At that moment, Yì (Yì，毅)—the designated cannon fodder—stood frozen, unmoving, as if time itself had paused. He had no mind to sense his own body. All that filled his thoughts now… was food. Steaming xiǎolóngbāo (xiǎolóngbāo，小笼包), glistening yet light shāomài (shāomài，烧卖), crispy and juicy shēngjiān (shēngjiān，生煎)…

  —Oh, and his Qīng (Qīng，青)…

  “Ah yō, so many delicious things! I really want to go back and eat more… Such a pity—Qīng’er, I’ll just have one more bite… hmm?”

  But dreams, well, they always end, don’t they? As he drifted deeper into his food fantasy, a sudden chill ran down Yì’s spine. His body, which should’ve reacted a beat late, still felt… nothing. Why didn’t it hurt?

  Yì remained dazed for a long while, until the meow of a kitten snapped him out of it. He opened his eyes and scanned the scene before him—only to witness a miracle. What he saw felt both familiar and utterly foreign.

  Hovering mid-air was a bow. A bow that looked strikingly similar to the one Yì was skilled with. But this one… it floated like a divine artifact, shimmering with silver light. It had positioned itself directly in the path of the giant beast’s attack. And that massive shockwave from earlier? Gone—vanished without a trace.

  —A savior… What is this magical bow?

  He had never seen a weapon so radiant, so unique, so… strange. Yì stood there, stammering and slack-jawed, staring at it like a fool. This mystical bow resembled his own Yāngyǒu (Yāngyǒu，鸯酉)—a longbow, forged entirely from metal—but it seemed to be missing a string. And it didn’t look like a Guardian’s exclusive weapon either!

  —Wait a minute!

  Suddenly, Yì’s eyes sharpened. He turned quickly to check on the child… Wū, ājùn (ājùn，阿俊) was safe! Then…

  The kitten, however, seemed… different. Not abnormal, but the shadow that had been protecting the child had expanded—like it had been patched and reinforced. It looked sturdier now.

  Though Yì didn’t understand what had happened, the crescent-shaped mark glowing on the kitten’s forehead suggested a sudden evolution of its beastly powers. Perhaps it was the effect of the divine weapon before him.

  Still, a battle should look like a battle, right? Yet the opponent inside the attic seemed disinterested in fighting… Such provocation clearly didn’t sit well with the giant beast outside.

  After all, Qīng used to say—giving your all is the greatest respect you can show your opponent! But here was Yì, facing a powerful enemy, still hesitating, still distracted… Was he going to fight or not?

  What truly drove the beast mad was this: such a weak opponent… It had been attacking for ages, and still couldn’t take him down. Enough was enough! Who could tolerate this? One moment someone jumps in to help the weakling look cool, the next a weapon pops out to block the attack—so stubborn!

  Furious, the monster roared, slammed the ground, and opened its mouth wide—Boom! (轰)—spitting out a mouthful of blood that defied logic, preparing to unleash its power again. But the same move was useless against a Guardian. Its proud shockwave had no effect, and only left it confused.

  Of course, monster brains aren’t known for their brilliance. Even knowing it was pointless, it kept attacking—again and again. Each strike stronger than the last, yet still ineffective. It was exhausting itself. Smoke puffed from its thick lips as it stood there panting—huff, puff, wheeze!

  Still, a giant beast is no joke.

  Moments later, its eyes began to glow—dark red, like ink-stained fury. As if injected with new power, it launched into a frenzy of nonstop attacks—mindlessly firing off sausage-like missiles, eyes blazing with laser beams…

  Faced with this absurd onslaught, Yì was surprisingly calm. He knew, ever since the divine bow appeared, the tide had turned.

  As long as the Silver Bow remained, they were safe. But if the beast kept firing like this, the house—and maybe the entire town—would be in danger. The protective shield outside was already in tatters, and his teammates were still nowhere to be found!

  —What now? Let me think… Aiyō, it’s so hot…

  As a Guardian, one must carry the weight of the world. So, Big Brother-in-law Yì fired up his invincible brain once more—steam practically rising from his head. Luckily, the Silver Bow seemed to sense something. It glowed and floated closer to Yì, as if beckoning this dim-sum-headed warrior to pick it up and fight back.

  —Come on, bro, let’s counterattack together… Huh? What are you waiting for? I’m already here—move!

