Chapter 10: Ten Thousand Phenomena Attribute

Li Hao pondered: if he were to undergo Bone Quantification again, what would the result be?

But opportunity came but once. No one believed the old Daoist from Qingqiu Mountain could be wrong.

Since that day when Bone Quantification concluded, Li Hao had clearly felt the lively atmosphere of the Mountain and River Courtyard grow quieter. In the past, the various Ladies from different courts often brought their young ones to play with him, or invited him over for snacks—delicacies gifted from frontier regions or vassal states, rare fruits and sweet treats—then let their children play together with Li Hao, hoping to forge a close bond from childhood.

Now, two months had passed. Only the Elder Lady, Wu Niang, and the young Ninth Lady had come to visit him. Seeing he was unharmed, they hadn’t returned.

Still, occasionally, he’d receive fruit pears and sweet cakes from Changchun Courtyard.

Now that winter had arrived, he even received two sets of short, soft fur-lined cotton pants and jackets, along with a scarf.

Li Hao draped the scarf around the little girl’s neck.

…

The next morning. Dawn was just breaking. Lin Haixia had already begun training Bian Ruxue in the courtyard.

Earlier, at the armory, Lin Haixia had let the child pick various weapons and test them one by one to assess her talent. In the end, Bian Ruxue chose the sword.

And after practicing, Lin Haixia confirmed: she truly possessed Sword Dao Talent. She trained her diligently, occasionally stern.

By noon, Li Hao finally stirred awake. He was still under six—no need to follow household rules. There was no requirement to visit Changchun Courtyard each morning to pay respects to his eldest aunt. So he could sleep in comfortably.

Seeing the small figure in the courtyard training with relentless effort, Li Hao shook his head slightly, muttering inwardly: Poor child.

Then, with the help of his personal maid, he washed, ate breakfast, and proceeded to summon the two servants skilled in chess, having them set up the board in the Pavilion.

Not long after, the game ended.

But Li Hao was startled—no experience point increase appeared.

He frowned.

Then, words floated into view before his eyes:

> {Three-Stage Chess Cultivation: Requires one Chess Heart to progress to next level.}

Chess Heart?

Li Hao blinked.

As if sensing his thought, the text faded, then reappeared:

> [To cultivate the Chess Heart, one must be utterly devoted to chess—heart and soul, only chess.]

Simple. Direct.

Li Hao was surprised. He hadn’t expected to be able to interact with the text.

“Hello?” he tried, calling out.

The text vanished.

He tried again. No response.

So he dropped it, instead turning his thoughts inward: Only devotion to chess? To gain experience, I must first forge a Chess Heart?

In the Divine General’s Residence, he’d heard of Sword Heart, Spear Heart, even the “heart of iron and steel, tongue of steel, heart of softness.” But never had he heard of a Chess Heart.

Then again—chess was a minor pastime. In the inner halls of the Divine General’s Residence, it was considered nothing more than a trivial amusement, unworthy of deep cultivation.

But perhaps… the Chess Heart was akin to the Sword Heart?

From idle conversations among the Ladies when they held him in their arms, he’d heard tales: A certain youth, from childhood, practiced swordsmanship daily—eating with a sword in hand, sleeping clutching his blade. Only after forging his Sword Heart did his cultivation soar.

So, to cultivate a Chess Heart, he’d have to do the same?

But did he like Go?

In his previous life, he’d only known the basics—nothing more than a casual familiarity. And truly, who in their right mind would choose to play chess? It was dull. Poker was far more fun.

After a long day at work, who had the energy for such mental gymnastics?

Unless it was for novelty—just a change of pace.

Even though his Character Panel could level up his Go Dao through experience points, Li Hao had only ever treated it as a tool to farm skill points—nothing more.

To truly love it, to be utterly devoted to it?

Impossible.

Still, Li Hao wasn’t one to give up easily. He asked the servants to play another game.

Then he believed.

His expression darkened. He frowned deeply.

He’d just begun to enjoy the thrill of cultivation—now he was told he couldn’t gain experience from playing chess?

How could this be?

Did he really have to hold a chess set every day?

But if there was no reward, what was the point?

Maybe he should switch to cultivating something else?

But what use was this Chess Heart? He’d have to figure it out first.

For the next few days, Li Hao moved the chessboard onto his bed, laid a blanket over it, and used it as a pillow.

He placed the board beside his dinner plate, treating it like a sacred statue.

But all this ritualism seemed to do nothing.

He stopped playing with the servants. Instead, he spent his time watching Bian Ruxue train, or browsing books in the Pavilion of Listening to Rain.

One day, while flipping through a book in the pavilion, he came across several pages of ancient Go diagrams—his eyes widened in surprise.

The book recounted the tale of a legendary figure from centuries past. As a youth, he had been humiliated. Years later, when seeking revenge, his enemy had abandoned martial arts and turned to Go.

The hero had declared: I will crush him utterly, make him despair, before I end his life.

But the enemy had already mastered Go for years.

Instantly, he challenged the hero to a match.

The result? The hero was soundly defeated.

And yet, the enemy—though cold-blooded—did not kill him on the spot.

Instead, he slaughtered the entire family—men, women, children—all except the man himself, saying: I will return for you one day.

But he never did.

He died never having solved that single board.

Li Hao read it and couldn’t help but laugh.

The enemy clearly knew his foe well. Though inferior in martial talent, he was clever enough to use Go as a shield—escaping death through strategy.

For the first time, Li Hao felt a flicker of interest in the game.

Not that it mattered—within the Martial Path world, even Li Hao himself had always thought Go was just a pastime. Meaningless.

