Chapter 11: Li Hao Draws His Sword

The sword technique that yesterday had still felt clumsy and unrefined now exuded the refined elegance of a Sword Saint.

Perfect posture. Crisp, decisive movements. A sensation of skillful mastery!

Genius of the Sword Dao!

Those four words flashed through Lin Haixia’s mind.

How long had Bian Ruxue been studying this form? A beginner’s progress in half a month would already be impressive.

Yet here she was—already fluent, her strokes infused with a rare, almost sentient vitality. That was the true marvel.

Yesterday, he had snapped at the little girl, not out of malice, but because he’d seen the spark of Sword Dao talent in her—a potential to become a true master of the blade. His harshness was born of hope.

But today’s performance had far exceeded his expectations.

This was no ordinary talent. This was a rare, once-in-a-generation genius.

“Good… very good,” Lin Haixia smiled, nodding repeatedly. Once Bian Ruxue finished her演练, he asked, “Did you practice on your own last night?”

Bian Ruxue hesitated, her mind flashing to Li Hao’s quiet guidance. But then she remembered his stern face, the strict warnings he’d given her. She gave a soft nod.

Lin Haixia wasn’t surprised. If she hadn’t put in effort, today’s performance wouldn’t have been possible.

But the sheer speed of her progress—after only one night of practice—was what truly delighted him.

“This form is too simple for you now,” he said. “Today, I’ll teach you a Superior-Level Sword Art.”

The previous technique had only been a Lower-Level Sword Art. The Pavilion of Listening to Rain, within the Li family’s estate, was off-limits to him. Inside it lay top-tier sword techniques—indeed, even Transcendent Sword Techniques—but he had no authority to pass them on to anyone, not even this child, unless the Li family’s elders gave permission.

Even Li Hao himself, now, could not claim that privilege. He was still too young to inherit such responsibility.

“Mm-hmm,” Bian Ruxue replied, nodding.

One teacher, one student—again they began their training in the courtyard.

Li Hao watched for a few moments, then found it dull. He returned to his own thoughts, fiddling with the chess pieces in his hands—black and white, rolling between his fingers, their smooth surface a quiet comfort.

His mind wandered through the pages of ancient Chess Manuals, lost in contemplation.

Time passed without trace, slipping by like breath in still air.

By day, Li Hao sat before the board, staring into silence.

At night, he occasionally stepped in to guide Bian Ruxue, correcting minor flaws in her form.

Her progress in the Sword Dao was astonishing. Lin Haixia could barely contain his delight.

Months later, in the snow-draped courtyard.

Li Hao stood quietly among the crowd, watching an ethereal old Daoist—his robes flowing like mist—lead away the eight-year-old Li Wushuang, taking her to begin her cultivation.

Wu Niang wept silently, pressing her daughter’s hand to her heart. “Eat well, be good, sleep well,” she whispered.

Li Hao remembered: when he was still wrapped in swaddling cloth, this little girl had tugged at his mother’s robe, her eyes wide and bright with curiosity, studying him like he was a mystery to be solved.

Wu Niang had three children—two daughters, one son. This was her eldest.

At the age of five, during the Bone Quantification Ceremony, she had been measured at Ninth-Rank Combat Body—another prodigy in the Li family.

Now, with her cultivation potential blazing so brightly, she’d caught the eye of a renowned cultivator, who had taken her as a disciple.

This scene felt familiar—Li Hao had witnessed it two years prior.

Then, it was Liu Yuerong’s child, taken away by a bald monk chanting sutras.

That man, undoubtedly, belonged to the Mount Wu Liang sect.

In the Li family, those with supreme talent were almost always adopted into Emperor Yu’s elite factions—how high-ranking clans expanded their influence, one promising disciple at a time.

Those with lesser talent—like Second Lady’s second son, who’d only achieved a Seventh-Rank Combat Body—were sent to the Tan Palace Academy in Qingzhou City for cultivation.

While Wu Niang wept, Li Wushuang’s face remained solemn, mature beyond her years. She gave a calm nod. “Mother, take care of your body. Father, take care of yours.”

