Chapter 3: The First Sprout and the Quiet Cultivation of Time
The announcement of Su Qingxue's pregnancy swept through the Serene Bamboo Compound like a warm spring breeze, instantly transforming the atmosphere from one of quiet settlement to one of vibrant, bustling anticipation. To the outside world, it was merely the expected news of a wealthy landlord's son fulfilling his filial duties. But within the high, glass-topped stone walls of the eastern estate, it was the sounding of the first triumphant horn in Li Mochen's grand, centuries-long campaign.
Mochen, however, did not allow the excitement to disrupt his meticulously calculated routine. If anything, the confirmation of the system's 'Seed of Prosperity' only reinforced his absolute dedication to his lowkey existence. He had proof of concept. The system was real, the blessing was active, and his path to supreme power without ever lifting a sword in anger was paved and illuminated.
In the days following the announcement, Mochen enacted a series of subtle but significant changes within the compound. First, he immediately elevated the dietary standards for the entire household, funneling a substantial portion of the apothecary's profits—and his own vast silver reserves—into securing premium, nourishing ingredients.
He didn't buy the flashy, highly volatile spirit herbs that martial artists consumed to violently expand their meridians. Those were too dangerous for a mortal woman's fragile constitution and would draw unwanted attention from the local gangs or rival families. Instead, he instructed Uncle Ming to purchase high-grade, aged mountain ginseng, blood-replenishing swift-deer meat, and profound-yin snow lotus roots. He used his modern analytical mind, combined with the extensive botanical knowledge he was absorbing from Doctor Sun and the library he had amassed, to formulate perfectly balanced medicinal broths.
"Young Master, this is... this is exceedingly generous," Uncle Ming had stammered one evening, reviewing the monthly ledger. The steward's eyes were wide as he looked at the sheer volume of silver being spent on food alone. "The swift-deer meat alone costs five taels a pound. Even the main estate only serves it to the combat instructors and the Patriarch."
Mochen, sitting comfortably in his armchair with a cup of warm, diluted herbal tea, merely smiled his placid, unthreatening smile. "Uncle Ming, what good is silver sitting in a vault? The Li Family's true wealth is its bloodline. My wives are carrying the future of this branch. Their health is paramount. Ensure the kitchens spare no expense. If anyone questions the volume of our purchases, tell them it is for 'The Hundred Herbs Hall's' new line of restorative tonics."
"Yes, Young Master. Your wisdom is profound," Uncle Ming bowed deeply, his respect for the supposedly useless third son growing with each passing day.
Mochen's attention was not solely fixed on Su Qingxue. His actuary's mind demanded optimization. The 'Seed of Prosperity' guaranteed a 100% fertility rate for himself, but he needed to ensure the environment was perfectly calibrated for all his partners.
Exactly three weeks after Qingxue's announcement, Lin Xiaolian, the sturdy commoner concubine, reported a missed cycle and a sudden, ravenous aversion to the smell of raw fish. A quick examination by Doctor Sun confirmed a second pregnancy.
And barely a fortnight after that, Zhao Yu'er, the former mercenary, found herself unusually fatigued during her morning spear-practice routines in the courtyard. When Doctor Sun checked her pulse, his bearded face broke into a wide, disbelieving grin. Three wives, three pregnancies, all within the span of two months.
When the news reached the main Li Family estate in the inner city, it caused a minor sensation.
On a crisp, overcast afternoon, the heavy iron knocker of the Serene Bamboo Compound echoed loudly. Mochen, who had been sitting in his private courtyard circulating the Primordial Turtle Breathing Technique, slowly opened his eyes, letting his heart rate gradually rise from a dormant ten beats per minute back to a sluggish, mortal fifty.
He walked out to the main reception hall just as Uncle Ming ushered in two towering figures.
It was Li Taiyuan, the Patriarch, and Li Changfeng, the eldest brother.
The contrast between the visitors and the host was stark. Li Taiyuan exuded the heavy, oppressive aura of a Bone Forging expert, his every step seemingly testing the integrity of the floorboards. Changfeng, clad in dark martial robes, radiated the sharp, aggressive heat of a young warrior at the peak of Flesh Refining.
Mochen, dressed in loose, comfortable gray scholar's robes, looked like a gentle breeze standing before a pair of thunderstorms.
