When the Lizhu Cave Heaven collapsed, Chen Ping’an was still just a boy—but the weight of the world had already found his shoulders.
He was entrusted with escorting Li Baoping and the others on a long journey to study in the Sui Dynasty. What sounded like a simple mission quickly revealed its cruelty. The road ahead was soaked in danger: Dali’s iron cavalry hunted them relentlessly, while ghosts and spirits lurked in the dark, waiting for a moment of weakness. Every step forward felt like a wager with fate.
Just when despair threatened to close in, a man appeared—A Liang, a swordsman as casual as he was unfathomable, his blade carrying both laughter and terror. Later came figures like Wen Sheng and Cui Cheng, each leaving their own mark, each shaping the boy in ways he did not yet understand. These encounters were brief, but their echoes lingered, carving lessons into bone and heart.
Chen Ping’an walked thousands of miles. He threw a million punches—not to prove strength, but to survive, to protect, to keep moving when stopping would mean losing everything. On his shoulders rested more than dust and travel-worn clothes; there were grass clippings, birdsong, promises, and responsibilities far heavier than his years.
This was not just a journey across rivers and mountains. It was the quiet forging of a soul. Step by step, the boy became a traveler of the world’s landscapes—both the ones beneath his feet and the ones forming inside him. And so began the long, unglamorous, deeply human road of growth.