Then, her gaze swept the courtyard—over each face, each figure.

When it passed Li Hao, it lingered for only a second. No recognition. No memory.

Among the third generation, the only names she’d heard her mother speak of were the elite—those with unmatched talent.

Like Li Qianfeng, Second Lady’s child—her current role model.

The rest? They meant nothing to her.

Raised in the vast crucible of the Martial Path, shaped by her mother’s love, her martial instructors, the household servants—every word, every glance, every lesson had seeped into her.

Though still small, her mind was sharp. Her eyes held a keen, piercing focus.

She already carried within her the unshakable ambition to reach the peak of the Martial Path.

With a final bow, she left—guided by the Daoist elder, amid the farewells of family and friends.

The next time Li Hao saw her, it would likely be when she returned, famed and triumphant.

Life returned to stillness.

In this quiet rhythm of days, Li Hao slowly slipped back into his solitary games of chess.

But now, he played not for experience, not for practice—but simply to think.

To challenge himself.

When he held the white pieces, he thought like white. When black, he became black.

Though difficult, it brought a unique thrill—the joy of battling oneself.

In this world, entertainment was scarce.

Li Hao found himself drawn to the deep focus of such a pursuit—especially when it carried the spice of challenge.

So the maids occasionally saw their Young Master leap up in surprise.

While eating in silence, he’d suddenly cry out, “Ah! That move should’ve gone there!”—a look of regret on his face.

Or he’d point at a flowerbed and ask, “Do you see that bloom? Doesn’t it look like a chessboard?”

The maids: ???

What in the world is he talking about?

But they smiled. Whatever Young Master said was true.

After all, he was their master. What could they do but follow?

When Li Hao turned six, Lin Haixia found him.

“I’ll teach you Combat Techniques,” he said, pulling out a weapon rack. “Pick a weapon and try it—just like I did with Bian Ruxue.”

But knowing Li Hao’s body wasn’t built like Bian Ruxue’s—no top-tier Combat Body—he delayed the training by a year. Too early training could harm bone development.

Li Hao finally understood: this military titan had stayed in the estate all this time—just to teach him.

“I can’t cultivate, right?” Li Hao yawned, dragging himself from bed. “Why bother?”

“First, learn combat. If someday the commander finds a way to open your meridians, you’ll be ready to start cultivation immediately. These skills won’t be wasted.”

That was Lin Haixia’s plan—train now, prepare for the future.

What if he could cultivate someday?

“What if he doesn’t?” Li Hao asked.

“You’d be doing nothing anyway,” Lin Haixia replied coolly.

Li Hao wanted to scream.

Doing nothing is better than suffering!

But Lin Haixia was firm. No amount of pleading moved him.

Finally, his face hardened. “No more excuses. If you don’t obey, I’ll use the bamboo rod.”

Li Hao wasn’t afraid of pain. At his age, even a full strike from Lin Haixia would barely tickle.

But the man’s seriousness—his unwavering resolve—forced him to yield.

He picked up weapons one by one, going through the motions half-heartedly.

Swords, spears, staffs—his movements were sloppy, uncoordinated.

When he reached the sword, Bian Ruxue watched with wide eyes, clenching her tiny fists. “Hao Gege, you can do it!”

Li Hao sighed, waved the sword a few times, then gave up.

Lin Haixia’s expression darkened. He saw right through the boy’s apathy.

“None of these weapons met my standards today. You’re not resting. And you’re not touching that cursed chessboard again.”

“Lin Shu!” Li Hao groaned.

“Practice!” Lin Haixia growled, ignoring his plea.

Reluctantly, Li Hao picked up a sword. But his mind wasn’t on training. He went through the motions, mechanically—no rhythm, no soul.

Seeing Li Hao’s interest in the blade, Lin Haixia began teaching, one form at a time, starting with the most basic.

But the moment Li Hao saw how seriously he was taking it, his fear only grew.

If he sees even a hint of potential, he’ll make me train every single day!

So he nodded eagerly. “I understand! I’ve got it!”

The moment the sword touched his hands—chaos again.

Hands and feet, you fool! You’re faking it!

