Gaining a child's trust came naturally to Henry—it was no trouble at all.
Though not as socially adept as Alan, his over-a-decade of hard-earned street smarts served him well.
In the Cultivation World where fists spoke louder than words, few bothered mastering social graces.
These immortals could scarcely imagine realms where conversation had been refined into an art form, worthy of scholarly treatises.
Henry knew the Nine Heavens Sword Chant intimately.
This familiarity spared him lengthy explanations, quickly earning Sunrest Ridge's trust.
"Mike," he asked casually, "does this mean we're not the first visitors asking after Ruckus recently?"
Mike—the spear-wielding youth who'd initially stopped them—had grown far friendlier since their misunderstanding cleared.
"You bet!" The boy'
