Chapter 2: The Cliff That Comes with No Rent

  Khun Ming did not sit up immediately.

  He lay there for a moment, feeling the ground beneath his palm.

  The soil felt cool and slightly damp. It had the dense, living texture of real organic earth rather than the flat hardness of packed clay. When he pressed his fingers down, the soil yielded just enough to show that it held moisture and structure without collapsing.

  "…Alright," he murmured slowly to himself. "That is actually a very good sign. If I had woken up on soil that compacted like old brick dust, I would already be in a terrible mood."

  He pinched a small bit of soil between his fingers and lifted it toward his nose.

  He inhaled carefully.

  "There's no chemical sharpness in it," he said quietly. "No metallic residue either. It smells like proper earth that has been allowed to behave naturally instead of being tortured by careless farmers."

  He rubbed the particles between his thumb and forefinger, studying the texture.

  "The granules are fine but not powdery. There's humus mixed in, which means the soil is alive and not exhausted. The moisture balance also feels correct. Whoever maintained this land clearly understood that soil is not just something you step on. Soil is a living partner in any kind of plant work."

  He paused for a moment.

  Then sighed softly.

  "Well… at least the ground beneath me is cooperative. That is already more promising than many of the places I have worked before."

  He finally opened his eyes.

  The sky above him was a simple, uninterrupted blue.

  There were no city walls, no rooftops, and no tangled lines of laundry stretched across narrow streets. Just open air.

  Khun Ming slowly pushed himself upright.

  That was when he noticed the sleeves.

  He froze.

  "…Wait a moment," he said slowly.

  The fabric covering his wrists was pale. Not white, and not cream either. It carried the soft natural color of dried lotus fiber.

  He lifted the sleeve carefully and pinched it.

  "This definitely is not cotton," he said with quiet certainty. "Cotton behaves differently when woven. Cotton wrinkles more easily, and cotton rarely holds this kind of structure without reinforcement."

  He rubbed the weave between his fingers.

  The threads were smooth and evenly spun.

  Almost too evenly.

  A breeze passed over the hill, shifting the robe slightly.

  The fabric moved with the air but did not cling.

  Khun Ming blinked.

  Then blinked again.

  "…Is this lotus fiber?"

  He stared at the sleeve.

  "Oh my Buddha," he whispered.

  Then he stood up.

  "Oh my Buddha, this is high quality," he said more loudly. "No, that isn't correct. This is extremely high quality. Whoever made this cloth either had extraordinary patience or access to artisans who truly understand what they are doing."

  He examined the robe more closely.

  "The fiber alignment is clean, the thread tension is balanced, and the weave density is consistent all the way through. This is not the kind of garment someone buys casually in a market."

  He lifted the hem and checked the stitching.

  "The seams are narrow and precise, which means the person who made this cared about durability. They were not just concerned with appearance."

  He rolled the cuff slightly and studied the inside.

  "The inner weave remains smooth even where the fabric folds. That means the threads were spun properly before weaving. Someone really knew their craft."

  He lowered his arm and glanced down at the trousers.

  "They even matched the trousers to the robe," he said with growing disbelief. "Same fiber, same finish, and the cut is practical enough that I can move without fighting the cloth."

  He brushed a bit of grass from the sleeve.

  "Well," he muttered, "whoever decided to dress me like this clearly put more thought into it than I expected."

  He looked around slowly.

  "…Now the real question is why I am wearing expensive lotus fiber clothing while standing on an unfamiliar mountain. Great grandma really does she know how to spoil me.... Muwhahahahaha"

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Something rested on the grass beside him.

  A long bundle wrapped in cloth.

  Khun Ming crouched beside it.

  "You came along too, apparently," he said.

  He unwrapped it carefully.

  Inside lay a sword.

  The blade was straight and clean.

  There were no jewels, no glowing inscriptions, and no dramatic aura radiating from it.

  Just steel.

  Khun Ming lifted the sword and tested its weight.

  "This is actually balanced very well," he said thoughtfully. "It isn't too heavy near the tip, and the grip feels comfortable enough that someone could use it for real work rather than ceremonial posing."

  He turned the blade slightly in the sunlight.

  The edge flashed once before returning to quiet steel.

  "I appreciate tools that do not scream about how powerful they are," he said. "If a blade does its job properly, it does not need to shout about it."

  He rewrapped the sword loosely and set it beside him.

  Only then did he turn fully.

  Ten steps away stood a bamboo cottage.

  Khun Ming stared at it for a long moment.

  "…Well," he said slowly, "this situation is becoming increasingly suspicious in a pleasant way."

  The cottage was not grand.

  But it was not crude either.

  The lower walls were reinforced with alternating black and white marble panels, polished smooth by wind and time. The upper structure was built from bamboo and warm wooden beams that fit together cleanly.

  Tall bamboo groves surrounded the property beyond a low wall, giving the entire place quiet privacy.

  Wind moved through the grove.

  The sound was soft and steady.

  Khun Ming listened to it for a moment.

  "I have to admit," he murmured, "that is a very peaceful sound. If someone intended to create a place where people could work quietly without constant interruption, they made an excellent decision."

  To the left he heard water.

  Not loud.

  Just steady.

  He walked toward the sound.

  A modest waterfall fed a stream that curved along the side of the property before descending into the valley below.

  Khun Ming crouched and dipped his fingers into the water.

  Cold.

  Clean.

  He lifted his hand and smelled it.

