A Cage Without Locks

Nearly two months had passed since Hao Nhien and Quan Nha left Thanh Van City.

They did not take the shortest route, nor did they travel at their fastest possible speed. With their current cultivation, if they had flown their swords at full speed, the journey from Hoa Van deeper into the west could have been shortened considerably. But the identities they now carried were no longer those of Quan Hao Nhien and Quan Nha.

Giai Nhien and Tieu Nha were merely a married couple making a living alongside trade caravans.

An ordinary merchant couple should not spend day and night flying on swords at the speed of top late-stage Foundation Establishment cultivators, nor should they leave behind a trail memorable enough for others to recall. So for most of the journey, the two deliberately chose smaller routes. When they crossed empty land, they used flying swords; when they reached established trade roads, they walked or rented mounts. Whenever they came across an oasis or a tribe, they stayed for a day or two to buy water, trade medicinal materials, and ask for directions.

Some days they covered hundreds of li, while at other times it took several days just to cross a large expanse of dunes.

Hao Nhien was in no hurry.

After the battle with Duong Quang, his body had been pushed to the very edge of collapse. Nearly two months of recovery under the stable spiritual qi conditions inside the Cosmic Ark, together with medicinal power, the Fire Banner Jade, and the circulation of the Body-Soul Fist Art, had finally allowed the remaining injuries to close.

His heart meridians had stabilized.

His left lung functioned normally again.

The meridian routes that had once been broken were now fully reconnected, even more completely than before.

The scar left on the hand that had once guided Lightning had faded to little more than a faint mark.

More importantly, Foundation Establishment layer eight had completely stabilized. His spiritual power no longer fluctuated as it had immediately after the breakthrough, his dantian had grown accustomed to its new capacity, and the foundation tempered inside the Lightning Sacrifice Mountain Cave had become even firmer after nearly two months of adjustment.

Hao Nhien did not continue forcing himself upward.

He had advanced too quickly in recent months, and this time he wanted his body to truly adapt to layer eight before considering the next step. It was not only his cultivation. His control over Wind and Fire, the meridian routes that had adapted to guiding external Lightning, along with the Body-Soul Fist Art and Soul Art, all needed to be reorganized upon this new foundation.

Quan Nha did not pursue another breakthrough either.

She remained at Foundation Establishment layer four and spent most of her time stabilizing her dantian, refining her combat methods, and learning to conceal habits that had become too closely associated with her old identity.

Two months of living under the names Giai Nhien and Tieu Nha had made both of them so accustomed to their new roles that they often no longer needed reminders.

In front of outsiders, Quan Nha addressed him with the natural ease of a wife who had lived beside her husband for years. She knew when to stay silent, when to step into negotiations, and when to answer questions about medicinal materials on his behalf. Hao Nhien, in turn, had gradually grown used to her standing closer, naturally taking things from his hands, or answering for him when questions turned to herbs and medicine.

Some afternoons, they found a place sheltered from the wind and set up a small tent. One cultivated while the other stood guard, and at night they switched places.

Neither called it secluded cultivation, but throughout the journey, both were using every day on the road to strengthen and stabilize their realms.

Around the eighth day, they passed through the Cat Loi region.

Hao Nhien stood at a distance and looked at the familiar mountain ranges for a while before continuing onward.

Quan Nha asked:

“You’re not going in to visit?”

He shook his head.

“Cat Thanh knows I’m traveling. If Giai Nhien appears and immediately goes straight in to meet him, this mask will not mean much anymore.”

Quan Nha understood at once and simply nodded before following him southward.

After more than a month, traces of Heavenly Eye began appearing more clearly.

At first, they did not appear as cities or formations, but as long lines of people moving along the trade routes.

Some caravans carried ore.

Some transported medicinal materials.

Others carried grain or weapons.

A few contained only several dozen people, while others stretched for hundreds.

Hao Nhien had seen many trade caravans before, but the people here were different in one particular way.

Many of the laborers wore the same type of gray cloth clothing, and in the center of their palms was stamped a very simple symbol.

A black eye.

Hao Nhien did not ask.

He only remembered.

On one occasion, the two encountered a group of young men resting beside the road. Most were only at Qi Condensation. None wore chains, but cultivators in armor traveled both in front of and behind them.

