[Name: Zhao Feng] [Age: 0 years old] [Cultivation Level: Mortal] [Mastered Artistic Skills: None] [Art Points: 0] The text hovering in his vision resolved into a familiar sight: a character panel. He knew it well, not from this life, but the last. It was from a game. In the moments before he’d been flung into this new existence, Zhao Feng had been bored and downloaded a casual mobile game from a popular app store. This was its character panel. There were, however, a few changes. A new attribute, “Cultivation Level,” had appeared. The name and age now reflected his current reality, not his perennial online handle: “Past With the Wind.” The final entry, “Art Points,” was especially familiar. Unlike the mainstream adventure and card games that demanded an intense grind, this game’s appeal lay in its casual, stress-free nature. It had no combat system and no battle gear, only an endless array of stylish cosmetics and various artistic and leisure activities: chess, fishing, painting, carving, and more. You could even watch movies or play a hand of poker—the serious kind. The only thing it lacked was monsters to fight. Improving different arts accumulated “Art Points,” which could then be used to instantly enhance an artistic skill level and unlock new features. Somehow, he had brought it with him when he crossed over. Wait a moment. Surely this thing didn't expect him to become a full-time lifestyle master, just like in the game? Zhao Feng was speechless. This was a world of cultivation, a realm where life was fleeting. What good were arts and leisure? He needed to fight! “Report—!” As Zhao Feng grappled with the implications of the panel, a shrill cry from a military messenger pierced the air outside. An elite soldier of the Zhao Clan stormed into the courtyard, shattering the joyful, peaceful atmosphere of the feast. He dropped to one knee before the Lord of Pojun Camp and delivered his urgent report. “My Lord, chaos has erupted in Beiyan Demonic Wastes! Prince Pingcheng has colluded with demons, slaughtering the border city of Mofeng and the eight surrounding towns. Emperor Xuan has issued an edict, ordering you to set off at once and quell the rebellion!” Every eye in the courtyard—the influential guests, the ladies of the various households—fixed upon the Lord of Pojun Camp, their expressions a mixture of shock and concern. Zhao Feng was jolted from his thoughts, equally astonished. He was only a few months old, and war was already breaking out? The smile vanished from the Lord of Pojun Camp’s face, replaced by the grim, killing aura of a seasoned warrior. His eyes, cold as lightning, bored into the soldier before him. He rose slowly to his feet. As if sensing something, he looked up toward the dais where Zhao Feng sat, his gaze meeting his wife’s. The murderous intent in the man’s eyes instantly softened into regret. “Meiying, I must leave you to celebrate Feng'er’s hundred-day feast alone. I will return as soon as I can.” Su Meiying’s face paled slightly. She handed Zhao Feng to the Third Lady beside her. As she looked down at the baby in his swaddling, she had the strangest feeling that the child was looking right back at her, a hint of reluctance in his infant eyes. She blinked, dismissing it as an illusion. He was only a few months old. How could he possibly understand separation? “Mother will be back soon. You must be good,” Su Meiying whispered, gently stroking Zhao Feng’s forehead, her own eyes filled with a matching reluctance. But her resolve was firm. She walked to her husband’s side. “This journey is fraught with danger. I will accompany you!” The Lord of Pojun Camp immediately shook his head. “You must stay and take care of Feng'er. He is still young and needs you.” “I am a senior general in the army,” Su Meiying countered, her voice low and serious. “With the commander mobilizing, how can I be absent? Prince Pingcheng is crafty and has been biding his time for years. For him to make a move this suddenly… I fear there is more to this. It is better that I go with you.” The Lord of Pojun Camp stared at her, knowing her stubborn nature well. He sighed, no longer trying to dissuade her. “Very well. Ladies, sisters, please take good care of Feng'er. We will return as soon as possible.” “You must both be careful,” the Lady of the House said as she approached, her face etched with concern. “You can leave Feng'er to us without worry.” “Thank you, sister-in-law.” The Lord of Pojun Camp gave a brief, tight smile, then turned and bellowed, “Prepare the