But now… that view had shifted, just slightly.

> {Detected Go Diagram: "Ten Thousand Phenomena". Acquire?}

A new text appeared before his eyes.

Li Hao froze.

Suddenly, he remembered—his Character Panel had a "Go Diagram Collection" section. Yet, despite five years of existence, he’d never once acquired a single diagram.

He’d treated Go as nothing more than a farming tool for skill points.

Now, a pang of shame stirred.

He selected Yes.

Instantly, a new entry appeared in his acquired diagrams:

> Ten Thousand Phenomena

And a prompt beneath: Can be Embedded.

Li Hao frowned. Embed?

He tried selecting it.

A new prompt flashed:

> {Choose Embed Target: Body Dao, Sword Dao.}

Li Hao blinked.

What did that mean?

He thought for a moment, then chose Body Dao.

He’d only just begun his cultivation journey. He still remembered the overwhelming surge of power he’d felt—how his entire body had been flooded with energy. He was eager to explore Body Dao further.

> [Embed Successful.]

A massive wave of information crashed into his mind.

He knew this sensation well. Within moments, he’d absorbed it all.

In his Character Panel, a new entry now appeared:

> Body Dao: One (Ten Thousand Phenomena)

And the fragmented memories in his mind explained what had happened.

Ten Thousand Phenomena: Places the target within the realm of the Ten Thousand Phenomena—rendering them invisible to perception, concealing all Qi traces completely.

Li Hao tested it.

Instantly, his Qi sank inward. The surge of power within him, the roaring currents of energy—everything collapsed into his pores, vanishing from detection.

Special Attribute?

Li Hao was stunned. This was incredible. Impossible.

With his second-tier Go Art, he could already grasp the complexity of the diagram. Layers upon layers of intricate traps—mazes within mazes. No wonder that legendary warrior had never solved it.

But now, embedding this diagram into his Body Dao had granted him a real special attribute.

Had he chosen Sword Dao instead, would his swordsmanship have gained the same concealment effect—making his true killing blow invisible?

Combined with the dazzling, torrential Tidal Sword Art—his attacks would be utterly unpredictable, blinding.

Li Hao glanced back at his Character Panel.

The "Embed" option for Ten Thousand Phenomena was now gone—only one choice was allowed.

But this opened a whole new world.

So this was it—the true power of Go diagrams.

If he could collect more, each one could grant unique buffs to his attacks.

Excited, Li Hao began searching the mansion.

But the Pavilion of Listening to Rain, though a sacred site for martial cultivators, was not a haven for Go players. For days, he scoured the pavilion—but found only three diagrams in total. One of them was even used as a bookshelf spacer.

Flying Segment, Hidden Bow, Tiger Press.

He studied them carefully, analyzing their effects.

- Flying Segment: Doubles attack range, enabling long-range strikes.

- Hidden Bow: Conceals the killing blow—strike in one step, end in one.

- Tiger Press: Slight power boost, carries intimidation.

After embedding Flying Segment and Hidden Bow into Sword Dao, and Tiger Press into Body Dao, Li Hao felt a massive leap in strength.

But the Divine General’s Residence, despite its vastness, had no tradition of collecting Go diagrams—especially not among martial families.

Back in his courtyard, he asked the servants to search outside, offering generous rewards.

But they all refused, making excuses. None dared help the Young Master stray too far into “unproductive” pursuits.

So Li Hao had no choice but to offer even higher incentives.

For the next days, while waiting for new diagrams, he began to study Go itself.

He removed the blanket from his bed, put the board back in place, and took it off the dinner table.

He stopped pretending. He spent his days walking in the courtyard, watching Bian Ruxue train.

Perhaps because she had lost both parents and endured hardship, her discipline was extreme. Under Lin Haixia’s guidance, her swordsmanship improved steadily.

“This move is wrong,” Lin Haixia said sharply during training, her tone as rigid as a commander’s.

Even though she admired Bian Ruxue’s Sword Dao Talent, any mistake was met with harsh criticism.

Tears welled in the girl’s eyes, but she bit her lip and kept practicing.

Li Hao watched, shaking his head in silent pity.

Lin Uncle was a good man—but not necessarily a good teacher.

Yelling at her like that, her form was already distorting.

That night, Li Hao watched as the little girl still trained alone in the courtyard.

He called her over.

“This stance is wrong. Bend your arm slightly. Yes—like that. Don’t stiffen your waist.”

With no one around, he gave her private instruction, guiding her hands.

Bian Ruxue wasn’t slow. She had true talent. Under Li Hao’s teaching, her form corrected quickly—graceful, fluid, with real sword rhythm.

“Big Brother Hao,” she asked, eyes bright, “do you know swordplay too?”

“Can we train together tomorrow?”

“No way,” Li Hao nearly jumped. “I’m not getting up early!”

“If Uncle Lin knew you could fight, he’d be so happy,” she said, hopeful.

She didn’t understand much, but she sensed it—the elders all seemed disappointed in Li Hao.

She, so hardworking, carried a quiet fire inside: They say Hao Brother is useless. But I know—he’s smart. He’s just not given a chance.

“I don’t know swordplay,” Li Hao insisted. “Don’t say things like that!”

Don’t you dare betray me, he thought. You’ll ruin my lazy mornings, and I’ll cry my eyes out.

Bian Ruxue tilted her head. “But you—”

“Go to bed. Go to bed!” Li Hao rolled his eyes and shooed her away, warning her not to speak of this again.

The next day.

In the courtyard, Lin Haixia watched Bian Ruxue swing her sword.

Her eyes slowly widened.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end