Chapter 2: The Serene Bamboo Compound and the Architect of Lineage
The next three weeks were a masterclass in the art of feigned convalescence.
To the outside world, and more importantly, to the watchful eyes of the Li Family estate, the Third Young Master was recovering at a painfully slow pace. He rarely left his opulent bed, his face remained perpetually pale, and his voice was kept to a raspy, exhausted whisper. The servants whispered among themselves that the fall from the horse had permanently damaged his vitality, leaving him a fragile shell of his former, albeit arrogant, self.
This was precisely the narrative Li Mochen wanted them to spread.
Behind the closed doors of his bedchamber, however, a profound transformation was taking place. The 'frailty' was merely a side effect of the Primordial Turtle Breathing Technique. Unlike the aggressive, explosive martial arts of the Great Yan Dynasty, which forced Qi into the muscles to tear and rebuild them, the Turtle Breathing Technique was entirely internalized.
It was a method of extreme preservation.
As Mochen sat cross-legged in the dead of night, his breathing slowed to an almost imperceptible crawl. For an ordinary human, a resting heart rate of sixty to eighty beats per minute was standard. For a martial artist at the Flesh Refining stage like his eldest brother, the heart beat like a war drum, constantly surging hot blood to feed monstrous physical strength.
Mochen's heart, however, beat exactly twelve times a minute.
His breaths were drawn out into long, agonizingly slow cycles. He would inhale for a full minute, hold the breath deep in his lower abdomen—his dantian—for two minutes, and then exhale over another minute. With each cycle, he could feel a microscopic impurities being expelled from his blood, while a cool, profound density settled into his bones and organs.
The technique did not grant him the power to shatter stone. If he punched a wooden pillar, he would still bruise his knuckles. He was still technically at the initial stage of Skin Refining. But his internal fortitude was becoming monstrous. His liver, kidneys, and heart were being fortified to a level that even Bone Forging experts like his father might envy. He was becoming the ultimate fortress, devoid of offensive cannons but possessing walls thick enough to withstand a siege of centuries.
Furthermore, the technique perfectly masked his internal state. To any martial artist probing him with their senses, they would only feel a slow, sluggish pulse—the exact signature of a mortal who possessed terrible aptitude and weak vitality. It was the perfect camouflage for a man who intended to live forever.
On the twenty-first day of his recovery, his second brother, Li Changhai, finally paid him a visit.
Unlike the imposing, martial figure of Eldest Brother Changfeng, Changhai was a man built for the counting house. He was slightly plump, dressed in exquisite green silk robes that rustled with the sound of quiet wealth. His fingers were stained with premium ink, and his eyes held the constant, calculating gleam of an abacus at work.
"Third Brother," Changhai said, his voice smooth and affable as he took a seat beside the bed. "You look terrible. But the physician assures us the danger has passed."
"Second Brother," Mochen replied, offering a weak, self-deprecating smile. "I feel terrible. But I suppose I deserve it for my foolishness."
Changhai chuckled, a dry sound. "Well, Father told me of your... epiphany. I must admit, Mochen, I was skeptical. I thought perhaps the Wang family's third daughter had hit you with a charm hex. But seeing you now, you do seem different. Quieter."
"Nearly meeting the King of Hell has a way of silencing one's arrogance," Mochen said smoothly. "Has Father spoken to you about my request?"
"He has." Changhai reached into the wide sleeve of his robe and withdrew a heavy, polished wooden box, placing it on the bedside table with a solid thud. "The Eastern Estate has been formally transferred to your name. The deeds are in there. Along with a bank draft from the Qingshui Silver Pavilion for exactly ten thousand taels."
Mochen's eyes flicked to the box. Ten thousand taels. In this mortal realm, a family of four commoners could live comfortably on twenty taels a year. This was a fortune.
"I appreciate your efficiency, Second Brother," Mochen said, bowing his head slightly.
Changhai waved a hand dismissively. "Do not thank me. Thank Father's desire for a peaceful household. I must ask, though, Mochen—what do you actually intend to do over there? The Eastern Estate is practically on the edge of the wilderness bordering the county wall. It's quiet, yes, but it's far from the merchant districts."
"I intend to open an apothecary," Mochen answered, having prepared this lie to perfection. "A modest one. 'The Hundred Herbs Hall'. I have no talent for martial arts, and I have no head for the complex trade routes you manage. But during my recovery, smelling the bitter medicinal brews every day... I found a strange peace in it. I want to study herbs, sell simple remedies to the locals, and live a quiet life. And, as Father instructed, focus on expanding the family line."
