Aelina walked into the marketplace. Beside her, a broad-shouldered, thick-waisted uncle was hawking his grilled rats. She took out a prefabricated wooden board from her little cart, joined it to the cart, and cleverly turned it into a stall with a single shelf. Two pairs of leather boots went onto the shelf; ten pairs of straw sandals were lined up neatly on the tabletop. She stuck a little flag on top, the flag painted with a pair of boots.

Aelina cleared her throat, cupped her hands around her mouth, and burst out in a rich, middle‑aged auntie voice: “Shoes for sale! Shoes for sale! Fair prices! No cheating the young or old! Fast, cheap repair service included!” She was the perfect image of a middle-aged woman shoe vendor.

Her loud, full-bodied shout startled the rat-seller uncle. He clutched the stick skewering raw rats and glared hard at the yelling middle‑aged aunt next to him.

“Hey! Yeah, you, auntie. At your age you’re still yelling that loud? Aren’t you scared you’ll run outta breath and choke yourself to death?”

Aelina answered him with her middle finger to show she’d heard, then yelled even louder, “Leather high boots! White quality! Five silvers a pair! First come, first served!”

Her voice rang through the entire refugee camp.

He didn’t understand what that raised middle finger meant, but he could still feel the provocation in it. He looked at Aelina’s stall, then at his own: just a dirt firepit burning scrap wood, a few rats skewered on sticks over it, and several charred rats tossed on a roughly dusted-off plank. Next to the shoe‑selling aunt Aelina, he looked exactly like a beggar.

So he turned and kicked hard at his companion sleeping on a straw mat—a skinny guy with shifty eyes and claw marks all over his face.

“What the hell, I risked my life snatching rats from cat claws last night. Can’t you let me sleep a bit?”

“And you still have the nerve to sleep?” The uncle’s eyes bulged. “Someone’s here to steal our business.”

The skinny guy rubbed his bleary eyes and looked at Aelina shouting beside them. “Her? She’s got a rapier at her waist. Not easy to mess with, boss.”

“Who told you to mess with her? You’re gonna shout with me! We gotta drown that aunt’s voice out!”

Aelina’s voice was so strong the uncle had no choice but to raise his own volume.

The skinny one stood up. “Boss, she looks seriously professional.”

“You noticed and you’re still talking? Yell with me already.” The uncle slapped him between the shoulder blades.

“Rats for sale! Fresh grilled rats! Big and tasty, all‑natural, no magic!”

The uncle and the skinny guy shouted together.

“Just two little apes, how ridiculous.”

A volume slider popped up before Aelina’s eyes. She pushed it up by ten decibels. The tents next to her quivered, shedding a shower of dust. A startled rat shot out and dove into a hole under a tree root.

The entire market—everyone and everything that had been lazing around—was jolted awake. An emaciated water buffalo heaved up a cart with its bony back. Babies strapped to their mothers’ backs began crying. Children covered their ears as they walked behind moms carrying bamboo baskets. A white‑haired beggar brought out a chipped bowl and shook a bell pitifully at passersby. The believers prostrated under the Flame Fist banner began praying in unison under the command of a young female priest.

Barely fifteen minutes later, the uncle and the skinny guy’s voices started to weaken. The skinny one’s throat went hoarse; he grabbed at the excuse to pick up a stick and go catch more rats, leaving the uncle alone to shout himself raw.

Aelina gave the flushed, hoarse‑throated uncle a sideways glance. Apes really are fun. I don’t even need vocal cords to speak—could shout for ten thousand years with no problem. Unlike you, still stuck with primitive sound production. Hehe, keep yelling, you stupid apes.

“Miss! Miss!”

A dark-skinned farmer with a pale yellow headscarf, back hunched, bellowed at her. A short distance behind him stood twenty‑six farmers with their families in tow. In this level of noise, everyone could only shout.

“What is it?” She still used that full‑powered auntie voice, but many people secretly sighed in relief. Their eardrums finally got a break.

The farmer’s eyes lingered on the fine leather boots for a long time.

“Five silvers for leather boots? That’s too expensive. Look, there’s no stitching on these at all. Must be just glued together with rice water. How about ten copper coins?”

“This is way sturdier than stitching, okay?” Hearing an ignorant ape dismiss her work, Aelina’s fur practically bristled. She grabbed a boot and yanked hard. “Look closely. The leather’s all in one piece. Compared to sewing bits together with ancient, backwards shoemaking tech, this is ten thousand grades higher, okay?”

“You trying to scam kids?” The farmer leaned on his iron‑shod hoe. “You need needle and thread for clothes and shoes. Same as you need water for farming.”