Quan Nha watched for a while before asking quietly:

“Military service?”

“Possibly.”

Hao Nhien replied.

“Or labor service. There isn’t enough information to decide yet.”

They continued onward.

The deeper they traveled, the rarer the oases became. But wherever there was water, there were almost always people.

Some tribes had only a few dozen households. Others had several hundred.

Some were so poor that their tents were built only from scrap wood and old animal hides. Others were relatively prosperous, with stone houses, spirit fields, and even small spirit-gathering formations.

Hao Nhien once stopped to buy water at one such tribe.

The clan chief there laughed openly while saying that Heavenly Eye took a great deal, but because the tribe possessed a copper mine, their lives remained manageable.

Elsewhere, a young man willingly told Hao Nhien that the following year he intended to apply for military service. There were pills, spirit stones, and opportunities to change his life there—things he would never obtain if he spent his entire life growing grass back home.

Hao Nhien did not argue.

He only listened.

After observing for a long time, he gradually understood that Heavenly Eye was not a single, uniform whole.

Some hated it.

Some feared it.

Some merely endured it.

But others genuinely wanted to enter its system because it offered resources, cultivation opportunities, status, and paths that a small tribe could never provide.

A system that wished to survive for a long time could not rely only on the whip.

That realization made Hao Nhien even more cautious about drawing conclusions.

As they approached the region influenced by Trung Thanh, the two began avoiding the major routes more often.

The text was taken from without the author's permission. The author's NovelPhoenix publication is where reading supports their work.

Powerful cultivators appeared with greater frequency, and the trade caravans moving between important locations were more tightly controlled.

An ordinary merchant couple who repeatedly appeared around sensitive areas would eventually be remembered.

Hao Nhien therefore deliberately changed the way they traveled.

During the day, they sometimes joined a caravan, only to separate after dark. On other occasions, they rented two low-grade mounts and traveled alongside local merchants at such a slow pace that Quan Nha eventually turned to ask:

“You can really tolerate this?”

Hao Nhien sat calmly atop the swaying beast beneath him.

“I once lay motionless long enough to think I might never stand again. If I can still walk now, what does it matter if we move a little slowly?”

Quan Nha said nothing.

Only the corner of her lips lifted slightly.

Throughout the journey, Tieu Lan traveled with them.

The Cosmic Ark rested within Hao Nhien’s soul, and at least once every day, he entered to check on her. Some days he stayed only a quarter of an hour. On others, he sat beside her bed for nearly half an hour.

Tieu Lan was still asleep.

The Wood spiritual qi around her bed remained stable.

Her life force was no longer declining, but there was still no clear sign that she would awaken soon.

On some days, Hao Nhien did not speak about cultivation or Heavenly Eye at all.

He simply told her small things he encountered on the road.

A tribe that raised more than a hundred goats.

A child who sold him a bag of red fruit but miscounted the price.

An old man who stubbornly refused to take back three spirit stones he had been overpaid.

Or a merchant who claimed that far to the west existed a region where the sand glowed on its own at night.

Tieu Lan never answered.

Hao Nhien continued telling her anyway.

Whenever he rose to leave, he always said the same thing.

“I’m continuing on.”

Nearly two months later, the signs of a true center of power began to appear clearly.

The roads widened.

Rest stations became more frequent.

Cultivators appeared in greater numbers.

The transport caravans no longer carried only minerals or grain. Hao Nhien began seeing artifacts, armor, sealed crates covered in formation patterns, and convoys escorted by mid-stage Foundation Establishment cultivators.

At times, several flying swords tore across the sky overhead.

No one paid attention to the merchant couple moving slowly beneath them.

That was exactly what Hao Nhien wanted.

On the sixty-third day, the two left a small rest station before dawn.

From what they had learned the previous night, a tribe lay ahead near the edge of the region directly administered by Heavenly Eye City. From there, less than half a day of sword flight would be enough to reach the outermost boundary.

Hao Nhien was still in no hurry.

They followed a road half-buried by sand, carrying merchant packs on their backs in keeping with the identities of Giai Nhien and Tieu Nha.

About an hour later, a faint streak of green appeared amid the sea of yellow sand.

An oasis.

Not a large one.