Changhai studied him for a long moment, his merchant's intuition probing for falsehoods. But Mochen, a former actuary whose professional life depended on maintaining a poker face during multi-million dollar risk assessments, met his gaze with placid serenity.
"An apothecary," Changhai finally nodded. "It is respectable. Low margin, but low risk. Very well. The carriage is prepared outside. Father says you may move whenever you feel strong enough."
"I will leave this afternoon," Mochen decided.
The sooner he was out of the main estate, the sooner he could truly begin.
The carriage ride across Qingshui County was an eye-opening experience. Through the slatted wooden blinds of his carriage, Mochen observed the world he now inhabited.
It was a society of stark contrasts. The inner city, near the Li Family estate, was a bustling hub of commerce. Stone-paved streets, towering teahouses adorned with red lanterns, and patrolling guards clad in leather armor bespoke of wealth and order. But as the carriage rumbled eastward, the stone roads gave way to packed dirt. The grand manors were replaced by tightly packed, single-story dwellings with thatched roofs.
Here, the brutal reality of a high-martial world was evident. He saw a man with a missing arm haggling over a bag of bruised apples. He saw a group of burly, scarred mercenaries loitering outside a dingy tavern, their weapons resting openly against the tables. Strength was currency here, and those without it lived in the dirt.
Mochen shrank back into the padded cushions of his carriage. Caution. Lowkey. Never draw attention. He repeated his personal mantra.
Finally, the carriage groaned to a halt before a set of imposing, albeit weathered, wooden gates. Above the gates hung a faded wooden plaque that Mochen mentally decided would soon be replaced.
He stepped out, leaning heavily on a cane he had requested—a theatrical prop to reinforce his weak image. Accompanying him were only four people: Old Zhou, a half-deaf but incredibly loyal carriage driver; Uncle Ming, a middle-aged steward who was meticulous with ledgers but possessed zero martial arts; and two young maidservants, Chun'er and Qiu'er, who were ordinary girls bought from a famine-struck village a few years prior.
No martial guards. No arrogant young masters' entourages. Just the bare minimum to run a quiet household.
Uncle Ming pushed the heavy gates open. The hinges shrieked in protest, echoing through the empty space within.
The Serene Bamboo Compound, as it was formerly known, was massive. It encompassed nearly four acres of land. However, it had been abandoned for almost a decade. The courtyards were choked with waist-high weeds, the ornamental pond in the center was a stagnant puddle of green algae, and the paint on the wooden pillars of the main halls was peeling off like dead skin.
"Young Master..." Uncle Ming said hesitantly, looking at the overgrown mess. "This will take weeks to clean. And the dampness... it's not good for your recovery."
Mochen, however, saw only potential. The high stone walls surrounding the compound were thick and sturdy, perfectly intact. The layout was secluded. It was a blank canvas.
"It's perfect, Uncle Ming," Mochen said, a genuine smile touching his lips. "Hire twenty laborers from the eastern district tomorrow. Pay them twenty percent above the market rate, but tell them I want the grounds cleared, the buildings repaired, and a new coat of paint applied within two weeks. Also, hire a reputable carpenter. We need to convert the front hall bordering the street into a shopfront."
Over the next fortnight, Mochen proved to be an entirely different type of young master than the Li Family remembered. He didn't yell at the workers. He didn't demand impossible luxuries. He sat quietly in a hastily cleaned pavilion, sipping warm water, reviewing Uncle Ming's ledgers, and directing the renovations with the precision of a project manager.
He spent five hundred taels on reinforcing the outer walls, adding crushed glass to the top to deter casual thieves. He spent another thousand on converting the massive backyard into a terraced garden, completely walled off from the rest of the estate. He explicitly instructed the gardeners to plant thick, privacy-ensuring bamboo along the perimeters, and a grove of hardy peach trees in the center.
The front hall was transformed into the 'Hundred Herbs Hall'. It was modest, clean, and smelled heavily of dried roots and leaves. He hired an elderly, retired physician named Doctor Sun to run the counter. Doctor Sun had a mild temperament, terrible martial arts, but a encyclopedic knowledge of ordinary herbs—perfect for the image Mochen wanted to project.
By the time the final coat of crimson paint dried on the renovated main bedroom—a room Mochen had explicitly redesigned to be spacious, heavily insulated for sound, and equipped with a massive, custom-built mahogany bed—the stage was set.
The Serene Bamboo Compound was no longer a ruin; it was a fortress of quiet comfort.
It was time for the next, and most crucial, step of his plan.
A week after the renovations were complete, the heavy iron knocker on the front gate echoed through the courtyard.