horses! Pojun Camp’s elite soldiers, assemble and follow me!” Action in the General’s Manor was swift and decisive. They were accustomed to mustering for battle. Within minutes, the couple led a troop of elite soldiers out of the mansion, riding through the night toward the Beiyan Demonic Wastes frontier. That was Zhao Clan territory, a land where they had fought for generations. They knew its terrain, its demons, and its enemies better than anyone. It was for this very reason Su Meiying was so determined to go. There were too many prying eyes in the courtyard for her to voice her deepest fear: how had Emperor Xuan, so far away in the capital, received news of a rebellion in Beiyan Demonic Wastes before they had? Early winter brought the first snowfall to Lincheng City. More than a year had passed since the hundred-day feast. Zhao Feng was now a year and a half old. His parents were still on the battlefield in Beiyan Demonic Wastes, with no sign of returning. Secret reports from the Zhao Clan Army suggested the war had reached a stalemate and was likely to drag on for a long time. At that moment, the one-and-a-half-year-old Zhao Feng stood alone in the Sun and Moon Pavilion. With his hands clasped behind his back like a little old man, he gazed up at the snowflakes, each as large as a goose feather, drifting down from the gray sky. He wondered how his mother was faring in Beiyan Demonic Wastes. The servants and maids moving about the courtyard were already accustomed to the young master’s peculiar maturity. Though barely a year old, Zhao Feng’s reputation as a prodigy had already spread throughout the Zhao Manor. From the time he could make sounds at six months old, he had never once wet the bed. While other children his age were still crying for attention, the young master was already using simple words like “eat” and “poo” to alert his wet nurses to his needs. By the age of one, when others were just learning to stumble about, Zhao Feng was already running through the halls, pointing at characters in books and having servants read them aloud until he learned to recognize them himself. He never cried or made a fuss. He was intelligent and sensible. That was the impression this young master had made on all who served him. “Second Lady, the young master is over here.” A graceful, noble figure swept into the courtyard. Seeing Zhao Feng standing alone in the snow, the beautiful woman’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. She immediately rounded on the servants. “Is this how you care for the young master? Are you trying to let him freeze to death in this storm?” The surrounding maids and attendants flinched as if struck, hurriedly dropping to their knees. The head steward among them stammered, “Replying to the Second Lady, it… it was the young master himself who wished to watch the snow. He asked us not to disturb him…” “The young master is a child! Is everything he says the absolute truth? If he told you to die, would you jump off a cliff?” the Second Lady snapped. Her face was a mask of anger as she hurried to Zhao Feng’s side, scooping him into her arms and brushing the accumulated snow from his hair. “Even if he wanted to watch the snow, couldn’t you at least hold an umbrella over him? He’s dressed so thinly! I think you lot no longer wish to live!” A cold sweat broke out on their backs. They didn’t dare breathe too loudly. “Second Mother, don’t blame them,” Zhao Feng said, seeing he had no choice but to intervene. “I told them not to come over.” Since his parents had left for the battlefield, he had been cared for by the various ladies of the mansion, all of whom treated him exceptionally well. The woman holding him, Second Lady Liu Yue Rong, was gentle by nature, but she was notoriously strict with the servants. If he didn’t speak up, they were in for a severe punishment. Hearing Zhao Feng’s clear, articulate words, a glint of surprise appeared in Liu Yue Rong’s eyes. It was followed by a sharp snort at the servants. “For Feng'er’s sake, I’ll let it slide this time. But if I ever see such negligence again, I will let you all taste what it’s like to spend the dead of winter in a frozen lake!” With that, she turned back to Zhao Feng, her expression melting into a gentle, doting smile. “Feng'er, Second Mother will take you for a tasty snack. And you, really, why didn’t you wear more? You may have Emperor Xuan’s gift of the Dragon’s Blood Jade, but what if you fall ill…” Her words flowed on, full of concern, as she carried Zhao Feng out of the