Ethan Moore spoke calmly and deliberately. "After all, I hail from the noble line of the North Qin princes. Even if I haven't reclaimed the throne, I still retain my title of nobility. Do you dare lay a hand on a noble? Jake Hu, let me remind you—being torn apart by five horses would be lenient. Skinning and slicing you a thousand times would be the ordinary punishment."
Jake Hu faltered, freezing mid-step. In that moment, he remembered—even the weakest of the North Qin's royal line, though fallen into ruin, were still members of the nobility. Someone like him, a street rat at best, was in no position to provoke them.
As for whether Ethan Moore's noble status had been revoked, Jake Hu wouldn't know. But there was one thing Ethan hadn't exaggerated—if you assaulted a noble, dismemberment by five horses was possibly the lightest penalty.
"Your Highness, you must be joking. I was merely teasing you, never would I dream of hurting you," Jake Hu responded, his tone turning oily and ingratiating.
There was no rush to take this Moore down. Once he confirmed whether the noble title remained, well, Jake Hu had plenty of time.
Ethan Moore, utterly unflustered, closed the distance to Jake Hu. He reached out and, with a quick swipe, took possession of the dagger hanging from Jake's now-lowered hand.
A good blade—Ethan could tell right away, just by the feel of it.
At the loss of his weapon, Jake instinctively retreated several steps, suddenly wary of Ethan.
Luna Yates watched, lips pressed together in fear. Even though Ethan had just disarmed Jake, her nerves were taut as ever. As Ethan's maid, she alone knew he was no longer any kind of noble—just a commoner now.
In truth, Ethan had struck first. If Jake Hu had killed him, at worst, the penalty was a small fine.
Turning the blade over, Ethan fixed his gaze on Jake, whose eyes darted nervously. "Jake Hu, don't think I need my noble status to crush you. Even if I've lost my title, the blood of princes runs in my veins. Hurt me, and that's more than enough to see you flayed. Who do you think you are, to lay hands on the descendant of a prince? Insult me, and you insult all of Chenyu's dignity."
He ended with a harsh, cold snort.
Jake Hu's thoughts were churning. If Ethan was no longer noble, even with the dagger in hand, how hard could it be to kill him? But Ethan's words erased any lingering thoughts; Jake quickly forced a laugh. "Your Highness, it really was just a joke."
And yet, it deeply unsettled Jake—when did Ethan Moore become so different?
"I'm no prince anymore. Get lost—before I change my mind," Ethan said, sliding the dagger into his boot.
"Of course, of course. Take care, Young Master Moore…" Jake managed a strained nod, his eyes lingering with regret on the lost dagger. It was a rare find, something he'd treasured for years, and it stung deeply to see it taken this way.
When Jake had gone, Luna Yates finally dared to draw closer and speak softly, "Young Master, you're not really—"
Ethan cut her off. "I know. We'll talk more at home."
Even without Luna's reminder, Ethan could easily guess—his noble status was long gone.
Their storeroom "home" was humble, barely large enough for two cots separated only by a ragged curtain. There was nothing of value inside. It was clear anything remotely worth selling had long ago been traded by Luna for cheap candies to coax neighborhood kids into playing with Xavier.
On his side of the bed hung a battered mirror, its surface scratched and dull. Peering into it, Ethan took in his own face—somewhat similar to the one from his previous life. His hair was rough, but Luna had done her best to keep it tidy. His complexion was pale, but compared to Luna's thin, yellowish face, he looked positively healthy. Despite his tired eyes, his sharp brows and straight nose still gave him a certain charm.
"I'll go borrow some rice from Ivy Lu," Luna offered the moment they stepped inside. She still mourned the missed pork given up to keep the dagger—if it were up to her, she'd have chosen the food.
"Wait…" Ethan called her back.
Surprised, Luna turned. Ethan asked, "Luna, that Jake Hu—he seems to have some skill. He's stronger than I am. How did a street thug like him learn martial arts?"
In Ethan's memory, this world wasn't overflowing with martial artists. As a prince's descendant, he never learned any martial skills himself—so what gave a punk like Jake Hu access to that kind of power?
With a sneer, Luna replied, "Jake Hu only picked up a few moves copying others—he's a 'Mortal Root' through and through, can't even awaken his spirit, what sort of martial artist is he? I've heard the old master say, back in the day, your great-grandfather was a true Spirit-Builder."
"What's spirit awakening?" Ethan's curiosity surged. In his patched memories, it was only ever talk of restoration, nothing else. Could it be—was this really a world of cultivation?
Excitement caught fire in his heart. If he really lived in a cultivation world, he'd devote himself to training, and maybe, just maybe, one day, he could find his way back to Earth. Then he'd have the chance to stand before her and demand to know—why.
Luna was not surprised Ethan didn't know. What startled her was his sudden hunger for answers, when he'd always been indifferent before.
Patiently, she explained, "Spirit awakening… It helps people with spirit roots activate them, to open up their meridian channels. Only those who awaken their roots and forge meridians can start cultivating. The more meridians one forges the first time, the greater the talent."
Ethan caught the key points: to cultivate, you needed a spirit root. Next, you had to awaken your own meridians.
"Luna, why didn't the old master help me undergo the awakening?" Ethan's voice carried a trace of desperation.
Luna's expression dimmed. "Once he realized he couldn't fight for the throne, he decided to let you try the cultivation path. He saved for the tests, scraped together what he could for your spirit assessment and awakening. In the end, you were just like him—Mortal Root. Mortal Roots can't open meridians, can't cultivate at all…"
"What's a Mortal Root?" Ethan's heart sank. Still, he forced himself to voice the question.
After everything—even death—what could possibly be harder to accept?
Luna felt his disappointment. She sighed, "Your talent determines your future cultivation. Those without spirit roots are called Mortal Roots—or sometimes, False Roots. Mortal Roots are destined for an ordinary life. Only those with true roots can cultivate, and among them, there's a hierarchy: low, medium, high, and supreme roots. There are rumors of even higher grades, but I don't know the details."
"So I am a Mortal Root…" Ethan couldn't stifle the bitterness. The words left his lips in a self-mocking whisper.
Luna spoke softly, trying to comfort him: "Young Master, even in Chenyu's territory, people born with spirit roots are few and far between. Most are Mortal Roots like us, and they still manage to lead good lives. We can, too."
Ethan clenched his fists. "Luna, tomorrow I'll look for work. I need to save money and give the awakening another shot."
Luna gasped, instantly understanding what he intended. She tried to talk him out of it: "Young Master, you mustn't! Your father nearly gave everything just for your awakening. Even when the result was Mortal Root, he still made you try, but Mortal Roots can't open meridians. Not long after your failure…he was gone."
She said it gently, but Ethan understood. If not for the money spent on spirit testing, his father might not have died so soon. Clearly, awakening was expensive—a major investment. But Ethan, living twice now, wasn't as naive as Luna. His father's death right after the test might not be so simple—so if he tried again, he'd have to be careful.
"Don't worry, Luna. I can earn money. No more borrowing from Ivy Lu, not after today. Starting tomorrow, it's my turn to provide for you." Ethan stepped closer, gently smoothing Luna's ragged, malnourished hair.
She was, after all, just a teenage girl. But when Xavier's parents died, she took on the burden of caring for a broken soul—who knew the price she had paid?
Ivy Lu, their landlord, was already generous for letting them stay. She was a widow herself and barely scraped by—borrowing even a little more rice was a burden on her as well.
After all, Ethan Moore had once been a top biologist, and this world had some technology. How could he let himself be defeated by something as trivial as finding his next meal?