Chapters 12
She could not refuse, wuming had already planted the fear of her soul reaper eyes.
Father's eyes shifted back to him.
He is measuring micro reactions, Wuming noted.
Breathing steady. Pulse unchanged. Maintain childlike posture.
"She learns quickly. Maybe tomorrow she'll help me surpass you. She's a good teacher for her age. And my mother's trusted maid."
Competitive. Childish. Non-threatening.
Father leaned back slightly.
"If she is capable, demonstrate."
Test.
If he performs too cleanly → abnormal. If too poorly → contradicts growth. If refused → suspicion.
Alternative: philosophical deflection.
"Demonstration without purpose wastes effort," he said calmly. "You already saw enough."
Wuming thought.
Father's gaze sharpened for half a second.
He sensed the maturity in that answer.
Wuming adjusted posture slightly. Lowered shoulders. Slightly softer expression.
Reminder: I am seven.
Father then said, "You have grown sharper."
Translation: You are different.
Wuming thought:
Yes. And you noticed. The old coot is sharp indeed.
Response needed — respectful but not defensive.
"I only try not to embarrass our bloodline."
Safe. Clan-centered. No personal ambition stated.
Father went silent.
He was now calculating: Qi refinement faster than expected. Meridians are unusually stable. Speech pattern advanced. Poison incident unresolved.
Wuming observed him thinking.
Father suspects something. But lacks proof. Therefore he probes socially.
Wei Zhi remained quiet.
Wuming's internal note: She must remain implicated but not endangered. If my father believes she influenced me, suspicion will split. If he believes I developed alone, scrutiny increases.
Always distribute anomalies across multiple variables.
Never allow an anomaly to center on self.
After a moment, father stood.
"Do not grow reckless."
Meaning: I am watching.
Wuming thought: He won't move until evidence solidifies. He values stability over impulse. Good. Predictable.
Aloud he said only, "Yes, Father."
When Katsuro left, silence lingered.
Wei Zhi glanced at him briefly.
He knew what she was thinking: You redirected the blade toward me.
He thought calmly:
Better you than me. And you are intelligent enough to survive it.
After his father left, the door slid shut with a soft sound.
Silence returned — but not the same silence.
His mother studied him.
"I do remember taking young Wei Zhi to the library with me," she said thoughtfully. "But I did not know you two would make such good use of that."
Her gaze shifted.
"Impressive, Wei Zhi."
Wei Zhi bowed smoothly. "You flatter me, my lady. It was only my duty. Young Master learns quickly."
Wuming lifted the teacup to his lips.
Warm.
Bitter.
Clean.
He let them speak.
Inside, his mind had already moved on.
Autumn crocus.
Mild toxicity. Useful in measured doses. If refined properly, it could temper poison resistance. Small exposures. Gradual conditioning. Controlled damage to strengthen internal organs.
If I begin now, by ten my body will not fear common toxins.
If someone tries again, they will fail.
His mother's voice interrupted the calculation.
"I have made a decision."
He looked up calmly.
"You will begin formal swordsmanship training tomorrow. I will arrange the best swordsman in the clan."
A normal child would brighten.
He did not.
"As you wish, Mother," he replied evenly.
Inside—
Best swordsman?
Who?
If it is Elder Gu, he emphasizes foundation and repetition. Slow growth. Safe.
If it is Uncle Jian, aggressive style. Tests reflexes. Risk of exposure.
If it is someone from the royal guard… then Father intervened.
Variables.
He set the cup down.
I was the best once.
The thought did not carry arrogance.
It carried memory.
Muscle memory is rusted. This body lacks calluses. Tendons not conditioned. Lung capacity insufficient. Reaction time slowed by a childish frame.
Acceptable.
That can be rebuilt.
What matters is whether I reveal too much.
If I learn too quickly, suspicion increases.
If I learn too slowly, I waste time.
Optimal path: progress at 1.3 times expected speed.
Impressive, but not unnatural.
His mother watched him.
"Are you excited?" she asked.
Excitement.
He considered the word.
"It will be beneficial," he answered.
Not eager.
Not resistant.
Controlled.
Wei Zhi glanced at him briefly.
She knows.
She understands that training is not about swords.
It is about observation.
Instructors report.
