Chapter 7: Body Dao

In the Changchun Courtyard, He Jianlan sat with poised dignity on a finely polished rosewood armchair, her expression calm as she listened to the nervous report from the young servant before her. Her heart stirred slightly. She had long heard that the child was remarkably intelligent—too clever for his own good, really. It was a pity he lacked Martial Dao Talent. All that brilliance, wasted.

Thinking of the family letter from the Frontier Region, He Jianlan sighed inwardly. “Xuejian,” she said softly, “go keep an eye on him. Just make sure he doesn’t tear the books.”

“Yes, Madam.”

Beside her, a girl with almond-shaped eyes and crimson lips, her skin pale as snow, replied in a hushed tone.

...

The instruction from the Changchun Courtyard reached the Pavilion of Listening to Rain. Li Hao, upon seeing the petite girl arrive to supervise, blinked in mild surprise—but didn’t dwell on it. After all, he was still so young. It made sense that the Elder Lady wouldn’t trust him alone in the tower.

Though both were House Servants, Zhao Bo’s status was clearly inferior to that of the little girl named Xuejian. The girl blocked him at the entrance without so much as a word.

Inside the ancient tower, the air was dim and still, dust thick on the floor. Rows upon rows of towering bookshelves stood like silent sentinels, each bearing wooden tags that categorized their contents: sword techniques, knife styles, spear methods, weapons, poisons—everything imaginable, scattered across countless genres.

Li Hao couldn’t help but marvel.

This little tower held half the martial world within its walls.

Not long after, he found the shelf marked Body Cultivation. It was packed with dense, hard-earned manuals—The Golden Bull Scripture, The Nine Transformations of the Sacred Turtle, The Seven Star Seal, and more.

He plucked one at random: The Hundred Smelts of Stone Skin. Leaning against the shelf, he began to read.

Silence reigned in the tower—only the soft, steady rhythm of two breaths echoed through the air. Xuejian followed him like a shadow, her movements graceful, her demeanor refined. Her poise surpassed even that of a noble-born lady. She watched the child—born under the spotlight, the center of attention—her eyes flickering with quiet curiosity.

So young, yet so sharp. He can even read?

And he’s studying so intently… Can he really understand any of this?

Time passed.

Li Hao read the opening pages over and over, painstakingly deciphering each character. After what felt like an eternity, a shimmering message finally appeared in his mind:

> [Basic Level Acquired. Confirm?]

He selected Yes without hesitation.

Instantly, his Character Panel burst to life before his eyes:

> [Name: Li Hao]

> [Age: 4]

> [Cultivation Level: Ordinary Stage]

> [Sword Dao: 2nd Level]

> [Skill: Sea Without Horizon · Tidal Surge (Mastered) [Prohibited]]

> [Body Dao: Unstarted]

> [Skill: Stone Skin Hundred Smelts (Unstarted) {Restricted}]

> [Go Art: 2nd Level (18/1000)]

> [Go Manuscript Collection: 0]

> [Art Skill Points: 0]

A spark of joy flared in his chest.

His guess had been right—this was real. He could finally begin cultivation.

But first, he needed more Art Skill Points.

The thought brought a frown to his face.

His solo farming was fast—too fast—but when playing against others, progress slowed to a crawl.

Three days had earned him only 18 experience points. The Tool Person had fled in terror.

He needed a stable partner.

Damn it… I’ve got to find someone reliable…

Muttering to himself, Li Hao shoved the manual back onto the shelf and turned to the girl behind him.

“Where’s the best Body Cultivation manual kept?” he asked.

Xuejian blinked—surprised.

The child actually understands Body Dao? Who taught him?

Could it be the military captain who gave him his foundation?

Blocked meridians—so he’s choosing the pure Body Dao path…

A flicker of understanding crossed her eyes.

“Respectfully, Young Master,” she said softly, “the strongest Body Cultivation manual acquired by the Pavilion of Listening to Rain is on the sixth floor. I shall guide you.”

“Not the seventh?” Li Hao frowned, disappointed. “Shouldn’t the strongest be the only one?”

“Because one is the Complete Version—fully usable. The other is the Fragmentary Version—still effective, but cannot reach the peak.”