"Father. Eldest Brother," Mochen greeted them, bowing respectfully but without the groveling fear he used to display. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit? I would have prepared a proper banquet had I known."
Li Taiyuan waved a massive, calloused hand, his stern face breaking into a rare, genuine smile. "Dispense with the formalities, Mochen. We are here as family, not as emissaries of the clan. Is the news true? All three?"
"It is, Father," Mochen said, gesturing for them to take the seats of honor while Chun'er hurriedly poured tea. "The Heavens have smiled upon this quiet courtyard. Qingxue, Xiaolian, and Yu'er are all with child."
Li Changfeng threw his head back and laughed, a booming sound that rattled the teacups. He stepped forward and clapped Mochen on the shoulder—a gesture Mochen deliberately allowed to stagger him slightly, reinforcing his physical weakness.
"Third Brother, you truly are a marvel!" Changfeng boomed. "You leave the martial path, claim you want to sit in a garden, and within half a year, you've done more to secure the family's next generation than my two entire barracks of guards! Even Second Brother hasn't managed to sire a child yet with his wives."
"Second Brother's mind is burdened with the complex ledgers of our entire dynasty," Mochen replied smoothly, perfectly playing the humble sibling. "My mind is entirely unburdened. I have nothing else to do but focus on the family."
Li Taiyuan sat heavily in the carved wooden chair, his piercing eyes sweeping over the immaculate, peaceful hall. He took in the scent of drying herbs from the front shop, the quiet discipline of the servants, and the healthy, relaxed posture of his youngest son.
"You have done well, Mochen," the Patriarch rumbled, his voice thick with a complex mixture of relief and pride. "When you asked for this estate, I feared you were simply seeking a place to hide and drink yourself to death. But you have built a true home here. A sanctuary."
"The martial world is too chaotic for my blood, Father," Mochen said, pouring the tea himself. "I leave the conquering to you and Eldest Brother. I am content to be the soil that nourishes the roots."
Li Taiyuan nodded slowly, accepting the cup. "Speaking of the chaotic world... the reason we came personally, besides congratulating you, is to offer a warning. The Iron Fist Gang and the Water Dragon Triad have broken their truce. There are skirmishes in the western and southern districts. The county magistrate is turning a blind eye, hoping they thin each other out."
Mochen's eyes widened in perfectly feigned alarm. "Skirmishes? Will it reach the eastern district? Should I hire more guards?"
"No," Changfeng interjected, his voice taking on a commanding, military edge. "Do not hire mercenaries. That only draws attention and shows fear. The eastern district is mostly residential and low-value commerce. They have no reason to bleed their forces here. However, I am assigning four of my personal, trusted guards to patrol the perimeter of your compound at night. They will wear plain clothes. They answer only to me, and they will ensure your pregnant wives are not disturbed by stray violence."
Mochen felt a surge of genuine relief, though he hid it behind a mask of profound gratitude. Free, high-level security provided by the main house. It was a massive boon to his risk-management strategy.
"I cannot thank you enough, Eldest Brother," Mochen bowed. "Your protection allows me to sleep soundly."
Li Taiyuan reached into his heavy robes and placed a small, intricately carved jade box on the table. "This is a century-old Blood-Ginseng from the clan's inner vault. Have that apothecary of yours slice it thin and brew it for your wives when they are close to their time. It will ensure they have the strength for childbirth."
Mochen took the box with both hands, feeling the faint, warm pulse of spiritual energy radiating from the jade. "Thank you, Father. I will guard it with my life."
The visit lasted another hour, filled with mundane talk of the apothecary's modest profits and the weather. When Li Taiyuan and Changfeng finally left, they walked out of the Serene Bamboo Compound entirely convinced that Li Mochen was the most harmless, unambitious, and dutiful son in the entire Great Yan Dynasty.
He was perfectly contained. He was no threat to the succession. He was producing heirs. He was exactly where they wanted him.
And they were exactly where Mochen wanted them.
The wheel of the seasons turned, an inexorable march of time that Mochen observed with the calm detachment of an immortal.
Autumn bled into a harsh, biting winter. The bamboo leaves in the compound turned a deep, frosty jade, and thick blankets of snow covered the terraced gardens. During these long, dark months, Mochen rarely left the compound. The 'Hundred Herbs Hall' was managed efficiently by Doctor Sun and the heavily pregnant, yet surprisingly energetic, Su Qingxue, who insisted on keeping the ledgers until she physically could not sit at the desk.