Servants whisper.
Strength draws attention.
He stood from his seat.
"I will rest early then."
His mother smiled. "Good."
As he turned away, a quieter thought surfaced.
Xuan swordsmanship.
It was once built around me.
Now I must relearn it as if it is new.
His fingers flexed slightly.
Rusty hands can sharpen again.
And this time…
He would not fall to arrows.
The next morning the training ground was still cold.
Mist clung low to the stone tiles.
Uncle Gu was already there.
No ceremony.
No greeting.
He stood with his hands behind his back, plain gray robes, hair tied carelessly. His expression permanently irritated — as if existence itself had disappointed him.
He did not bow to Yin Fu.
He only said, "If he cannot keep up, I will not waste my time."
Yin Fu's tone remained mild. "That is acceptable."
Uncle Gu's eyes dropped to Wuming.
A long pause.
Assessment.
Posture. Breath. Foot alignment. Shoulder tension. Eye focus.
Wuming felt the scan.
He adjusted nothing.
A seven-year-old body. Balanced but not perfect.
Uncle Gu spoke flatly. "I will open your fourth eye by your tenth birthday."
Wei Zhi inhaled slightly.
Three years.
Opening the fourth level of the clan's Eye Domain in three years was not normal.
It was punishment disguised as ambition.
Uncle Gu continued, "That means you train until your hands split. Until your stance does not shake. Until your breath does not falter. If you cry, I leave. If you complain, I leave. If you fall behind, I leave."
Silence.
Wuming looked at him.
Calm.
Inside—
Fourth eye by ten?
Aggressive schedule.
The body will need reinforcement.
Tendons strengthened. Bone density increased. Internal qi circulation stabilized earlier than planned.
Possible.
But the instructor assumes strain will break me.
He studied Uncle Gu more carefully.
Calluses thick along the thumb base. The right shoulder is slightly heavier than the left — dominant strike angle. Breathing steady but not slow — disciplined, not meditative.
Temperament: rigid. Results-driven. Dislikes mediocrity.
Conclusion: This man teaches through pressure.
Wuming's lips curved almost imperceptibly.
Will he be able to keep up with me?
Not arrogance.
Evaluation.
If I reveal too much, he will grow suspicious.
If I hide too much, he will push harder.
Optimal path: surprise him slowly.
Uncle Gu tossed him a wooden sword.
"Show me your foundation."
Wuming caught it cleanly.
Grip slightly imperfect on purpose.
He stepped into stance.
Not too stable.
Not too fluid.
Just beyond average.
He began the first form.
Measured.
Breath controlled but not deep enough to seem unnatural.
Strike.
Turn.
Withdraw.
Uncle Gu watched without blinking.
Midway through the third transition, Wuming deliberately misaligned his rear foot by a fraction.
Uncle Gu struck the back of his ankle with a bamboo rod.
"Wrong."
Wuming corrected instantly.
No complaints.
Continue.
The form ended.
Uncle Gu walked around him once.
"Again."
No praise.
Good.
This one will not flatter.
Second round.
Faster.
Uncle Gu's eyes narrowed slightly.
He sees the retention speed.
Wuming slowed his improvement curve deliberately.
Not too obvious.
After the fifth repetition, Uncle Gu finally spoke.
"You learn quickly."
Neutral tone.
But his grip on the bamboo rod tightened.
Wuming lowered his gaze slightly.
"I do not want to embarrass my clan."
Safe answer.
Uncle Gu studied him for another long moment.
"Ambition is useless without endurance. We begin conditioning tomorrow at dawn."
Translation: Today was only testing.
Wuming inclined his head.
Inside—
Conditioning is good.
It accelerates adaptation.
Pain is irrelevant.
Only exposure must be controlled.
Uncle Gu turned away.
"Three years," he muttered. "We will see if you survive it."
Wuming watched his back.
Survive?
He almost smiled.
I survived betrayal by sovereigns.
I survived death.
I survived reincarnation.
He adjusted his grip on the wooden sword.
Let us see, Uncle.
Who truly keeps up with whom.
Uncle Gu left without another word.
His footsteps faded across the stone courtyard.
Silence returned.
From the edge of the pavilion, Yin Fu stepped forward.
She had been watching.