The body of water had shrunk considerably, surrounded by low tents and a few thin trails of cooking smoke.

Quan Nha watched for a moment.

“You want to rest there?”

Hao Nhien looked at the small figures moving around the water.

“We’ve been traveling for nearly two months. There’s no reason to rush the final half-day.”

The two descended from the dune.

Ahead stood an old wooden sign leaning into the wind. The three characters on its surface had nearly faded away.

Lac Van Tribe.

The settlement was smaller than Hao Nhien had expected.

Only a few rows of low wooden stakes surrounded the residential area in place of a proper wall, and several sections had already collapsed.

The oasis lay in the center. The lake had receded enough to expose a broad ring of cracked earth around its edge, and many of the thorny trees growing nearby had already dried up and died.

Most of the tents were built from scrap wood, old animal hides, and faded cloth.

There were no sounds of military training or young men calling to one another.

Only the sound of hoes striking the earth, children’s voices, and occasional coughing from inside the tents.

Hao Nhien slowed his steps.

A woman of around thirty was hauling a bucket from the well. Beside her, a child of six or seven with painfully thin wrists tried to help hold the rope.

Under a tree nearby, an old man sat weaving a basket. Both legs were wrapped in cloth, and one trouser leg below the knee hung completely empty.

Farther away, several women worked on a small plot of land.

Low vegetable beds were mixed with a type of low-grade medicinal herb Hao Nhien recognized, but none were in good condition. The leaves had yellowed, the soil was dry, and the spacing between plants was irregular.

Quan Nha lowered her voice.

“This place is short on people.”

Hao Nhien had noticed as well.

Women, the elderly, and children made up most of the population.

Healthy adult men were almost nowhere to be seen, and the only young man he noticed was repairing a tent roof with a withered left arm. His cultivation was only at Qi Condensation layer two.

The two did not ask immediately.

After walking a little farther, they encountered an old woman sitting by the roadside mending an old net.

Hao Nhien was slightly surprised.

Someone repairing a fishing net in the middle of the desert.

Then he looked toward the lake.

Perhaps the water had once spread much farther.

He cupped his hands.

“Elder.”

The old woman looked up. Her gaze first went to Hao Nhien’s face, then to Quan Nha, and finally to the merchant pack and saber at his waist.

“Travelers from outside?”

“Yes. We came from the east. This time we want to go a little farther in to look for medicinal materials and trade routes.”

The old woman merely nodded.

“If you want water, go to the person guarding the well. Don’t take it yourself.”

Hao Nhien asked:

“Do we pay in spirit stones?”

“No.”

She shook her head.

“But there is only so much water each day. If outsiders take too much, the people of the tribe will not have enough.”

Hao Nhien nodded.

“Understood.”

His gaze fell to the net in her hands.

“Are there still fish in the lake?”

The old woman paused briefly before smiling.

“There used to be.”

“There are still a few small ones now. I’m used to mending nets. If I stop, it feels like there is nothing for my hands to do.”

Hao Nhien looked at the net for another moment but did not ask further.

A little later, the old woman looked at the two of them again.

“Husband and wife?”

“Yes.”

Hao Nhien answered naturally.

Quan Nha showed no unnecessary reaction.

“What do you do?”

“We trade medicinal materials, and we know a little about treating illness.”

The needle in the old woman’s hand stopped for the briefest instant.

“A medicinal practitioner?”

“I wouldn’t dare claim that title. I only know some medicinal principles.”

The old woman studied him for several breaths before turning toward the tents.

“Tieu Thach!”

There was no answer.

She called again.

Only after a while did a child of around eight emerge from behind a tent.

He was very thin, his skin slightly yellow, and every few steps he coughed once.

The cough was not violent.

But it lingered.

The old woman said:

“My grandson. He has been coughing for almost half a month. No fever, but he eats very little and doesn’t sleep well at night. Can you take a look?”

“I can.”

Hao Nhien sat down beside her and placed two fingers on the child’s wrist, sending in only the faintest trace of spiritual sense.

There was no serious illness.

The lungs were slightly weak, the blood and qi were deficient, the body was mildly dehydrated, and most importantly, the child had been weakened by prolonged malnutrition.

Hao Nhien asked:

“How many times a day do you eat?”

