Consciousness swam back to him, and with it, a torrent of information crashed into his mind. Zhao Feng clutched his head, a fierce pressure swelling within his skull as if it were about to crack open. A grimace of pain twisted his features. “Feng’er, what is it? Are you alright?” Liu Yue Rong noticed his distress and was instantly startled, her face etched with concern. Zhao Feng clenched his teeth, riding out the storm. Gradually, the tempest in his mind subsided. When it cleared, Zhao Feng realized his head was now filled with a deep, intuitive knowledge of the sword. It was as if he had spent the last two or three years practicing swordsmanship day and night. Damn, this headache, he thought. It’s just like when my Dao of Chess leveled up… Zhao Feng rubbed his temples, panting heavily. He was still so young, his brain not yet fully formed. The sudden influx of knowledge from both Dao of Chess and swordsmanship was a terrifying shock to his fragile mind. He remained silent, focusing on steadying his breathing. “Is he sick?” Liu Yue Rong gently touched Zhao Feng’s forehead. Finding no fever, she couldn’t help but look puzzled. By then, Zhao Feng had fully composed himself. He met his second mother’s questioning gaze, pointed a tiny finger to his mouth, and mumbled in a babyish lisp, “B-bit my tongue.” Liu Yue Rong was taken aback for a moment, then she let out a sigh of relief and rolled her eyes in exasperation. Having averted her suspicion, Zhao Feng paid her no further attention. Instead, he secretly called up his personal panel. [Name: Zhao Feng] [Age: 1 year old] [Cultivation Level: Mortal] [Swordsmanship: Level 1] [Skills: Boundless Sea Tide (Perfect) [Forbidden]] [Mastered Arts: Dao of Chess] [Dao of Chess: Level 1 (82/500)] [Chess Manual Collection: 0] [Art Points: 0] A jolt of shock went through Zhao Feng. The skill points were gone, but his swordsmanship had indeed jumped from nothing to ‘Level 1’. And the skill beneath it, Boundless Sea Tide, had gone from uninitiated straight to perfect. Zhao Feng recalled what the military tutor who taught Zhao Qianfeng had said. Every skill was divided into three levels of mastery: initiation, dexterity, and perfection. Initiation was the first step: the ability to perform a technique from start to finish. Dexterity was the next level, moving beyond rote proficiency. It meant one had so thoroughly internalized the skill that they could apply it flexibly, adapting it to any situation. It was about making spontaneous counters, not just mechanically repeating a set of moves. As for perfection… That meant the skill had been completely mastered, becoming as instinctual as moving a limb. One could even perform the entire technique in reverse, effortlessly, without exposing a single flaw—unless, of course, the skill itself was inherently flawed. It was rumored that a realm even higher than perfection existed, a realm where one could even mend the innate flaws of a skill, elevating its power to new heights. And now, with his swordsmanship reaching Level 1, Zhao Feng had instantly achieved perfection in the first layer of the Boundless Sea sword technique. That was a feat that should have required at least a decade of arduous training. His cousin, Zhao Qianfeng, had been practicing the Boundless Sea for half a year and was considered a genius of the sword simply for reaching initiation with the first layer, Tide. So what did that make Zhao Feng? A monster? Seeing that his second mother was no longer watching him, Zhao Feng’s gaze drifted back to the courtyard. The children were still practicing their sword forms. But to Zhao Feng’s newly enlightened eyes, the sight was no longer impressive. He could now see with a single glance how amateurish their techniques were, how stiff their postures. A true swordsman would only need a light tap to send the wooden swords flying from their hands. “Not bad,” the burly middle-aged man said, nodding in satisfaction at Zhao Qianfeng’s performance. “An excellent foundation and sharp comprehension. In another two years, he should reach dexterity with this first layer.” After all, Zhao Qianfeng was still a child, his mind not fully developed. His progress was already remarkable. Time trickled by. Zhao Feng watched for a while longer, idly eating the snacks his second mother fed him. Soon, a wave of fatigue and boredom washed over him. He yawned, snuggled deeper into his second mother’s embrace, and slowly closed his eyes. A fleeting shape seemed to flicker at the edge of his vision, but Zhao Feng was already drifting into sleep. Hearing the soft, even breathing in her arms, Liu Yue Rong looked down at the child. A flicker of complexity crossed her face. But when she lifted her head again, her gaze falling upon her own son practicing in the snowy courtyard, the complexity vanished, replaced by a placid calm. She rose, carrying Zhao Feng out of the pavilion and back toward the rear courtyard. Inside her bedroom, she gently laid him on her own bed, carefully tucking the blankets around him. Her movements were tender, as gentle as any birth mother’s. Half-asleep, Zhao Feng felt his body being settled onto the soft mattress and stirred into a state of hazy awareness. He felt a pleasant warmth in his chest, a faint heat radiating from the Dragon Blood Jade Pendant given to him by Emperor Xuan. He wore it at all times, and it was the reason he could sit in the snowy courtyard without feeling the slightest chill. Just as Zhao Feng was about to roll over and sink back into a deep sleep, he heard a low voice from just outside the room. “Did you really feed that thing to the child?” It was the voice of an unfamiliar man. “It has come to this. I had no other choice.” That was his second mother’s voice. But the soft affection was gone, replaced by a tone as cold and distant as one she might use with a servant. “You saw it yourself. You saw how hard my son strives, that he is a talent seen once in a century! The people from Mount Wuliang have already visited. When Qianfeng turns six, they will take him to cultivate. Once his Divine Blood awakens and he inherits the power from his father, he is destined to shake the world!” “I must pave the way for him.” Zhao Feng forced his eyes open a crack, the fog of sleep in his mind now laced with confusion. Who was Second Mother talking to? “We still don’t know the child’s talent. This is too reckless,” the deep-voiced man sighed. A brief silence hung in the air