Uncle Ming hurried to open it, returning a moment later with a woman who looked like a walking explosion of colorful silk and heavily powdered perfume. It was Madam Lin, the most prominent matchmaker in Qingshui County, a woman whose tongue was as sharp as a finely honed blade and whose network of gossip rivaled the county magistrate's intelligence guild.
Mochen received her in the main reception hall. He was dressed in simple, comfortable gray robes, looking every bit the scholarly, sickly young landlord he portrayed.
"Third Young Master Li!" Madam Lin exclaimed, her voice ringing off the newly painted rafters. She bowed dramatically, her copious jewelry clinking. "A thousand blessings upon your new home! When the Patriarch summoned me and told me of your... change of heart, I wept with joy! A young man settling down to focus on family—it is the bedrock of the Great Yan Dynasty!"
"Please, sit, Madam Lin," Mochen said politely, gesturing to a carved wooden chair. Chun'er quickly poured a cup of premium Longjing tea. "I assume my father informed you of my... specific requirements?"
Madam Lin took a delicate sip of the tea, her shrewd eyes evaluating the modest decor of the hall. "Indeed he did, Young Master. He was quite explicit. No daughters of prominent martial families. No women from the inner-city noble circles. You seek quiet, healthy women from respectable, albeit lower-tier, backgrounds. Women who can bear strong children and manage a peaceful household without bringing political strife to your door."
"Exactly," Mochen nodded. In his previous life, he had seen enough corporate backstabbing to know that bringing an ambitious, politically connected woman into his house would only lead to internal power struggles. He didn't need a cunning queen; he needed healthy, agreeable partners to trigger his 'Seed of Prosperity' system.
Madam Lin opened an exquisite wooden box she had brought with her, withdrawing a stack of thick parchment scrolls.
"I have scoured the eastern and southern districts, Young Master," she said, unfurling the first scroll. It displayed a beautifully painted portrait of a young woman with a gentle, oval face and modest clothing.
"This is Su Qingxue," Madam Lin began, her voice slipping into a practiced, rhythmic pitch. "Eighteen years old. The eldest daughter of the Su family. They were once prosperous medicinal merchants, but her father made a terrible gamble on a caravan route that was wiped out by bandits three years ago. They are practically destitute now, deeply in debt to the Iron Fist Gang."
Mochen leaned forward, examining the painting, but more importantly, listening to the data.
"Her character?" Mochen asked.
"Impeccable," Madam Lin assured him. "She has been managing her family's remaining scraps, caring for her bedridden mother and two younger siblings. She is known in the southern district for her filial piety, her mild temper, and her deep knowledge of medicinal herbs. She would be a perfect fit for a man running an apothecary."
An herbalist's daughter, used to hardship, mild-tempered, and desperate for a bailout. Mochen's analytical mind ticked the boxes. She would be grateful, she wouldn't demand extravagant luxuries, and she could actually help Doctor Sun manage the shop front, giving her a sense of purpose.
"What is the price to settle their debts and provide a suitable bride price?" Mochen asked.
Madam Lin's eyes gleamed. "Eight hundred taels will clear the Iron Fist Gang. Another two hundred to the family for the bride price. A thousand taels total, Young Master."
To the Su family, it was a life-saving fortune. To Mochen, it was ten percent of his starting capital. A bargain for a reliable primary wife.
"Set the Su family as the primary candidate for my first wife," Mochen said smoothly. "Who else do you have?"
Madam Lin, delighted by the quick sale, unfurled the next scroll. This painting depicted a slightly more robust girl, with a rounder face and a bright, unpretentious smile.
"This is Lin Xiaolian. Sixteen years old. From a tenant farming village on the Li Family's western borders. She is a commoner, Young Master, so she would only be suitable as a concubine. However..." Madam Lin leaned in conspiratorially, "...she is renowned in her village for her incredible constitution. She can carry two buckets of water up a hill without breaking a sweat. She has wide hips, a sturdy frame, and a cheerful disposition. Her family simply cannot afford to feed her and her five brothers."
Mochen nodded slowly. For a modern man, the concept of concubines was initially jarring, but he was no longer an actuary on Earth. He was the Everlasting Patriarch in a feudal world. To maximize his system, he needed a large family. A sturdy, healthy commoner girl who was used to hard work was an excellent candidate to bear strong children.
"A hundred taels to her family as a settlement," Mochen offered.
"They would sell their own souls for fifty," Madam Lin chuckled, rolling up the scroll. "A hundred will make them sing your praises for three generations. Excellent choice, Young Master."
She pulled out a third scroll. This one made Mochen pause.