Aelina almost started lecturing him on what technology was and what photon reconstruction tech meant, but she didn’t want a certain Golden Fur ape to recognize her.

Bending to ignorance felt awful.

“This is magic passed down from ancient times,” Aelina said, dropping the boot and grabbing her own robe. “Open your eyes and look. My clothes don’t use needle or thread. What’s this? Seamless heavenly garments. Our family used to make clothes only for highborns. If we hadn’t fallen on hard times, I wouldn’t have degraded myself to selling shoes here. The clothes our clan makes have no seams, prettier and tougher. Got it?”

At the word “magic,” the farmer visibly flinched. “Th‑then… how about twelve copper coins?”

“Forget it.” Aelina waved him off. “They weren’t made for people like you anyway.”

In chaotic times, boots were incredibly precious, especially for refugees. Whether refugee or soldier, after long marches, footwear was the first thing to give out. A good pair of shoes meant no blisters, no broken, oozing feet—meant saying goodbye to foot pain.

“What about those shoes down there? What’re they made of?”

He pointed at the straw sandals. You couldn’t tell they were made of straw at all; the surface was smooth, not a single fiber sticking out.

“Grass.”

“Really? They don’t look like it.”

“I told you, it’s magic.”

“How much?”

“Eight coppers, or two liang worth of food.”

In troubled times, food was worth more than gold. A single bag of wheat could often buy a child from starving parents.

“What? You’re charging eight coppers even for straw sandals? I can weave my own.”

Aelina gave a look to his straw sandals dyed red with blood. “Looks like your sandals really love your feet. I said it’s magic. Super durable. Break it if you can; if you snap it, I’ll give you a pair free.”

She handed him a pair as she spoke. The farmer’s eyes lit up. Even leather boots would break if you bent the weak spots hard enough, let alone straw sandals. He’d spent half his life doing farm work and had nothing to show for it but strength. He snatched the sandals eagerly, his calloused, rough hands gripping tight, then he pulled. Hard. Bent with all his might.

The sandal mouth stretched into a straight line. His dark face flushed bright red. Not even the hint of a tear appeared.

Arms folded, Aelina watched him perform. Stupid ape. She’d laced iron wire into these sandals. Not even a blade could cut through them easily.

He pulled for a full ten minutes before finally exhaling and surrendering, setting the sandal down. “I’ll take ’em. Eight coppers and two liang of food—you said it, you can’t go back on it.”

“Of course.”

He hunched his back and turned, shouting to his companions, “Come quick! Shoes here are only eight coppers. No money? Two potatoes is enough. Hurry, there’s only ten pairs!”

In a whoosh, the farmers swarmed her.

“Hey, hey, hey, no more potatoes.” Aelina frowned. “And I’m not taking bad coins. You guys even scrape off bits of copper, seriously?”

The farmers all looked like they’d scored huge, laughing and chatting as the ten pairs of straw sandals vanished in a heartbeat. On the table lay forty copper coins and five hateful big potatoes—the smell alone made her want to throw up her guts. As the farmers drifted off, more people headed for her stall. A merchant with two guards and a donkey cart snapped up two pairs of leather boots right away. The ones left behind hovered reluctantly, crowding her stall, asking over and over, “Boss lady, got any more shoes?”

“Sold out, sold out.”

Aelina waved impatiently, took down the flag, and got ready to leave for now. She’d made too big a scene; she really didn’t want a certain Golden Fur ape to show up holding the young priestess’s hand and recognize her.

She planned to make another fifty pairs of straw sandals and trade them for everything she needed—furs, iron, all kinds of metals. By tonight she’d open a weapon and armor specialty shop. The next day, she’d start servicing the Elf army stationed here, gaining their trust and their protection. By day seven at the latest, she’d be able to lead a whole crowd to storm the bandits’ lair.

In a month, she’d load up on materials, board the great ship she’d build herself, and sail downriver to Elf territory, where she’d build a glorious harem for the mighty Elven Queen.

Everything was going perfectly to plan.

Aelina was full of confidence—until a mother’s arrival shattered that plan.

A woman carrying two bamboo baskets shouldered on a pole squeezed through the crowd. The baskets held her children. Her face was sallow and thin, her filthy feet covered in oozing blisters. What she had on her feet barely counted as shoes—more like a few frayed grass cords. The two kids in the baskets were rosy-cheeked, staring numbly at the world as they bent the pole and their mother’s back.

“Boss lady.” The mother set the pole down with difficulty. Seeing the empty tabletop and Aelina packing up, disappointment filled her tired eyes, but she still managed a bit of hope as she asked, “Do you… still have shoes for sale?”

