Five-year-old Luo Ling could already speak in complete sentences, and his running speed far surpassed other children his age, as if there was a vitality within him that didn’t match his years.
At the same time, Granny Wang in the village was more hunched than ever, each cough sounding as if it was painfully dragged from deep within her chest.
From the first fallen leaf of late autumn to the first warm sunlight of spring, her coughing never stopped, adding a touch of age and melancholy to the quiet village.
Luo Ling had already started learning to pick mushrooms on the mountain by himself, setting simple traps in the forest with the hunter’s children, or using a sharpened stick to awkwardly but earnestly stab at fish by the creek.
He knew that to survive here, he had to master Survival Skills as quickly as possible.
“Kid, don’t touch those mushrooms over here!”
A crisp voice suddenly rang out behind him, filled with urgency.
Luo Ling spun around to see a little girl with twin ponytails, holding a half-filled basket and running toward him.
She was Anya, the Old Blacksmith’s daughter from the village, two years older than him, with a healthy flush always on her cheeks.
The girl ran up beside him, squatted down, and carefully pointed to the few red-and-white mushrooms he’d just picked, speaking seriously:
“These mushrooms with white spots on the cap are called Red Caps. They’re poisonous enough to kill a cow!”
If you want to pick mushrooms, go for the ones with pure red or brown caps, like Shiitake, or the Wood Ear growing on that dead tree over there—those are safe to eat too.
Luo Ling looked at the plump, fresh, and normal-colored Shiitake and Wood Ear in Anya’s basket, then compared them to the brightly colored but deadly mushrooms in his own hand.
A chill ran through his heart, and he hurriedly knocked the poisonous mushrooms away.
He suddenly realized how ignorant and vulnerable he was in this unfamiliar world.
***
On a midsummer afternoon, sunlight filtered through dense leaves, casting dappled shadows in the forest.
Luo Ling followed Harper, the village’s most experienced old hunter, deep into the mountains to hunt, hoping to learn more Tracking and Hunting skills.
When Old Ha held his breath and accurately shot a strong stag with an arrow dipped in numbing herbs, Luo Ling watched the prey collapse to the ground.
But just then, a huge gray wolf burst from the dense woods like a streak of lightning, pouncing on the struggling stag and preparing to drag it into the forest.
Old Ha shouted angrily, drawing his knife to give chase, but the wolf spun and bit his arm.
It was the first time Luo Ling had felt the wild cruelty of this world up close.
Life was so fragile and unpredictable in the face of nature’s laws.
Old Ha gritted his teeth against the bleeding wound, simply bandaged it with a strip of cloth, then turned to look at the stunned Luo Ling.
He grinned, reaching out with his uninjured hand to gently pat Luo Ling’s head.
“It’s nothing. Hunting in the mountains, bumps and scrapes happen all the time. Next time, bring more people and you can surround the prey.”
The setting sun stretched their shadows long and thin along the rugged mountain path.
The Hunting Knife hanging at Old Ha’s waist glinted coldly in the fading light.
In that glow were both the glory of hunting and the hardship of survival.
***
At night, a warm bonfire burned in the village square.
After a day’s labor, the villagers sat in small groups, sharing the day’s harvest and chasing away the chill and loneliness of the night.
The elders smoked dry pipes, their rough, calloused fingers pointing to the dazzling stars above.
In low, magnetic voices, they spoke ancient Legends passed down for centuries.
They said that in the far south lay the Dark Forest, shrouded in darkness year-round, where Demons with massive horns and twisted faces fed on the souls of the lost.
In the vast Great Eastern Mountains to the east, Dragons that could breathe fire or ice guarded endless treasures and ancient secrets.
And in the world’s farthest reaches, it was said there were Knights in shining armor, Magicians who could summon storms, and Human Kingdoms with grand castles and bustling towns.
Luo Ling sat by the fire, listening to the elders’ deep voices and gazing up at the boundless night sky filled with stars.
Unconsciously, his small fist tightened.
“Hero?”
Luo Ling chewed on a roasted potato, speaking with his mouth full.
“Can a Hero drive away Knights who collect food?”
The bonfire suddenly quieted.
Harper tossed a log into the flames, sending sparks crackling upward.
“Heroes only fight Demons, not nobles.”
His voice was low, carrying a bitterness Luo Ling couldn’t understand.
Granny Wang quietly pulled Luo Ling into her arms, her thin fingers smoothing his hair.
“We don’t need to be Heroes. We just stay in the village and live in peace.”
***
Now, Luo Ling could already tend Granny Wang’s small vegetable garden alone and had learned to use simple herbs to treat wounds.
He learned Weaving from Lina, Bread Baking from Madam Ma, and even helped the Old Blacksmith with the bellows.
The villagers still called him “kid,” but the affection in their eyes only grew deeper.
***
A violent autumn rain washed away the wooden bridge at the village entrance.
The entire village rushed out to repair it in the rain.
Men hauled timber, women passed stones, and even children carried baskets of earth.
When Luo Ling saw the limping Shoemaker leaning on his cane to help, he finally understood the weight of the word “human kindness.”
***
One early winter morning, Granny Wang suddenly coughed up blood.
Luo Ling ran wildly through the village, bringing Lina, Madam Ma, and the Old Blacksmith to help.
Seeing Lina use a silver needle on Granny Wang’s wrist and Madam Ma boiling unknown herbs, Luo Ling felt the fragility of life for the first time.
Outside the window, snow fell quietly, covering rooftops and gardens—but it couldn’t bury the warmth within the wooden house.
***
After spring arrived, a traveling Merchant came to the village.
He brought spices and cloth from distant lands, as well as news from the Empire: Monsters in the south were becoming active, and the Frontier Lord was recruiting soldiers.
Villagers gathered around the Merchant, trading food and pelts for necessities.
No one wanted to talk about war.
Luo Ling squatted beside the Merchant’s cart, staring at the Empire Crest carved on the axle.
He thought of Harper’s bleeding arm, the stolen food, and the bloodstains on Granny Wang’s handkerchief.
In this world, there was no easy salvation.
But here, he had found something more precious than strength—
The candy Madam Ma secretly gave him, the sweater Lina knitted through the night, the hunting skills Harper taught him, and Granny Wang’s smile by her bedside.
When the Merchant’s cart vanished at the end of the mountain path, Luo Ling clenched his fist.
He didn’t need to become the Hero of Legend.
He just wanted to protect this poor but warm village.
In this No System World, he would use his own hands to carve out a peaceful future for himself and the villagers who had taken him in.
***
Beneath the sunset, a small figure stood under the old locust tree at the village entrance, gazing at the distant mountains.
The wind brushed his cheek, carrying the scent of earth and grass.
The world remained cruel, the future uncertain.
But he was no longer a Delivery Worker with a broken leg, nor an Outcast Infant.
He was Luo Ling—Luo Ling of the Village of Falling Winds, the child who grew up on the kindness of many families.
Though his life had no System to guide him, in the warmth of simple humanity, he found his own path to survival.