The woman in the painting was starkly different from the first two. She didn't have the gentle refinement of Su Qingxue or the cheerful simplicity of Lin Xiaolian. Her features were sharp, her eyes held a guarded intensity, and she was dressed in worn leather armor rather than silk.
"Zhao Yu'er," Madam Lin said, her tone slightly more cautious. "Twenty years old. Now, Young Master, she is an irregular choice, but she fits your criteria for health and low political standing perfectly."
"Explain," Mochen prompted.
"She was a member of the 'Wind Rider Escorts', a minor mercenary group that protected local merchant caravans. Two months ago, they ran afoul of a pack of Iron-Hide Wolves in the western forest. The group was massacred. Yu'er was the sole survivor. She managed to escape, but she is alone, traumatized, and without a copper to her name. She has been taking odd jobs unloading carts just to eat."
"Her cultivation?" Mochen asked, his interest piqued.
"She is at the early stage of Skin Refining," Madam Lin replied. "Nothing extraordinary for her age, hence why she was only a low-level escort. But she has a foundation in martial arts. She knows basic spear techniques and fist forms."
Mochen leaned back in his chair, tapping his finger against the wooden armrest.
Risk Assessment: She is a martial artist, which introduces a slight variable. However, she is a broken, orphaned survivor. She has no family backing to cause trouble. More importantly, she possesses actual combat experience and foundational martial arts knowledge.
If Mochen was going to raise a legion of children to be martial geniuses, he couldn't teach them himself without blowing his cover. Having a concubine who could teach the toddlers their basic horse stances and initial breathing techniques in the safety of the courtyard would be incredibly valuable. She could be the foundational instructor for his future dynasty.
"Why is she willing to become a concubine to a supposedly useless landlord's son?" Mochen asked bluntly.
"Because she is tired, Young Master," Madam Lin said softly, dropping the theatrical sales pitch for a moment of genuine honesty. "The martial world chewed her up and spat her out. She told me she just wants a warm bed, three meals a day, and walls high enough that she doesn't have to sleep with a knife under her pillow. In exchange, she is willing to serve loyally."
A safe harbor in exchange for loyalty and future martial instruction for his children. It was a perfect trade.
"I will take all three," Mochen declared, his voice calm and decisive. "Su Qingxue as my formal wife. Lin Xiaolian and Zhao Yu'er as my concubines. Madam Lin, I want the arrangements made quickly, but without excessive fanfare. A respectable ceremony for the Su family, and quiet entries for the other two. Can you manage this within the month?"
Madam Lin's eyes widened at the decisive, bulk purchase. Her commission would be staggering. She practically vibrated with excitement.
"Leave it to me, Third Young Master! I will have the stars aligned and the red palanquins at your door before the next full moon!"
The wedding of Li Mochen, the Third Young Master of the Li Family, was an event that confused Qingshui County.
Given the Li Family's immense wealth, the populace expected a week-long festival, streets paved with red silk, and a banquet that would feed half the city. Instead, what they witnessed was an exercise in restrained elegance.
There was a procession, yes, but it was modest. The bride price sent to the Su family was generous enough to shock their neighbors, but not so extravagant as to draw the greedy eyes of the local gangs.
When the red palanquin arrived at the Serene Bamboo Compound, Mochen stepped out to greet his new bride. He was dressed in a pristine crimson wedding robe, his hair tied back neatly. He looked handsome, scholarly, and entirely unthreatening.
As he guided Su Qingxue, whose face was hidden beneath a red silk veil, over the brazier at the threshold, he felt a slight trembling in her hands. She was terrified. She was marrying a man known previously as an arrogant, useless scoundrel, effectively selling herself to save her family.
Later that night, in the quiet solitude of the heavily insulated master bedroom, the red candles flickered, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls.
Mochen sat on the edge of the massive mahogany bed. Beside him sat Su Qingxue. She was rigidly stiff, her hands clutching the silk of her wedding dress so tightly her knuckles were white.
"You don't need to be afraid of me," Mochen said softly. His voice was entirely devoid of the haughty tone the original owner used. It was calm, measured, and gentle.
He reached out and slowly lifted the red veil.
Su Qingxue was beautiful in a quiet, understated way. Her eyes were wide, dark, and filled with a mixture of apprehension and exhaustion. She looked like a bird that had been trapped in a cage for too long, expecting the worst.
"I... I am not afraid, Husband," she lied, her voice a fragile whisper.
Mochen smiled gently. He stood up, walking over to the small table where the ceremonial wine sat. He poured two cups and brought them back, handing one to her.
"I know what the rumors say about me in the city," Mochen said, taking his seat beside her. "They say I am spoiled. Arrogant. A useless young master who fell off a horse trying to impress women."