courtyard. Zhao Feng, long used to this, simply relaxed in her embrace. Soon, Liu Yue Rong carried him into the Shuihua Pavilion. There, a boy of about four or five was swinging a wooden sword. His form was precise, his movements surprisingly skillful for his age. This was the Second Lady’s only son, Zhao Qianfeng. Despite his youth, his gaze was focused and determined. A burly, middle-aged man stood nearby, offering instruction and nodding frequently in approval. Zhao Feng knew he was one of Zhao Qianfeng’s seven military tutors, the one responsible for teaching him the Sword Dao. Upon seeing the Second Lady arrive, the burly man bowed respectfully. His gaze flickered to the child in her arms, recognizing the “Qilin Child” named by Emperor Xuan himself. He mused that once this boy’s talent was tested, he might prove to be no less gifted than his own student. The boy practicing his swordsmanship, however, did not allow his mother’s arrival to distract him. He remained entirely focused on his training. Liu Yue Rong gave the tutor a slight nod, not wishing to interrupt, and carried Zhao Feng to a nearby pavilion. On the stone table were plates of exquisite fresh fruit and delicate, flaky pastries. She sat with Zhao Feng on her lap, feeding him a piece of pastry while she watched her son practice. The light in her eyes danced with pride, and soon she became so engrossed that she forgot to offer him another bite. “This is the Zhao Clan’s finest swordsmanship, ‘Boundless Sea,’ isn’t it?” Zhao Feng thought, his small eyes wide with curiosity. He had heard that this cousin of his had his bone age measured and was found to possess exceptional talent. He wondered what his own results would be when the time came. In the courtyard, five-year-old Zhao Qianfeng’s practice was a model of precision and discipline. Though he was only going through the motions, his posture was flawless, earning steady nods from his tutor. Yet no joy showed on the boy’s face; his concentration was absolute. “Again!” the burly man commanded. Despite his praise, his standards were exacting. The boy began the routine once more, his movements flowing smoothly, the entire sequence clearly committed to muscle memory. Zhao Feng watched, captivated. Suddenly, a line of text materialized before his eyes. “You have learned the rudiments. Would you like to record it?” What?! Startled, Zhao Feng instinctively focused his will on ‘yes.’ “Recording successful!” In that instant, a panel bloomed in his vision. [Name: Zhao Feng] [Age: 1 year] [Cultivation Level: Mortal] [Sword Dao: Not Entered (can add points)] [Art: Boundless Sea?Tide (Not Entered) [Forbidden]] [Mastered Artistic Art: Dao of Chess] [Dao of Chess: Level One (82/500) (can add points)] [Chess Catalogue Collection: 0] [Art Points: 1] For over a year, Zhao Feng had been trying to understand his panel. His age, and his desire not to appear miraculously precocious, had limited his experiments. Thankfully, he’d had access to a chessboard. When he was six months old, he would lie on the board and move the pieces around by himself. The wet nurses and maids, seeing that the young master seemed to enjoy his “chessboard” toy, were only too happy to let him be. It was better than him crawling all over the estate. Through these secret explorations, Zhao Feng had discovered to his amazement that by simply playing chess, he could gain experience points and level up his skill, just like in the game. In reality, improving one’s mastery of chess was incredibly difficult, requiring immense focus, talent, and hard work. Yet Zhao Feng, who had been a mere amateur in his past life, was now gaining experience from simple, repetitive movements. To go from unranked to Level One in Dao of Chess had only required 100 experience points. The next level required 500. If it weren’t for the maids checking on him, forcing him to be cautious, he would have farmed far more experience by now. He couldn’t help it; though the maids knew nothing of the Way of Chess, they possessed common sense. If they saw a baby not yet a year old arranging the pieces in their correct starting positions, it would certainly raise questions. But now, in addition to Dao of Chess, two new attributes had appeared on his panel: [Sword Dao] and [Art]. The prompt behind [Sword Dao] made him both curious and excited. Could it be that the Way of the Sword, like the Way of Chess, could be directly improved with skill points? Without a second thought, he chose to add the point.

Chapter 2: Your Sword Is A Brush