“Sold out, sold out.” A sturdily built man beside her rushed to burst her bubble. “I got here earlier than you. Didn’t even see a shadow of a straw sandal.”

The mother rubbed her hands, then let out a low, grief‑heavy sigh. She bent down again, ready to heave the heavy, bowed pole back onto her shoulder.

Aelina paused. She’d been born parentless from a birthing machine, but looking at that starved, worn face, something deep inside her—or maybe just instinct—stirred with respect. When she looked at the kids in the baskets, there was even a trace of envy. Maybe it was because she’d been bullied by girls all the way through childhood. Back then, she’d wished more than once that she had parents. With someone to protect her, they wouldn’t have pinned her down and yanked at her JJ.

“Wait. You look just as pitiful as my late mom,” Aelina said. “I’ll take pity on you. Stay here another hour. I’ll come back and sell.”

“But the ox cart won’t wait.”

Not far away, a skinny young man by a wagon crammed with people and horses pointed at a farmer who was begging him and snapped, “Tell your damn wife to hurry up. We don’t wait for people.”

Aelina crouched down. Using the wooden board as cover, she secretly pulled out her Molecular Reconstructor. She pretended to rummage in the cart while actually building something.

“Found it!” she shouted, removing the tabletop and dragging out a wooden box from the cart. The handle of the Molecular Reconstructor was embedded on top, and there was a little door on the side.

“Behold the miraculous big box—ancestral magic, mysterious and arcane. I can only use it once a day. Shoes made on the spot, quality guaranteed.” As she spiel‑talked, she ordered the mother, “You, with your two kids—go pull some grass. Wheat stalks work too. I’ll give you a demo.”

There wasn’t much dead grass left in the refugee camp; it had all been pulled up for firewood. But there was plenty of wheat straw used as bedding. The mother hurried back with a bundle of stalks. Aelina opened the box door and let her stuff the straw inside.

“Heaven above, earth below, Golden Ape go eat shit,” Aelina chanted theatrically, waving her hands. Then she grabbed the handle set into the box and shook it hard. The onlookers all widened their eyes. Out of fear of magic’s reputation, they all took a step back in unison. Mages’ experiments were infamous for being dangerous.

“Change!” Aelina cried, lifting the box and yanking open the door on top. She poured out a heap of lice and black sludge—and three pairs of straw sandals.

“Whoa!” People gasped. Kids clapped and laughed with delight. An old man’s beard trembled with fear. “Witchcraft, it’s witchcraft!” he cried, hobbling away on his cane.

“I’ll sell to you first. Four coppers a pair, not a coin more, not a coin less.”

“Thank you, thank you. You’re so kind.” The mother’s hands shook as she took the sandals. She counted out her coins and carefully passed twelve coppers over. Then she plopped down, tore off the grass cords stuck to her wounds, and hurried to put the sandals on. She stood, walked a few steps, stomped twice, and a satisfied smile spread over her face. “They fit perfectly.”

Everyone else, eyes red with envy at the miraculous magic, crowded around Aelina as she packed up. “Boss lady, boss lady, I want a pair too!”

“I’ve got a whole bale of wheat straw, I’m first!” The rat‑seller uncle had already given up. Hugging a big bundle of straw, he shoved his way forward.

Aelina didn’t even lift her eyelids.

“I’ll pay five coppers!” someone shouted, five fingers raised.

“I’ll give you a pound of wheat!”

Once she’d packed everything, Aelina pushed her cart forward and snapped in that booming auntie voice, “Don’t block the road!”

“Magic only works once a day. Every time I use it, my life gets a bit shorter. I still need to sell at noon later—move, move aside already!”

But the crowd still hemmed her in. No one wanted to miss their shot at that fool who sold shoes.

Aelina was getting pissed. She shoved forward hard, bumping into several people before she barely managed to force her way out. The crowd followed after her, but luckily there were fewer and fewer people now. She lowered her head and headed out.

Suddenly, a brutal kick slammed into her side. Aelina lost her balance and crashed to the ground. Her hood fell back, and silver hair spilled everywhere.

“Heh heh, finally caught you, you bitch.”

Compared to last time, the bald bandit’s eyes now had an extra ring of deep, dark circles as he laughed.

Behind him, he was leading a short-legged pony, foam dripping from its mouth, on the verge of collapsing.

“I went through three horses to catch up to you, you bitch.” He bent down, one filthy hand grabbing for her hair, his crotch straining high. “Now it’s your turn to ride.”