small-town energy.

Without another word, he turned and walked away.

Didn’t even look back.

Gary shot him a look full of contempt.

After exiting the station, the city opened up in front of him in one dazzling sweep—towering buildings, glass walls catching the light, roads packed with traffic. Everything looked huge, shiny, unreal.

Gary was instantly overwhelmed.

His eyes darted everywhere, taking it all in, so busy gawking at the skyscrapers that he completely failed to notice there was nearly a one-meter drop between the platform edge and the ground below.

He strode forward excitedly.

Then his foot missed.

His whole body lurched.

Gary lost his balance on the spot, arms flailing wildly in the air. One foot hit the ground first—

Crack.

The sound was sharp and ugly.

Gary crashed face-first onto the ground.

“Hiss…”

He sucked in a cold breath, grimacing hard. Using both hands and feet, he tried to push himself up, but the moment his right foot moved even a little, a wave of pain shot through him so hard his scalp went numb.

He lowered his head.

There were little spots of blood on his clothes.

Startled, he quickly touched his nose.

His fingers came away red.

Gary’s heart skipped a beat.

And out of nowhere, one sentence flashed through his mind like a curse coming true—

You’re about to run into a bloody disaster.