outside the door. Then, Liu Yue Rong’s voice rose again, colder than before, tinged with mockery. “As parents cherish a child, they must plan far into their future.” “I never wanted to do this, but the blockheads of the Zhao Clan are beyond help.” “If you must blame someone, blame the child’s father. The Marquis of Jianhong… how exceptional was he? Others may not know, but I am well aware that he had already stepped into that realm by the age of twenty-three.” “Which means there’s a not insignificant chance that his child might also awaken the Divine Blood.” “What?!” the man responded, his shock palpable. “Twenty-three, and he’d stepped into the ‘Three Immortal’ realms?!” “That’s right,” she confirmed. “The Zhao Clan ancestor was a founding Divine General of Xia, his bloodline immensely powerful. My husband succeeded his ancestor’s will, and so did the Marquis.” “In the previous generation, besides Qianfeng’s father, the Marquis of Jianhong was a monster. So were the third, sixth, and ninth brothers! The ninth was especially terrifying. Fortunately, he died young and left no heir.” “The third brother’s child is a girl, always by her mother’s side. She’ll be married off eventually, so she’s no threat. The sixth brother also entered the Three Immortal realms early, but that was after his marriage…” Liu Yue Rong’s voice was like ice. “The only one who can compete with Qianfeng is this child. Why else do you think Emperor Xuan bestowed his blessing upon him? Even if his martial talent is mediocre, if his Divine Blood awakens, he could contend with the world’s greatest geniuses!” Silence fell again outside. The deep-voiced man finally sighed. “Since the Lady has made her decision, I will say no more.” “You needn’t worry. This medicine is from Mount Wuliang. It leaves no trace and causes no pain. I even coated it with sugar, so he wouldn’t have tasted anything odd. He is still an infant; children eat so many sweets that he won’t form any lasting memory of it.” “Besides, if he fails to awaken the Divine Blood in the future, no one can prove we interfered. Anyone in the Sky Marshal Manor could be a suspect.” “And what’s more, that bloodline isn’t a one-hundred-percent guarantee. Perhaps the child simply didn’t have it in him to begin with?” At this, Liu Yue Rong let out a scornful chuckle. “We have the Beiyan Demonic Wastes wars to thank for this. That woman, Su Meiying, so loyal to the Marquis of Jianhong she followed him to the battlefield. It gave us our chance. If we had waited a few more years for them to return, martial guards would have been watching him in secret. It would have been much more difficult to act.” The man did not reply, only offered another soft sigh. Before long, the sound of their footsteps faded into the distance. Inside the room, Zhao Feng was wide awake. His mind reeled in disbelief. Second Mother… was trying to harm him? All the gentle care, the protective attitude he saw every day—was it all a lie? Zhao Feng didn’t want to believe it, but the truth was laid bare before him. Though he didn’t understand what Divine Blood was, he understood this: Second Mother, in her ambition to clear a path for her own son, saw him as an obstacle. And she had chosen to destroy him. Zhao Feng’s expression was grim, his small fists clenched tight. Her tender smiles had lulled him into a false sense of security. If this was how Second Mother truly was, what about the others? Who else was sincere? He had been here for a year and a half, passed between the ladies of the different courtyards. In that time, he had developed a genuine emotional attachment. Now, it all felt like a fragile illusion. So this was the internal strife of a great noble family. He touched his body with a small hand. Apart from the familiar warmth in his chest from the Dragon Blood Jade Pendant, he felt nothing unusual. His mother had told him he carried his father’s strength within him. But now… it was gone. In the darkness of the room, Zhao Feng’s small hand tightened into a fist. He swore that one day, he would have his revenge. Spring turned to autumn. In the blink of an eye, Zhao Feng was three years old. He now spent most of his time in the Sun and Moon Pavilion. He was wary of the food delivered by the ladies from the other courtyards, sometimes pretending to be a picky eater and refusing it, playing the part of a capricious child. Gradually, the household servants came to know that the young master was extremely fussy about his food and drink. Three years old. In the Sky Marshal Manor, this was a crucial age. Children of ordinary families began their martial arts training at seven or eight, some even in their teens. Many with latent talent might never achieve greatness, their bodies already set, their best years for training lost to their family’s circumstances. But as a preeminent martial household, the Sky Marshal Manor had the most rigorous methods. The clan’s children began laying their foundation from a very young age. Foundation Establishment at three. Blood Melting at four. Bone Testing at five. By six, it was time for formal training. Not a moment could be wasted. On the path of cultivation, thousands vied to cross the same narrow bridge. An early lead often meant staying ahead at every step. A child’s aptitude for cultivation was tested at the age of five. If their bones were well-developed and their marrow rich, they could begin training right after the Bone Testing. But the Sky Marshal Manor, with its profound heritage, believed in not rushing. They decreed that formal training would begin at six, allowing the body another year to mature and solidify, ensuring a smoother path in the future. Even a prodigy like Zhao Qianfeng followed this rule. He was capable of training after his Bone Testing, but he would still only ascend Mount Wuliang at six. The swordsmanship he practiced daily was merely to develop a feel for the martial arts; it was not yet true cultivation. As for those with average talent or slower development, they could not begin training even at six. They might need several more years for their bodies to grow, starting at seven, eight, or even nine. However, with the countless precious medicines available in the Sky Marshal Manor to enhance one’s qualifications, even the worst-case scenario in the mansion began cultivation at age eight. That case, he’d heard, was the result of a premature birth and injuries sustained in the womb.

Chapter 3: A tempest in the mind