The morning breeze cleared the stone dust from the upper courtyard.
Han Shan stepped out onto the wide stone terrace, accompanied by Lin Mo, Tie Niu, and Chu Lingxiao. Behind them, the dungeon entrance was cracked and broken, surrounded by blooming white orchids.
Standing in a quiet semicircle by the wooden granaries were thirty-two outer spirit-farmers.
They wore patched hemp smocks tied with rough cords. Their boots were coated in dry clay, and their hands were rough and scarred from years of manual labor under the burning sun.
When they saw Han Shan walking upright with strong, steady steps, several older farmers dropped their bamboo rakes in shock.
“Brother Han!” a young farmer cried, rushing forward. “Your legs... your knees are completely healed?”
Han Shan stopped three paces in front of them.
He didn’t speak right away. Instead, Han Shan bent his waist and dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead against the stone pavers in a deep, formal kowtow.