  Faced with the divine invitation and a golden opportunity, Yì hesitated again. Though the Silver Bow looked like his own, there was one insurmountable technical problem… Like all Guardian-exclusive weapons, it lacked a bowstring.

  Worse still, after many tests, Yì knew the beast’s defenses well—his own arrows wouldn’t work.

  After a moment, the Silver Bow flashed again, urging him to act. The kitten meowed beside him, cheering him on.

  With everyone encouraging him, Yì finally pulled himself together. He looked carefully, then reached out to grab the weapon.

  —Hmm… Up close, the bow was pure silver. Though larger than his own, it felt surprisingly light. Its surface was adorned with mysterious patterns and runes… And the moment Yì gripped the handle, those runes lit up—and an invisible bowstring appeared.

  —Mm! Now everything’s ready… Oh—except for one last thing.

  Still missing… a divine arrow.

  After all, facing this giant beast, even the army’s top archer would struggle with ordinary arrows. Its defense was nearly impenetrable—thick skin, dense muscle—and this one was especially enraged!

  Stolen novel; please report.

  In response, the Silver Bow shimmered again. Yì (Yì，毅) felt a surge of power rushing into his body, filling him with confidence.

  As he pulled the bowstring, he muttered to himself, “If only I had one more powerful arrow… I could definitely take it down—hmm? The string’s in place now. Does that mean I can channel an energy arrow?”

  —Ah, the dream is beautiful.

  But despite his hopeful inner monologue, nothing happened. No arrow. No energy. Just empty air.

  —What now? Even the best cook can’t make a meal without ingredients!

  Just then, at the critical moment, an arrow appeared—flashing into existence, perfectly aligned between grip and string.

  —Heh, Heaven’s helping me now!

  It didn’t look like an energy arrow, though. But it was in the right place, and it carried a strange mix of familiarity and mystery… Could it be the legendary treasure passed down by the Zhūgě Clan (Zhūgě，诸葛)—the Golden Arrow?

  Yì froze mid-thought. Whatever it was, the opportunity had arrived. He straightened his back, glared fiercely outside, and with practiced ease, nocked the arrow and drew the bow—just like he did with the lesser monsters.

  —Whoosh! (咻)

  A streak of golden light shot forth… and in the next instant, the giant beast vanished from sight, leaving behind only a faint trace of crimson regret.

  Just then, reinforcements arrived—perfect timing. Outside, the bruised Deputy General clapped enthusiastically with his ragtag band of survivors: “Big Brother-in-law, your hundred-pace precision lives up to the legend!”

  Heh. But this time, Yì didn’t get carried away. Holding the bow in one hand, he reached out with the other to retrieve the arrow—

  —Hmm? Hey, I’m right here… Where are you going?

  But the precious arrow ignored him. With a swoosh, it flew back on its own, greeted the Silver Bow, lingered briefly beside ājùn (ājùn，阿俊)… and just as Yì reached for it, it vanished. The Silver Bow disappeared with it.

  —We won? Wū, thank goodness… No real harm done. But why do I feel a little… used?

  The battle was over. The weak had triumphed over the strong. Yet Yì stood there, dazed, as if his brain had short-circuited. He felt like a tool—used by the divine weapon. It was a bit depressing.

  He chuckled to himself, naming the move he’d just performed: “Seven-Star Dragon Abyss.” Then he scratched his head, pondering—though they survived, it was only thanks to a miracle. Perhaps that’s why the Elders could rest easy in seclusion… Still, the future would require greater caution. That was way too close!

  Thus, another crisis for the child of destiny was resolved—thanks to his family. But for ājùn, this was only the beginning. The truly terrifying trials were yet to come.

  Because in just one year, the boy would reach school age. He’d have to attend classes alone every day…

  The school for young Guardians was the cradle of enlightenment for children across the Suōluó Continent (Suōluó，桫椤大陆)—a temple of knowledge that laid their foundation. Each of the Five Counties had its own locally flavored branch, all part of a unified system: standardized teaching, balanced faculty, and no worries about school district housing.

  ājùn’s assigned school was on the far side of the White Tiger County’s (Báihǔ，白虎郡) capital city. That meant a long daily trek across the central district. To others, it might not seem far—but to ājùn, it felt like a journey across worlds. He’d already begun fantasizing about a school right next to home.

  Of course, his anxiety wasn’t about waking up early or the long walk—it was about the countless strangers he’d have to face on the way. And most of them weren’t very friendly.

