Chapter 51: Concealed Among the Trees
The next morning, Mister Zhuang unusually did not sleep in. When he saw Mo Hua, he waved to him.
"Mo Hua, come with me."
He led Mo Hua into the study and asked,
"That Three-Talents Formation you drew yesterday, how many times have you practiced it?"
Mo Hua felt deeply grateful to Mister Zhuang. He hadn't wanted to conceal anything, but the matter of the Dao Stele was too strange to explain. He didn't wish to lie, either, so he replied honestly:
"Teacher, I practiced it three or four times on paper… then another seven or eight times in my dreams."
It was true, he simply left out the part about the Dao stele.
Mister Zhuang paused. "In your dreams?"
"Yes," Mo Hua nodded. "Even when I fall asleep, I can continue drawing formations in my dreams."
Mister Zhuang frowned slightly, studying Mo Hua's expression. But the boy's gaze was clear and sincere, so transparent he could almost see his own reflection in it.
Zhuang couldn't help but chuckle. "I see."
See what? Mo Hua looked at him in confusion.
After thinking for a moment, Mister Zhuang said seriously:
"What you've just told me—let it remain between us. No matter who asks in the future, you don't need to answer. And never mention anything about drawing formations in your dreams."
"What if someone insists on knowing?"
"If they press you," Zhuang said calmly, "just tell them that because you've learned Meditation Technique, your comprehension of formations improved."
"And if someone asks me to teach them the Meditation Technique?"
"Then don't give it to them unless you must. If they try to take it by force—kill them. And if you can't kill them, can't win, or can't run—then give it to them. Techniques are external things. Your life is your own."
Mo Hua thought that sounded reasonable, but still asked,
"And if they try it and realize the Meditation Technique doesn't help with formations?"
"In that case…" Zhuang mused. "Just say you're a born genius—blessed with perfect memory, and that you master formations after only a few glances. But remember, say it with arrogance. Look down your nose at them. Make them believe you truly are a once-in-ten-thousand prodigy."
"Look down my nose?"
"I'll show you."
The moment he finished, Mister Zhuang's whole demeanor changed. The languid scholar vanished, replaced by a soaring dragon lifting its head—his eyes sharp, his bearing proud and unyielding, radiating effortless supremacy.
After a while, he relaxed again, the arrogance melting into his usual lazy calm.
"Like that. Practice it when you have time."
Mo Hua was awestruck.
Usually, Mister Zhuang looked the very image of a reclusive sage—but when he started talking nonsense and teaching deception, he was alarmingly convincing.
Later, alone by the pond, Mo Hua mimicked him—hands on hips, chest out, trying to look imperious—but somehow, he couldn't summon the same commanding air.
Cultivation truly is a vast field, he thought. Not just formations and realm progression—even this sort of posturing has to be studied properly.
He resolved to master it eventually.
As dusk fell, Mo Hua took his leave and returned home.
After he left, Mister Zhuang reclined in his bamboo pavilion, lost in thought. Beside him, Old Kui quietly played chess with himself.
A gentle breeze brushed through the pavilion. After a long silence, Zhuang murmured,
"Something's not right."
Old Kui lifted his eyes. "What's not right?"
"That boy, Mo Hua…"
"You think he's hiding something from you?"
"Whether he is or isn't doesn't matter. Some truths simply shouldn't be spoken aloud."
"Then what's wrong?"
"He's learning too fast."
Old Kui blinked. "Didn't you already say that yesterday?"
Zhuang nodded. "He's my registered disciple. If he progresses too quickly, it could bring trouble."
Old Kui placed a chess piece down. "He's not that fast. The boy's talent still doesn't match yours back in the day. Compared to the heirs of great clans, he's still far behind."
Zhuang shook his head. "That's not a fair comparison. Those clan scions grow up steeped in formation lore—if they were pigs, they'd still learn faster than ordinary folk. As for me…"
His tone turned utterly calm. "There are few in this world whose talent for formations surpasses mine. It's perfectly normal he can't compare."
He spoke the most arrogant words in the mildest voice.
Unfortunately, no one applauded. Old Kui continued his game without even looking up.
Zhuang almost missed Mo Hua—the boy's bright eyes would surely be full of admiration right now.
He sighed. "Mo Hua's different. He's a rogue cultivator, with no clan or heritage. His foundation in formations is too shallow. If his progress draws attention, it might bring him disaster... even death."
Old Kui chuckled. "You, worrying about others? That's rare."
Zhuang stretched lazily. "A tree that stands above the forest is the first the wind destroys. I once ignored the need to hide my light and suffered for it."
"So what will you do? Stop teaching him?"
"Of course I'll teach him," Zhuang said, tapping the chair arm. "Once someone's my disciple, even if not a direct disciple, I can't let him remain half-trained. If others found out, it would damage my reputation—and insult my teacher's legacy."
"You never used to care for reputation."
"Age makes one sentimental. Even pride becomes a habit."
Old Kui gave him a sidelong glance. "I doubt that."
Zhuang ignored him and closed his eyes again, perhaps in thought, perhaps in a nap.
Old Kui kept playing chess as always.
Night deepened; wind stirred through the trees, whispering softly.
Suddenly, Mister Zhuang opened his eyes, gazing at the darkened forest. He murmured,
"A tree that stands tall will be broken by the wind… Then if it doesn't stand out—"
Old Kui frowned slightly.
Zhuang's eyes followed the undulating ridges of the forest. His voice turned quiet and meaningful:
"—If one hides the tree among the forest, then the wind cannot break it."
Old Kui gave him a puzzled look.
But Zhuang's gaze had already shifted toward the gate of the courtyard.
Every morning, the Bai siblings came to pay their respects.
Those two were gifted, exceptional saplings among the grove.
...
The next dawn, as always, Bai Zisheng and Bai Zixi came to the mountain gate. But unlike before, when they bowed, the usually closed bamboo door suddenly opened.
Above it hung a plaque—its fresh strokes reading "Forgetful Meditation Abode."
Inside, a courtyard unfolded: tall locust trees stretching toward the sky, a small bridge spanning murmuring water, mist curling like immortal breath.
Bai Zisheng froze.
"Aunt Xue… The gate opened. Does this mean Mister Zhuang is willing to see us now?"
Even the ever-serene Aunt Xue wavered slightly. "It seems so."
Inwardly, she thought,
If Mister Zhuang is willing to meet us, that's already good. Even if he doesn't accept Young Master and Miss as disciples yet, they can at least serve by his side. With their gifts, he'll agree sooner or later.
Bai Zisheng's heart pounded. Glancing at his sister, he saw Bai Zixi's delicate face as calm and distant as ever, untouched by emotion.
His gaze softened with pity. He stepped in front of her protectively, then took the first step into the courtyard.
(End of Chapter)