Her pink and orange hanfu moved gently in the breeze, embroidered edges catching the morning light. The jade pendant at her waist swayed softly — she favored that one. He had noticed it many times before. She always wore it when she felt proud.
Wuming lowered the wooden sword.
Wei Zhi approached quietly with a folded cloth. She handed it to him first, then hesitated before stepping closer to wipe the sweat from his temple.
He did not stop her.
His breathing was heavier than usual.
Controlled, but real.
The first time since awakening that his body had been pushed beyond comfort.
Good.
It means this body can still be shaped.
Yin Fu smiled.
"Impressive, Wuming."
Not exaggerated. Not overly affectionate.
Measured approval.
He walked with them toward the shaded corridor — the curved wooden roof casting patterned shadows across the stone floor. They sat at a low table overlooking the courtyard.
He wore white today.
White hanfu trimmed in black.
The contrast made his expression seem colder than it was.
Yin Fu poured tea herself.
"Uncle Gu is stern," she said lightly. "But he is one of the most profound swordsmen in the Xuan clan. A venerable. Few can withstand his training."
Wuming lifted the cup but did not drink immediately.
He listened.
"Before your father took his position," she continued, "Uncle Gu was considered the blade of the clan. He does not believe in talent. Only repetition. Only discipline."
Wei Zhi stood slightly behind them, silent as always.
Yin Fu glanced at Wuming carefully.
"He agreed to teach you on one condition," she said. "That he would not slow down for you."
Wuming took a small sip.
Bitter.
Balanced.
He thought:
He intends to force rapid development.
Break weak foundations early.
Risky method.
But efficient.
Aloud he asked, calmly, "Has he failed before?"
Yin Fu's eyes flickered slightly.
"A few."
Honest answer.
"Some could not endure his expectations."
Wuming nodded once.
So he filters.
Not nurtured.
Good.
The breeze shifted.
Wei Zhi quietly placed the towel aside and refilled the teapot.
Yin Fu studied her son's face again.
"You did not look frightened."
"I am not," he replied simply.
Not arrogance.
Just the truth.
Yin Fu's smile deepened faintly.
"That is why I allowed it."
There it is.
She is testing too.
Wuming leaned back slightly.
He could still feel strain in his forearms.
Muscle fibers adapting.
He would need to accelerate internal conditioning tonight.
Autumn crocus.
Micro doses.
Gradual poison resistance.
If Uncle Gu increases physical stress, I must increase recovery efficiency.
Yin Fu continued, almost casually, "He once opened his own fourth eye before twelve. That is why he believes it is possible."
So that is the origin of the timeline.
Projection.
He sets his own standard onto others.
Wuming finally drank the rest of his tea.
Three years.
Fourth eye.
Not impossible.
But it is unnecessary to rush openly.
He glanced toward the courtyard where Uncle Gu had stood.
Will he be able to keep up with me?
Not in power.
In perception.
That is the real test.
Yin Fu reached forward and adjusted his collar slightly.
"You are still a child," she said softly.
He looked at her.
Am I?
Outwardly, yes.
Inwardly—
He gave her the answer she expected.
"I understand, Mother."
Wei Zhi watched the exchange quietly.
She was beginning to understand something else.
Uncle Gu would push him.
The clan would watch him.
But Wuming…
Wuming was choosing how much to reveal.
And that was far more dangerous than raw talent.
After Yin Fu was called away by a maid — summoned by the Clan Master — she paused at the steps.
"There are four venerables in this clan," she had said earlier. "Uncle Gu… Jian… Bai Ning… Bai Shen. Remember that."
Then she smiled softly.
"Have a good day, Wuming."
And she left.
He watched her go.
The way she moved… It never looked like walking. The hem of her hanfu barely disturbed the dust. It was as if she floated across the stone.
Like a spirit descending, not a mortal woman.
After a moment, Wei Zhi spoke.
"Are you sure you want this?"
He didn't look at her.
She continued carefully, "Lady Meihua once tried to make her elder son learn under Elder Gu. He lasted five days. His meridians cracked under pressure. After that, the First Young Master transferred to Uncle Jian."
Silence.
Wuming finally turned toward her.
Morning light caught in his golden eyes.
Cold. Measured.
End of 12