Li Hao raised an eyebrow.

So even a fragment can be on the sixth floor?

Soon, guided by the girl, he was led to the sixth floor.

By the time he reached the third floor on his own, his legs were already aching. The higher he climbed, the sparser the books became. By the sixth floor, only a few small shelves remained, holding perhaps twenty or thirty volumes in total.

But Li Hao didn’t dismiss them.

The Li Family had accumulated knowledge for a thousand years. Even these few, scattered manuals—left outside—were likely priceless.

Xuejian brought forward the two manuals she had mentioned.

One was titled The Thousand Dragon Sacred Body.

The other: Tai Chu.

Their covers were worn, cracked, and faded—worthless in any ordinary family, likely used as table legs in a poor household.

Li Hao took them, flipping through the pages.

Even the opening lines were incomprehensible.

His mind reeled.

This is nothing like the basics I read downstairs.

It’s like reading Oracle Bone Script—dense, obscure, archaic.

He managed to recognize a few characters, but when combined, the meaning vanished into fog.

His small face scrunched in frustration.

He forced himself to keep reading, but after a few more lines, he gave up.

Even reaching Basic Level seems impossible…

Back then, when I watched that brat practice swordplay, I had to study for days just to learn “Sea Without Shore”… and that was after watching a live demonstration. This is self-study…

He shook his head.

Not yet. I’ll wait until I’ve earned more Art Skill Points. Then I’ll try again.

He gestured for Xuejian to lead him back down.

Other manuals—Go Art, Spirit Arts, Alchemy—he wanted to learn them too. But for now, he lacked the points.

And so, the problem returned to the same old question:

Where is a reliable Tool Person?

Outside the Pavilion of Listening to Rain, Li Hao bid farewell to the poised, precise girl, then returned with Zhao Bo to the Mountain and River Courtyard.

“Hao Gege!”

Bian Ruxue sprinted toward him, her tiny feet tripping—nearly falling.

“Easy, easy!” Li Hao caught her gently.

“Where did you go? Can you take me next time?” she asked, pouting with wide, hopeful eyes.

The past year had turned her into a shadow at his side. She’d sneak into his room at night, clutching his pillow, only settling down when she was curled beside him. At first, he’d kicked her out several times. But she’d come back, crying in the middle of the night, eyes swollen with tears—so heartbreakingly small, so desperate. He couldn’t bear it.

And the bed was big. His body still small. One more wouldn’t hurt. She slept quietly, never disturbing him. So he let her stay.

“Just promise to be good,” Li Hao said, ruffling her hair. “As long as you stay here, I’ll always come back.”

The maids around them watched the scene with practiced calm—no surprise, just quiet familiarity.

“Little Finger Promise,” Bian Ruxue declared, holding out her small hand.

Li Hao sighed, relenting. He linked his little finger with hers.

“No backing out. If you break it, you’re a dog,” she insisted, pouting.

“Fine, fine,” he muttered.

...

From then on, Li Hao resolved to showcase his Chess talent. He began demanding that the maids play with him—relentlessly.

Refuse? Zhao Bo would deliver three stripes.

Three strokes—enough to make the buttocks burn for hours, though not enough to draw blood.

Under the Young Master’s iron rule, the maids took turns, sitting at the board like soldiers on duty.

Each day passed.

Two scenes unfolded in the courtyard.

On one side, Lin Haixia trained Bian Ruxue in basic sword forms and hand-to-hand combat—no formal cultivation, just practice routines to develop martial sensitivity. The movements brought pain sometimes, but the girl’s spirit was stubborn. She never cried.

On the other side, the pavilion buzzed with activity.

Li Hao played chess with one maid, while others stood around, ordered to learn by watching. Some had no clue. Others had picked up a few tricks from somewhere.

Li Hao noticed: when he played against someone with actual skill, victory granted 2 experience points—sometimes even 3.

But against the clueless ones? Even a win gave only 1 point.

And if they made a rule violation—like moving a piece incorrectly—the entire game was voided.

Soon, the maids stopped rotating duties. Li Hao had picked out two of the best chess players. They played daily, farming experience without pause.

In the blink of an eye, five years passed.

Li Hao turned five.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end