Before the old woman could answer, Tieu Thach spoke first.

“At night.”

“In the morning?”

“Water.”

“At noon?”

The child hesitated.

“If Mother comes back early, there is cake.”

Hao Nhien looked at the old woman.

She turned her face away.

“Food has been scarce lately.”

Hao Nhien did not ask further.

He opened his pack and took out several common herbs along with some dried licorice, then handed them to her.

“It isn’t a serious illness. The sand has dried his lungs, and his body is too weak. Boil these with plenty of water and divide it into three doses. But the most important thing is still making sure he eats enough.”

Lac Ba smiled bitterly.

“If there were food, who wouldn’t want to eat?”

Hao Nhien said nothing.

He took out two pieces of dried bread and held them out.

Tieu Thach did not accept them immediately.

He first looked at his grandmother.

Only after she nodded did he reach out.

“Thank you…”

Hao Nhien smiled.

“My name is Giai Nhien.”

The child hugged the bread in his hands.

“Thank you, Uncle Giai.”

Hao Nhien laughed.

“Do I look that old?”

Tieu Thach stared at him very seriously, clearly unsure how he was supposed to answer.

Beside them, Quan Nha quietly turned her face away.

Her shoulders trembled slightly.

Hao Nhien glanced at her.

“Tieu Nha.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“I haven’t even asked yet.”

For the first time, the old woman’s smile became genuine.

“My surname is Lac. People in the tribe call me Lac Ba. If the two of you want to rest, come inside and have some water.”

Hao Nhien nodded.

“Thank you.”

Lac Ba’s tent was very small.

There was only a sleeping mat, two low stools, a wooden rack holding several bundles of dried herbs, and a water jar covered tightly with cloth in one corner.

She poured only half a bowl of water for each of them.

Hao Nhien noticed.

He did not ask.

Lac Ba was the one who spoke first.

“Where are the two of you going?”

“West. We may go as far as Heavenly Eye City to do some trading.”

Her hand paused slightly as she set down the kettle.

Only for a moment.

“The city has not been peaceful lately.”

Hao Nhien said:

“We’ve heard a few things, but nothing clear.”

Lac Ba looked toward the tent entrance to make sure no one was nearby before lowering her voice.

“Most of the young people in the tribe are working for people under Heavenly Eye.”

Hao Nhien kept his expression unchanged.

“Working for wages?”

Lac Ba gave a very faint smile.

“On paper, yes. They are paid, and their service is recorded. But most of the wages are deducted against the tribe’s obligations.”

“Those who work in the mines count for part of it. Those who enter military service count for part of it. But every year, the amount owed only increases.”

She tapped one finger lightly against the rim of the bowl.

“If there are not enough people, we make up the difference with minerals. If the minerals are not enough, we submit medicinal materials. And if even the medicinal materials fall short, in the end we still have to make up the difference with people.”

Quan Nha remained still.

Hao Nhien asked:

“What if someone refuses to go?”

Lac Ba’s eyes immediately grew more cautious.

“You are travelers from far away. Don’t ask questions like that outside.”

“Understood. I was only curious.”

She remained silent for a while before continuing.

“If one person refuses to go, his obligation is assigned to the household. The whole family carries it.”

“If the entire family runs, then the obligation falls onto the tribe.”

Hao Nhien paused.

Lac Ba smiled.

There was no happiness in it.

“So who can run?”

Outside the tent, Tieu Thach was still eating the bread very slowly, every bite tiny as though he feared that eating too quickly would make it disappear.

Hao Nhien watched him.

Lac Ba continued:

“Some people do leave. But there is no water out there. There are beasts. And every tribe nearby has to submit lists of its people.”

“Someone without tribal registration will struggle even to enter a city and trade. In the end, they either die in the desert or go work somewhere else.”

She paused.

“It’s the same either way.”

Hao Nhien looked down at the half-finished bowl of water in his hand.

Only now did he understand why the Lac Van Tribe had no high walls, no Heavenly Eye soldiers standing guard, and no chains around anyone’s wrists, yet almost no one left.

If one person ran, the family left behind carried the burden.

If the entire family ran, the tribe carried it.

Those who remained behind became, without realizing it, the very ropes that held back anyone who wished to leave.

A cage that needed no locks.