By afternoon, Lin Haixia was ready to curse.

Even the most basic sword form had no shape.

Zero martial insight.

Zero talent.

He thought of other prodigies—some gifted in one thing, utterly lost in another.

And Li Hao… seemed to be one of them.

Wasted talent.

Chess skill? What kind of nonsense was that?

Lin Haixia nearly hated the game.

How could anyone invent such a pointless thing?

It was a crime against the world.

But then, a deeper sorrow took hold.

Can I really do nothing for my Young Master?

He cursed his own helplessness.

He hated that he couldn’t repay the commander’s kindness.

He forced Li Hao to train for another half-month.

Then, utterly defeated, he gave up.

He told Li Hao, “The Yanbei Military Affairs have changed. I’ll be leaving soon.”

Li Hao looked at the man. He saw it—the resignation in his eyes.

For weeks, he’d watched Lin Haixia’s quiet despair.

He felt both touched and ashamed.

The man had hated the chessboard. Had cursed his own failure as a teacher.

But he’d never once blamed Li Hao.

“Lin Shu,” Li Hao said, sitting beside him in the courtyard, “if someone can’t cultivate, but follows the Body Cultivation path and trains in Combat Techniques… could they become a strong warrior?”

Lin Haixia set down his wine cup. After a long pause, he said, “Yes.”

Then, softer: “I’ve seen warriors in the army—men whose flesh was iron, whose spearwork was flawless. They were strong. Among the elite.”

He turned to Li Hao, but his eyes dimmed.

“You’re clever. You can endure hardship. If you walk the Body Cultivation path, you’ll survive. But your cultivation insight…”

He trailed off. The words stuck in his throat.

He’d hoped, deep down, that Li Hao might still find a way.

Li Hao stared at him, surprised.

“I sleep in until noon every day. How could I endure hardship?”

Lin Haixia shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips.

“I’ve watched you play chess. I know you can endure. You just… don’t want to.”

From Li Hao, he saw the possibility of a true master—the mind, the will, the discipline.

Only one thing was missing: Martial Cultivation Talent.

And Martial Path Insight.

Those were the keys to the door.

Without them, no matter how many treasures of cultivation were laid before him—they were just empty mountains.

Li Hao fell silent, staring at the night sky.

The wind whispered.

One man drank.

The other gazed at the stars—where, perhaps, another General Star had just fallen.

Two months later.

Lin Haixia was leaving.

He stood in the inner courtyard, where Li Hao waited alone—everyone else dismissed to the outer yard.

“It’s quiet,” Li Hao said, hands clasped behind his back. “Don’t you think it’s too cold?”

Lin Haixia exhaled softly. “I don’t care for formality. But you—take care of Xuejian. She has extraordinary Sword Dao talent. She’ll achieve greatness. Protect her. One day, she’ll protect you.”

His voice held a mix of sorrow, regret, and quiet peace.

He’d given up on Li Hao’s martial path.

Once, he’d arrived at the Divine General’s Residence with fire in his heart, determined to nurture the commander’s son, to repay his debt.

Now, he left with nothing but regret—empty-handed, heartbroken.

Li Hao smiled.

“Lin Shu, I don’t have much to give you. But today, as you leave… let me give you a small gift.”

“I don’t want anything. I have no right to accept. Just… stay safe,” Lin Haixia said, touched, but uninterested in presents. He had everything he needed.

Li Hao said nothing.

He walked slowly toward the weapon rack.

Lin Haixia blinked, confused.

Then—Li Hao drew the sword.

“One sword. For you.”

“Student, thank you for your teaching.”

And then—the blade rose.

Like snow drifting on a moonlit night, the motion was graceful.

The swordlight flared—waves of silver, a tide rising from the sea without shore.

Countless petals of light burst forth—complex, exquisite, dazzling.

Supreme Perfection. Sea Without Shore. Tide Wave Sword Technique.

For an instant, the entire empty inner courtyard was bathed in brilliance.

And Lin Haixia—his eyes, once hollow and dark—were lit from within.

The sword’s radiance reflected in his pupils, turning them white, pure, like snow under moonlight.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end