  To help, Big Sister Qīng (Qīng，青) even requested permission from the Elders to move again—after all, they’d already relocated twice. But the request was denied.

  Qīng couldn’t accept that. She repeatedly explained her reasoning—logical, heartfelt, and accurate. The Elders agreed with her views, but still refused.

  Because some things… can be avoided for a while, but not forever. The child had to face them himself. The previous moves were to create a nurturing environment—he was still young then.

  But now, the boy had grown. He needed to be tempered. To learn to face the world. After all, reality is harsh. If one clings to the ivory tower and avoids the storm, the road ahead will only be harder.

  Soon, ājùn began his first semester. Unlike other children, he wasn’t excited or full of anticipation. What lay ahead was a challenge unlike any he’d faced before.

  Not academically—ājùn was brilliant. Under his family’s guidance, he’d already self-studied all the school’s courses. Within his physical limits, he’d also trained in the foundational skills every young Guardian must master: martial arts theory and basic techniques.

  Typically, every preschool-aged child on Suōluó Continent must attend nearby academies and dojos for pre-enrollment training—building core abilities, studying traditional culture, and reading classics from the Hundred Schools of Thought and ancient texts.

  ājùn was no exception. But because he was… exceptional, he became an exception. He could study at home. To outsiders, he seemed enviable—learning when he wanted, playing when he pleased, sleeping in, gaming at will. A dream life.

  —But who knew the truth behind it? Few did.

  Every day, he dragged his half-broken body through lessons—working harder than others, progressing slower. Training more seriously, but only in small doses. Though his stamina was limited, ājùn gave it his all. Within his brief training windows, he’d already mastered Qīng’s sword techniques and Yì’s archery. The Deputy General even praised him as the next Hundred-Pace Archer.

  Yet even so, the boy remained anxious. Nervous about the higher-level skills he’d soon have to learn at Guardian School.

  Yì, as a senior and family member, often comforted him: “Don’t overthink it. One good skill is better than a thousand lessons.”

  But his well-meaning advice earned him a scolding from Qīng—accused of misleading the child.

  The tension between practical survival and ideal education… may resurface again.

  The day before school started, Big Sister Qīng (Qīng，青) took time off work and, together with Big Brother-in-law Yì (Yì，毅), brought ājùn (ājùn，阿俊) to the town’s pedestrian street to shop for school supplies.

  ājùn was thrilled. These rare outings with family were precious to him—he didn’t go out often, so the outside world always felt fresh and exciting.

  When he was very young, the Elder had instructed him to stay home. And ājùn, ever obedient, did just that. He never wandered, never ran off. Instead, he read, studied, and practiced daily self-care routines—massage, guided breathing, and meditation. These were methods taught by the Elder, drawn from a health manual of the Sacred Healer Clan (Shèngyīzú，圣医族). The book detailed his physical constitution, weaknesses, recommended wellness techniques, and even spiritual guidance.

  ājùn had been reading this manual since he was little. It was said to be unique to the Suōluó Continent (Suōluó，桫椤大陆), compiled for each young Guardian from birth by the regional branches of the Sacred Hospital. Beautifully bound and highly practical.

  In his secret base—his attic—one wall was lined with books. Yet even that wasn’t enough. ājùn had a habit of cherishing old books, unable to part with any. He kept them all, maintaining them regularly.

  So his family built him another reading nook in the living room, filled with new books. And if that wasn’t enough, the Elder’s room held a whole library—ancient, rare volumes, far older than ājùn himself.

  Still, no matter how good the environment, a child’s nature resists confinement. Being locked in one place inevitably breeds a sense of repression. ājùn might seem silly and slow, but he understood clearly—his family’s strict care was all for his own good.

  So, kind-hearted as he was, he never wanted them to worry. He showed his maturity, his thoughtfulness. Though solitude could be lonely, he had his kitten companion—Xiǎofēi (Xiǎofēi，小绯)—to keep him company.

  He loved spending time with Xiǎofēi. This shopping trip was no exception—even if she was just a kitten. Of course, there was one important family member missing: the Elder. Her absence weighed on ājùn’s heart, a quiet regret and guilt he couldn’t shake.

  Fortunately, the day went smoothly. They bought everything they needed and even had lunch at a restaurant—a rare treat. But ājùn noticed something strange: people kept staring at them.

  —Hmm… What’s going on?