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Chapter 1: A Length of Black Cloth

Translator: Nyoi_Bo_Studio Editor: Nyoi_Bo_Studio

Fan Shen struggled to keep his eyes open. He looked at his fingers, counting off all the worthwhile things he'd done in his life, but the slender fingers on his right hand, thin as chopsticks, didn't get past five. With a sigh, he gave up trying.

The smell of hospital medicine was always so pungent. The other day, the old fellow in the next bed had passed away, and in a few days, he'd probably be next.

He'd contracted some sort of strange disease, and there was no strength left in his muscles. It seemed like the kind of sickness some hero in a romance novel would get, one where if you didn't get to a hospital, you'd eventually end up unable to even fart or burp, only being able to produce tears.

"But I'm not a romantic hero," Fan Shen mumbled. Unfortunately, the muscles in his jaw had wasted away to such an extent that this came out as a vague string of nonsense.

He stared at his middle finger, filled with self-pity. "I'm still a virgin."

...

...

He'd done nothing worthwhile his entire life apart from helping old ladies cross the street, giving up his seat on the bus, being a good neighbor, letting his classmates copy his test answers...

Fan Shen was the classically useless nice guy.

His parents had died a while back, and so it was just him at the hospital, waiting for his life to come to an end.

"Nice guys finish last."

One quiet and lonely night, Fan Shen felt as though his throat muscles were losing strength, as they were no longer able to tighten or loosen up, and his breathing muscles gradually lost their strength, like a rubber band losing its elasticity.

He had no idea where that neat young nurse had gone. By his side was an old lady, her eyes filled with pity as she rambled on.

"Am I going to die?"

His fear of death and thirst for life had stirred up complex feelings he'd never known before, and the fact that the last moments of his life would be spent with this old lady instead of that cute nurse he'd been waiting so long to see no doubt added to his sorrows.

Feeling miserable, his eyelids drooped, and he cast his hazy eyes toward the black curtain hung over the hospital ward window blocking out the sunshine. Life is lonely as hell, he thought.

—————————————————————

Feeling miserable, a single drop of liquid fell from the corner of his eye.

Fan Shen felt rather miserable, licking away the tear that had found its way to the corner of his mouth. To his surprise, he found that his tears were not only salty, but also slightly fishy. The hospital bathed him so rarely - could it be that even his own tears had started to stink?

In his thoughts, he couldn't help but curse. Look at you! You have tears streaming down your face! Do you really still think you're some kind of hero?

But he soon realized something wasn't quite right. How come he could still stick his tongue out to lap up the tears? The doctor said he'd lost the ability to move his tongue a while ago. Now the only use for it was letting it slide easily down his esophagus, blocking his respiratory tract; he'd become one of the few geniuses to commit suicide by swallowed tongue.

Later he found that it was becoming easier to open his eyes. His line of vision opened up, his eyesight becoming sharper than it had been even before he had contracted this disease. The view before his eyes was bright and clear, and he saw something made of bamboo right in front of him.

...

Fan Shen, dumbfounded, separated the bamboo rods, and found himself facing an astonishing sight: A dozen or so figures stood, menacing and clothed in black from head to toe. Each of them held something sharp in their hands, and raising it in the air, they hacked away at themselves!

For a moment, he couldn't be sure if this was a dream or some strange near-death experience. Instinctively, he drew his head back and threw his hands in front of his face, acting as any normal person would in such a situation, like an ostrich burying its head in the sand.

Hahahaha... the sound of endless tittering filled the air.

It was followed by a great chorus of melancholy groans, and finally, silence. After a moment, Fan Shen felt a sense of unease. He cautiously separated two of the fingers on the hand he was hiding behind, covertly looking through the gap.

A bamboo basket lay in front of him, dividing the space before his eyes into strips, and through the holes, he could clearly see a dozen or so corpses lying on the ground, blood pouring onto the floor, the stench of it filling the air. He saw it all too clearly, and the terror rendered him temporarily unable to move.