Qingxue kept her eyes lowered, not daring to agree, but unable to deny it.
"Those rumors were true," Mochen continued, his honesty causing her to look up in surprise. "But the man who fell off that horse died on that mountain. I realized how fragile life is. I don't care for the martial world, Qingxue. I don't care for the bloody politics of the Li Family. I just want to live quietly in this compound."
He gently tapped his cup against hers.
"I paid your family's debts. Your mother will receive the best medical care Doctor Sun can provide. Your siblings will be given an allowance to continue their studies," Mochen stated, laying out the practical terms of their arrangement with the clarity of a contract. "In return, I ask only two things of you. First, manage this household. Keep the peace between the servants and the concubines arriving next week. Second..."
He paused, a warm, genuine smile reaching his eyes as the invisible blessing of the 'Seed of Prosperity' seemed to thrum in his blood.
"...help me build a family that will outlast this era."
Qingxue stared at him. The arrogant monster she had expected was entirely absent. In his place was a man of startling maturity, offering her not just a financial bailout, but security, respect, and a clear, manageable purpose.
The tension that had locked her shoulders for months finally broke. A genuine, albeit tearful, smile broke across her face.
"I will, Husband," she whispered, raising her cup to her lips. "I swear it."
The following weeks established the rhythm that would define the Serene Bamboo Compound.
Lin Xiaolian and Zhao Yu'er arrived quietly in modest sedans through the side gate.
Mochen gathered all three women in the main hall on the first morning they were all present. He laid down the absolute law of his domain: There would be no internal strife. There would be no fighting over his favor. The compound was awash in silver; there was no need to compete for resources. Su Qingxue was the primary wife and the manager of the household accounts. Xiaolian was tasked with managing the kitchens and the gardens, utilizing her commoner work ethic. Yu'er was placed in charge of the compound's internal security and the physical training of the servants.
To the absolute shock of the three women, Mochen treated them with a bizarre, almost egalitarian respect that was utterly alien to the Great Yan Dynasty. He didn't demand they serve him on their hands and knees. He bought them premium silks, provided them with expensive medicinal meals to bolster their health, and spent equal time in their respective courtyards.
He was, by all accounts, the perfect, lazy, homebody husband.
His days fell into a rigorous, unbreakable routine.
In the mornings, he would sit in the front shop, 'The Hundred Herbs Hall', reading simple medical texts and chatting amiably with Doctor Sun, projecting the image of a harmless scholar.
In the afternoons, he would retreat to his private courtyard, sitting beneath the newly planted peach trees. To his wives and servants, he appeared to be simply napping or meditating lazily. In reality, he was circulating the Primordial Turtle Breathing Technique, his heart rate dropping to ten beats a minute, his internal organs forging themselves into unbreakable iron, his vitality locking itself into a state of eternal preservation.
And at night, he enthusiastically worked on his grand project, the 'Seed of Prosperity' subtly ensuring that his efforts would yield the highest possible results.
Four months passed in this state of absolute, manufactured tranquility. The outside world continued its bloody cycle. Mochen occasionally heard rumors from Uncle Ming—the Iron Fist Gang had a turf war with the Water Dragon Triad, leaving thirty dead in the streets. A genius from the Wang family had broken through to Bone Forging at age twenty, causing a massive stir.
Mochen listened to these tales of glory and death, sipped his warm tea, and smiled. Let them fight. Let them bleed for a few decades of supremacy.
Then, on a crisp autumn morning, as Mochen was reviewing the shop's ledger with Su Qingxue in the main hall, she suddenly went pale, placing a hand over her mouth. She hurriedly excused herself, rushing toward the courtyard gardens.
A moment later, Chun'er the maidservant came running back, her face flushed with excitement.
"Master! Master! The Madam... Doctor Sun just checked her pulse! It's a joyful pulse! The Madam is with child!"
At that exact moment, the ethereal, mechanical chime that Mochen had not heard since his first day in this world echoed within his mind.
[Ding!]
[System Notification: The Host's primary wife, Su Qingxue, has successfully conceived.]
[The 'Seed of Prosperity' (First Generation) has activated. The unborn child is guaranteed an 'Above-Average' martial arts aptitude.]
[The Legacy of the Everlasting Patriarch has officially begun. Awaiting the harvest.]
Mochen sat back in his chair, carefully closing the ledger. He looked out the open doors of the hall, toward the courtyard where his wife was being fussed over by the servants.
A slow, profound smile spread across his face, reaching all the way to his calculating eyes.
"The first seed is planted," he whispered into the quiet hall. "Grow well, my child. Grow strong. Conquer the world if you must. Your father has all the time in the world to wait for you."