Mochen spent his days in his heavily insulated bedchamber. He had ordered a massive bronze brazier installed, keeping the room at a sweltering temperature. It was here, in the oppressive heat and absolute silence, that he made his first true breakthrough with the Primordial Turtle Breathing Technique.
It happened on the night of the winter solstice, the longest night of the year.
Mochen was seated in the full lotus position on his mahogany bed. His eyes were closed, his breathing so shallow that a feather placed beneath his nostrils would not have stirred. He had been circulating his internal energy for six hours straight.
In the martial world outside, cultivators absorbed the ambient spiritual Qi of heaven and earth, forcing it violently through their meridians to shatter their physical limits. The Turtle Breathing technique, however, generated its own profound energy from the utter stillness of the body. It was an alchemy of patience.
Suddenly, a deep, resonant thrum echoed within Mochen's chest, a sound only he could hear. It was as if a heavy bronze bell had been struck deep within his marrow.
The sluggish, dense blood that had been slowly fortifying his organs suddenly accelerated. It didn't burn like the hot blood of a Flesh Refining expert; rather, it flowed like a river of liquid mercury—heavy, cool, and unstoppable. He felt a wave of profound purity wash over his internal organs. His liver, heart, spleen, lungs, and kidneys seemed to vibrate in perfect harmony, shedding microscopic layers of mortal impurities.
When Mochen finally opened his eyes, the room was bathed in the pale light of dawn.
He exhaled a breath that was visibly gray—a physical manifestation of the stagnant, mortal toxins his body had just expelled. He didn't feel a sudden urge to punch a boulder. He didn't feel like he could fly. But as he looked down at his hands, he noticed that his skin had taken on a faint, almost imperceptible jade-like luster before fading back to its normal, pale tone.
"The Minor Completion of the Mortal Chapter," Mochen whispered, referencing the knowledge the system had imparted to him.
He pressed two fingers to his wrist to check his pulse. It was faint, steady, and incredibly slow. Eight beats a minute.
He was still technically a mortal at the Skin Refining stage. Any martial artist who fought him would easily overpower his physical strength. But if someone tried to poison him with standard arsenic? His liver would process it like a slightly spicy meal. If he were trapped in a collapsed cave? He could survive on a single breath of air for hours, slowing his metabolism to a near-hibernating state. His internal organs were now as tough as hardened leather, drastically reducing the risk of internal bleeding from blunt force trauma.
Most importantly, the passive [Ageless Immortality] felt more deeply integrated into his being. He looked into a polished bronze mirror on the wall. He was sixteen when he transmigrated. Nearly a year had passed. Yet, the face staring back at him had not aged a single day. If anything, the subtle bags under his eyes from his previous life's stress were gone, replaced by a terrifyingly serene perfection.
"Perfect," he murmured. "I am the ultimate turtle hiding in its shell. Let the tigers fight outside."
Spring arrived in Qingshui County with a violent burst of life, melting the snows and turning the dirt roads into impassable rivers of mud.
Within the Serene Bamboo Compound, the tension was palpable. The time for the harvest was approaching.
It began on the third day of the fourth month.
Mochen was in the study, carefully copying a medical text to pass the time, when a piercing scream shattered the quiet afternoon. It was a sound of primal agony, echoing from the eastern courtyard where Su Qingxue resided.
He dropped his brush, the ink splattering across the parchment, and moved with a swiftness that belied his usual sluggish facade. When he reached the courtyard, the servants were in a state of controlled panic.
"Master! It's time! The Madam's water has broken!" Chun'er yelled, rushing past him with a stack of clean white towels.
Mochen's analytical mind immediately shifted into crisis mode. Despite his agelessness, despite his system, he was a man from Earth who knew exactly how dangerous childbirth was in a society without modern medicine, without antibiotics, and without surgical intervention. The maternal mortality rate in this era was a terrifying statistic.
He stood outside the heavy wooden doors of the birthing room, his hands clasped firmly behind his back to hide their slight trembling. He had prepared for this for months.