But soon after, he suddenly thought about his own hands. Could they move now? Had he really recovered? What the hell had he just seen? Was it a dream? If he awoke, would he find himself lying in his bed, unable to move, awaiting death once more? If that were the case, he might as well never wake up. At least his hands could move; at least his eyes could blink.

The thought saddened him, and he wiped his wet face with his hand.

He took his hand away and looked at it.

It was covered in blood.

The liquid that had dripped from the corner of his eye had been someone else's blood splashing onto his face.

Fan Shen stared blankly at his hands, his heart pounding.

These aren't my hands!

In front of him was a pair of delicate and beautiful hands, covered in blood. They looked like flowers blooming in a slaughterhouse. They certainly weren't the hands of an adult.

He was overwhelmed by the shock of it. His consciousness adrift in crashing waves, he could only stare blankly, filled with endless doubt as terror gripped his entire being.

...

...

It was the Qing Kingdom's 57th year, and there was still no end to the emperor's battle campaign against the western barbarians. Count Sinan rode alongside the army, while the empress dowager and the council of elders governed in the capital.

On this day, there had been a fire at the Taiping Courtyard, located on the outskirts of the capital, on the banks of the Liujing River. A group of killers prowled the night, taking advantage of the blaze and rushing into homes, slaughtering everyone in sight in a horrific massacre.

A young servant in the courtyard fought back while carrying his young master as he was chased by a group of killers in dark clothing. The two sides fought by the southern gate of the city walls.

The ambushing warriors had not expected this physically disadvantaged youth to possess such unfathomable strength, and after reaching a hill, they came across reinforcements - reinforcements whose identity made their blood run cold.

"The Black Knights!" the fearsome killers cried out as they fell in their own blood, pierced through by crossbow arrows.

The reinforcements rode on horseback, clad in black armor and enshrouded in moonlight, as if emitting the faint glow of soul eaters.

Each of them had only their standard military-issue crossbow, but in a volley of shots, they had taken down most of the killers.

Shielded in the midst of the cavalry was a middle-aged man sitting in a carriage. His complexion was pale, and a sparse beard grew upon his chin. He looked at the young man carrying the child upon his back, nodded, then clapped his hands gently.

That clap was the signal to attack!

A squad split off from the cavalry, and like a reaper's scythe in the night, they charged relentlessly into the bloody fray, laying waste to the rank of killers.

Suddenly, a sorcerer emerged from amongst the killers. Lifting his staff, he began to chant an incantation. They all felt the rumbling of some unspeakable force gathering on the hills.

The man in the carriage frowned slightly, but he did not move. From his side, a shadow leapt out into the night sky, soaring upward like an eagle.

With a crunching sound, the sorcerer's chanting stopped, and his head was wrenched violently upward from off his shoulders, his blood spilling like a shower of rain.

The man in the carriage shook his head. "These sorcerers from the west just don't understand," he said. "In the face of true strength, magic is about as useful as a minister's writing brush."

Dozens of cold-as-steel riders made sure the perimeter was clear, clenching their right fists in a gesture to signal to the others that the killers had been completely vanquished.

The ranks of the cavalry split, and the carriage slowly rolled forward, coming face to face with the young servant. With the aid of his subordinates, the man moved from the carriage into a wheelchair, his legs too damaged to walk. He pushed himself along, unhurriedly approaching the epicenter of the battleground, while the young servant remained straight as a ramrod.

Looking at the bamboo basket on the young man's back, the wheelchair-bound man's pale face turned red, finally betraying some hint of color. "At last, you've made it," he said.

The face of the young man, carrying the basket on his back, was covered by a strip of black cloth. In his hand he held a black iron, dagger-like chisel, the blood dripping slowly from its point. He was surrounded by the corpses of his ambushers, their throats covered in blood in what seemed to have been the deadly blow.

"I need you to give me an explanation for this. "His eyes covered with black cloth, he spoke coldly, his voice untrembling and without a trace of emotion.