  "There is no chemical bite in this water," he said approvingly. "It does not smell like metal or rotting dye runoff. This is what mountain water should smell like."

  He watched the current for a moment longer.

  Sunlight fractured across the surface in shifting patterns.

  Small bubbles gathered where water struck stone before drifting downstream.

  "This water could easily be used for washing fiber," he said thoughtfully. "It would also work well for dye baths if the mineral content remains stable."

  He stood and turned slowly.

  Behind the cottage, the land dropped into a cliff.

  Not absurdly vertical.

  Just steep enough to remind careless people to pay attention.

  Wind rose gently from the valley below, carrying the scent of forest and wet stone.

  In front of the cottage, the terrain sloped downward toward dense woodland.

  Khun Ming studied the forest quietly.

  "There is good variety in those trees," he said to himself. "Different heights, different growth patterns. That usually means the ecosystem has not been abused."

  He exhaled slowly.

  "…And most importantly…"

  He glanced back at the cottage.

  "There is no landlord waiting to demand rent."

  He walked toward the gate.

  The gate was carved from old teakwood with a gentle arch at the top.

  Two spirit guardians flanked the entrance.

  Their expressions were calm rather than aggressive.

  Khun Ming examined the carvings.

  "The craftsmanship here is excellent," he said quietly. "Stone carving like this takes patience. Whoever built this place intended it to last."

  Inside the courtyard stood a cherry tree near the gate.

  Petals rested across the stone path.

  Beside it grew a ginkgo tree with steady golden leaves.

  Khun Ming looked up at both trees.

  "That is actually a thoughtful pairing," he murmured. "Cherry blossoms represent fragile beauty, while ginkgo trees are famous for their stubborn longevity."

  He nodded slightly.

  "Combining the two suggests someone understood the balance between temporary beauty and enduring strength."

  To the left stood a bamboo dyeing station.

  Khun Ming walked toward it immediately.

  Clay vats were set firmly into stone platforms.

  Hooks for hanging cloth lined the beams.

  The roof was tall and well ventilated.

  He ran his hand along one vat.

  "This is solid construction," he said. "The vat is grounded properly, and the stone platform prevents uneven heat distribution."

  He tapped the rim lightly.

  "The sound is dense and stable. That means the clay was fired correctly."

  He studied the spacing between vats.

  "There is enough room here to move cloth comfortably without knocking into the next container. Whoever designed this layout actually understood how dye work functions."

  He folded his arms.

  "Well," he said with quiet approval, "this is the first dye workshop I have seen that was designed by someone who appears to have used one before."

  He entered the cottage.

  The front room was simple.

  A wooden table.

  Two chairs.

  Shelves.

  A brick stove with a well-angled vent.

  Khun Ming lit a small splinter of wood and watched the smoke.

  "The airflow is correct," he said. "The smoke rises directly through the vent instead of wandering around the room."

  He nodded.

  "That means cooking here will not turn the entire cottage into a smokehouse."

  He walked into the back room.

  He opened the first drawer.

  Clothing lay neatly folded inside.

  Another set identical to the one he wore.

  "So whoever prepared this place clearly expected someone to live here," he said.

  He opened the second drawer.

  Inside lay a robe.

  Deep blue.

  The color reminded him of properly fermented indigo.

  He lifted it carefully.

  The lining shimmered gold.

  Khun Ming rubbed the fabric between his fingers.

  "This is very fine silk," he murmured. "I do not even recognize the weaving technique immediately, which means it was probably made by someone far more skilled than I am."

  He examined the blue surface again.

  "The dye is deep but calm. It does not scream for attention."

  He folded the robe carefully.

  "Well," he said quietly, "this appears to be the sort of garment one wears when attending formal situations that may become inconvenient."

  The third drawer contained three gold ingots.

  He picked one up.

  Weighed it.

  "…That seems unnecessary," he said.

  He returned it gently.

  Outside, the sword still leaned against the wall.

  Khun Ming picked it up again and walked toward the forest edge.

  A fallen branch lay nearby.

  He pressed the blade down.

  The wood parted cleanly.

  He examined the cut.

  "That is a very efficient blade," he said thoughtfully. "If I do not own an axe, this will serve the same purpose."

  He cut several pieces of wood and stacked them beside the stove.

  Then he walked back to the open soil near the workshop.

  He crouched.

  Pressed both hands into the earth.

  And felt it again.

  The subtle responsiveness.

  He blinked slowly.

  "…That is unusual."

  He pressed deeper.

  The soil loosened beneath his fingers.

  "Growth affinity," he murmured.

  He lifted a handful and let it fall.

  "The soil structure is ideal for cultivation. Seeds would take root easily here."

  He stood and surveyed the property again.

  Forest to the left.

  Stream to the right.

  Cliff behind.

  Quiet land ahead.

  He rolled up his sleeves.

  "Well," he said calmly to himself, "before attempting anything ambitious, it would be wise to examine the soil, water, and layout properly."

  He bent down and began clearing small stones.

  "Every dye worker knows that color begins with preparation," he continued. "If the foundation is careless, the final result will always disappoint."

  Stone.

  Lift.

  Toss.

  Repeat.

  As the sun moved slowly westward, cherry petals drifted across the courtyard.

  Khun Ming straightened and looked toward the horizon.

  Then nodded.

  "Alright," he murmured.

  "Let us do this properly."

  And he bent down again.

  Because before color.... there must be preparation.

  Chapter 2 Complete.