"Uncle Ming!" Mochen barked, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic, commanding edge. "Bring the three midwives I hired last month immediately. Tell them I will pay them triple their rate if they are here within ten minutes. And send someone to Doctor Sun. Tell him to prepare the century-old Blood-Ginseng. I want the broth brewing right outside this door."
For the next four hours, Mochen paced the perimeter of the courtyard. The screams from within the room were horrific, tearing at a place in his chest he didn't know he possessed. He was a calculating man, an actuary who viewed his wives and future children as assets in his grand scheme for eternal power. But as he listened to Su Qingxue—the mild-mannered, intelligent woman who managed his household with such grace—suffer in unimaginable pain, the cold mathematics of his system temporarily vanished.
He felt a genuine, terrifying spike of human empathy.
Risk Assessment: If she dies, I lose a capable manager, a loyal partner, and the stability of my household. The child might survive, but without a mother's care in infancy, the mortality rate skyrockets.
He stopped pacing, forcing himself to breathe deeply, engaging the Turtle Breathing technique to manually lower his spiking heart rate. Panic served no purpose. He had bought the best care money could buy. The rest was up to the brutal reality of biology.
Finally, just as the sun began to dip below the western walls, casting long, bloody shadows across the courtyard, the screaming abruptly ceased. It was replaced by a tense, suffocating silence.
Mochen took a step toward the door.
Then, it came. A thin, reedy wail that rapidly escalated into a furious, demanding cry.
The door creaked open, and the head midwife, a sturdy woman with sleeves rolled up past her elbows and hands stained with blood, stepped out. She was exhausted, but her face was split by a massive, relieved smile.
"Congratulations, Third Young Master!" she bowed deeply. "The ancestors have blessed you. It is a healthy, heavy baby boy. And the Madam is exhausted, but she is safe. The bleeding is controlled."
Mochen exhaled a breath he felt he had been holding for four hours. He bypassed the midwife entirely, ignoring the societal norms that dictated a man should avoid the 'unclean' birthing room. He pushed through the doors.
The room smelled overwhelmingly of sweat, copper, and burning medicinal herbs. Su Qingxue lay on the bed, her hair plastered to her forehead, her skin as pale as fresh snow. But she was smiling, looking down at a small, wriggling bundle wrapped in fine silk.
Mochen approached the bed slowly. He knelt beside it, gently taking his wife's trembling hand.
"You did brilliantly, Qingxue," he whispered, his voice thick with genuine emotion. "Thank you."
She turned her exhausted eyes to him. "He is strong, Husband. He kicks like a little horse."
The midwife brought the bundle over, carefully placing it into Mochen's awkward, inexperienced arms. He looked down at his firstborn child. The baby was red, wrinkled, and currently screaming its lungs out. To anyone else, it was just a normal, ugly newborn.
But as Mochen focused his gaze on the infant, the ethereal azure screen of his system violently flickered to life, projecting directly over the child's face.
[Ding!]
[Scanning First Generation Descendant...]
[Name: Unnamed (Host must designate)]
[Age: 0 Years]
[Cultivation: None]
[Innate Aptitude: Above-Average (Hidden Affinity Detected: Wind/Saber)]
[Lifespan Potential: 90 Years (Mortal Baseline)]
[Current Status: Healthy. Rapidly absorbing ambient spiritual energy due to superior aptitude.]
[System Notification: The first anchor for the Eternal Ancestor Feedback has been established. Nurture this descendant well. Their future glory shall become your eternal foundation.]
Mochen stared at the glowing blue text. The relief of the safe birth was instantly eclipsed by a surging, calculating triumph.
Above-Average Aptitude. In the Great Yan Dynasty, a person with 'Average' aptitude could, with immense effort and resources, perhaps reach the peak of Bone Forging in their late fifties. A person with 'Above-Average' aptitude was considered a minor genius. With the right techniques and endless resources—which Mochen possessed in spades—this child was guaranteed to reach the Blood Moving realm, perhaps even Qi Condensation, before he was thirty.
And the hidden affinity for Wind and Saber arts... that was a goldmine. The Li Family's primary martial arts were earth and fist-based. Mochen would have to secretly procure specialized manuals for this boy when the time came.
"He needs a name, Husband," Qingxue said softly, pulling Mochen from his thoughts.
Mochen looked at the squalling infant, then out the window toward the vast, darkening sky.