The wheelchair-bound man's pitying look at once turned conspiratorial. "Naturally, I'll give you an explanation," he said, "but I also need to give one to your master."

The young servant nodded, and got ready to leave.

"Where are you taking this child?" the middle-aged man said coldly, sitting on the wheelchair. "You're blind, mind you; don't tell me you're making Young Master wander the world with you?"

"This is the young lady's flesh and blood."

"That's the master's flesh and blood too!" the middle-aged man in the wheelchair continued coldly. "I guarantee that I'll find a very safe place for Young Master here in the capital."

The other man shook his head and stretched the black strip of cloth on his face. The middle-aged man in the wheelchair knew this boy would listen to no one but that young lady; he couldn't be given orders, not even by his own master. Sighing, the man reasoned, "Everything going on in the capital will be taken care of once the master comes back, so why must you take him away?"

"I do not trust your master."

The middle-aged man furrowed his eyebrows slightly, as if disgusted by what he just heard. He paused for a brief moment, then said, "A young child has to nurse, to learn words; can you provide those things?" He laughed mockingly. "You, blind man? What can you do other than murder?"

The other man didn't get angry, merely nudging the bamboo basket on his back. "You too seem only capable of slaughter, cripple."

The middle-aged man let out a chilling laugh. "This time it was only those high-class noblemen in the capital. After the master comes back, I will naturally start cleaning them up."

The blind youth shook his head.

The middle-aged man lightly massaged his wheelchair with his hand, as if guessing what it was the other feared. A moment later, he frowned. "I know what you're afraid of, but in this earthly world, only the child's father can protect him. Is there anyone else with the power to help him escape such a nameless danger?"

The blind youth suddenly spoke, his voice still emotionless. "A new identity, a new life left in peace."

The middle-aged man thought for a moment, then nodded with a smile.

"Where's the place?"

"Danzhou Port. The master's mother is currently living there."

After some silence, the blind youth finally accepted this arrangement.

The middle-aged man, smiling, rolled his wheelchair around and behind the blind youth. He then reached out and picked up the child in the bamboo basket. Looking at the child's cute face, which was delicate and snow-white, he sighed.

"He really does take after his mother. So beautiful." He suddenly laughed out loud. "This little thing is sure to grow up and make a name for himself."

His subordinates, who had been standing far away in silence, suddenly heard their superior let out such joyous laughter. While their expression remained unchanged, deep down, it shook them to their core; they had no idea how important this child was.

"Huh?" the blind youth tilted his head and took the child back. Although he was more innocent than regular humans, he still didn't want the baby's face getting too close to the hands of this venomous serpent, while at the same time using one syllable to express his question out of polite courtesy.

The middle-aged man smiled, looking at the child's face. There was something indescribable and terrifying in that smile.

"He is only two months old, and yet he wiped away the blood on his face. Having experienced tonight's scary events, he is sound asleep. Just goes to show..."

Suddenly he lowered his voice, making sure not even his subordinates could hear what he said next, "... he is the child of the Tianmai."

That middle-aged man held tremendous power in the capital, his methods cruel and without equal. Any law-breaking official who ended up in his hands would spit out the truth in no more than two days. His gaze was even more sinister, but as extraordinary as he was, not even he realized that the child wasn't soundly asleep, but had instead fainted from fright.

...

...

Tianmai: "Tian" refers to the heavens, whereas "Mai" refers to the bloodline.

"Tianmai," then, describes the heavenly bloodline left in the human world, a bloodline which, according to the legends of this world, awakened in the human world every few hundred years.

This bloodline could manifest through unyielding and overpowering combative strength, such as that belonging to The General from the distant ancient country of Nas. During a historically critical moment, one in which his country was on the verge of perishing at the hands of barbarians, he assassinated much of the original barbarian congress using his courage and vigorous combat capabilities.

Then there were those Tianmai who showed exceptional talent in areas like art or wisdom, such as a couple from west, Boer the Scholar and his playwright wife, Fubo, both of whom died 300 years ago.