"He is the beginning," Mochen said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that Qingxue couldn't possibly understand. "He is the foundation upon which our family will rise. His name shall be Li Xuan."
Xuan. Meaning profound, mysterious, and deep. It was a fitting name for the first seed of a dynasty that would operate entirely in the shadows.
"Li Xuan," Qingxue repeated, a soft smile touching her lips before her eyes fluttered shut, succumbing to the exhaustion of labor.
Mochen stood there, rocking the child until the crying subsided into a rhythmic, sleeping breath. He looked down at Li Xuan, feeling a profound, terrifying duality within his own heart.
He loved this child. It was his flesh and blood, a life he had brought into this brutal world. He would protect him, feed him, and ensure he had a childhood free from the starvation and violence that plagued the streets outside.
But simultaneously, the cold, calculating actuary within him viewed the infant as an investment. A long-term bond that would mature over a century. He would pour gold, herbs, and secret martial manuals into this boy. He would push him to become a peerless master of the saber, a man who could split rivers and ride the wind.
And then, one day, many, many decades from now, when Li Xuan finally grew old, his hair white and his body failing, Mochen—still looking like a sixteen-year-old scholar—would sit by his deathbed. And when the boy breathed his last, all that power, all that saber comprehension, all that lifetime of bitter cultivation, would flow seamlessly into Mochen's ageless body.
"Grow strong, my little Xuan," Mochen whispered to the sleeping infant, a chillingly benevolent smile on his face. "Conquer the heavens for your old man."
The birth of Li Xuan was only the opening act of the compound's frantic spring.
Less than two weeks later, Lin Xiaolian, the sturdy commoner concubine, went into labor while she was instructing the gardeners on how to properly prune the peach trees. True to her village reputation and robust constitution, her labor lasted a mere two hours. She practically birthed the child with the ease of a seasoned veteran, refusing the pain-numbing herbs and demanding a large bowl of beef stew immediately afterward.
Mochen stood beside her bed, holding his second child. It was another boy.
[Scanning First Generation Descendant...]
[Name: Unnamed]
[Innate Aptitude: Above-Average (Hidden Affinity Detected: Earth/Body Tempering)]
Mochen named him Li Shan, meaning Mountain. With an Earth affinity and a body-tempering focus, this boy was destined to be a physical juggernaut, a perfect immovable object to complement Li Xuan's unstoppable saber.
Finally, a month later, Zhao Yu'er, the former mercenary, gave birth. Her labor was the most difficult, her body carrying the hidden, untreated internal injuries from her past life of violence. Mochen had to force Doctor Sun to administer half the century-old Blood-Ginseng directly to her to keep her heart from failing during the grueling process.
When the ordeal was over, Mochen was handed a tiny, fragile-looking girl.
[Scanning First Generation Descendant...]
[Name: Unnamed]
[Innate Aptitude: Above-Average (Hidden Affinity Detected: Shadow/Assassination Arts)]
Mochen blinked at the system screen. A girl with a natural affinity for stealth and killing arts. The irony of his peaceful compound producing a natural-born assassin was not lost on him. He named her Li Ying, meaning Shadow.
Within the span of a single spring, the Serene Bamboo Compound had been utterly transformed. The quiet, contemplative silence that Mochen had engineered was replaced by the chaotic symphony of three crying infants, the frantic rushing of wet nurses, and the constant boiling of medicinal broths.
Mochen stood in the center of his courtyard late one night, listening to the muffled sounds of his expanding family echoing from the surrounding buildings. The moon was full, casting a pale, silver light over the manicured gardens and the thick, protective walls.
The first phase of his grand plan was complete. The seeds were planted. They had breached the soil.
Now, the truly difficult part began. He had to raise them. He had to guide their explosive talents without revealing his own hidden agenda. He had to foster a fierce, competitive drive within them while maintaining the facade of a lazy, loving father who only wanted them to be "healthy and happy."
He closed his eyes, sinking into the familiar, glacial rhythm of the Primordial Turtle Breathing Technique. His heart slowed. His blood cooled.
"Three seeds," he thought, the silence of eternity wrapping around him like a comforting cloak. "It is a good start. But a true forest requires thousands. Tomorrow, I must ask Madam Lin to begin searching the neighboring counties."
The Everlasting Patriarch had all the time in the world, and he intended to use every second of it.