Of course, nobody could prove that the reason the bloodline remained in the human world was because of Heaven's concern for the suffering and pain of humans, though in truth, these beings brought much more than peace to the human world.

Furthermore, all Tianmai vanished without a trace; neither a person nor country could find a clue as to their whereabouts. They disappeared as suddenly as they came, leaving only obscure records, though nothing that could prove their existence.

Coincidently, the middle-aged man in the wheelchair was one of the very few people who knew that this rare phenomenon truly existed.

For some unknown reason, after Fan Shen died, his soul came to this world … and remarkably into the body of a baby, whose father or mother turned out to be Tianmai who surfaced on the mainland.

By dawn, the battlefield had been cleared, and the carriage slowly moved along the stone road towards the east. Behind the carriage was the bizarre scene of a team of cavalry clad in black and a sickly pale middle-aged man in a wheelchair.

The carriage went over a rock, the sudden motion awakening the sleeping baby, who had been lying on the silk cushion. The baby's eyes soullessly looked away from his savior's face and towards the front of the carriage, his line of vision unlike that of any other baby; it was crystal clear but unable to focus, and there was a strange and indescribable to it feeling as well.

Not one person knew that the soft and fragile body of the baby accommodated a soul from a different world.

Eyes were on the scenery when the curtains of the carriage lifted, a breeze passing by and revealing a corner view of green mountains and the retreating stone path in the distance, like an endless display that kept on rewinding.

In front of the carriage, a blind boy held tightly to his iron rod, his eyes covered by a black cloth thank blanketed both his eyes and the day.

Chapter 2: Story Time

Translator: Nyoi_Bo_Studio Editor: Nyoi_Bo_Studio

Danzhou Harbor lay to the east of the state of Qing, near the sea. Since the recent completion of the ports in the South, and with the sea route to the West that was opened up early on, the state's center of trade had moved south. As a result, Danzhou Harbor was gradually forgotten. The formerly bustling port had quieted down years ago.

Seagulls flew freely, no longer harassed by annoying sailors.

The local residents of Danzhou Harbor, on the other hand, had not experienced much change in their lives. Although their income had decreased, the emperor had been exempting them from paying taxes for years, and they continued to lead comfortable lives. Not to mention that the seaport was very beautiful and, now quiet, it naturally became more livable.

Once in a while, some big name would come to Danzhou Harbor and build a manor.

However, as it was so far from the imperial capital, few of the officials really settled down there. Perhaps only the old lady who lived in the house to the west of the city could be counted as one.

It was said that the old lady was the mother of Count Sinan, and moved to Danzhou Harbor in her retirement. Everyone in the city knew that Count Sinan was favored by His Majesty. He was never dispatched in accordance with normal practice, but stayed in the imperial capital and worked with the Treasury Department. So, most residents showed sufficient politeness and respect to the house.

Children, however, did not understand these things.

It was a sunny day. The adults were sitting in the pub, enjoying the salty moisture carried in by the sea breeze, eating brined plums and drinking liquor from goblets.

A crowd of teenagers surrounded the stone steps outside the back door of Count Sinan's estate in the western part of the city.

Approaching them, a funny scene would be revealed, as the teens were listening to a small kid of four or five years old.

The small boy was adorable, with eyebrows that seemed painted on and a pair of bright eyes. Though his voice was childish, the tone of his speech was as mature as an adult.

Heaving a sigh, he made a gesture with his small arms and continued, "Truman walked toward the wall and found a ladder. He climbed the ladder, step by step, and found a door. He pushed the door open and went out...."

"And then?"

"And then? Then...he was free again," the small kid pouted, appearing impatient that the teens would ask such a basic question.

"You must be kidding? Why didn't he...that Chris...."

"Christof," interrupted another teen.

"Yes. Why didn't Truman beat up Christof to vent his anger? He had been imprisoned for years."

The small kid shrugged and said, "No."

"Hush! So boring. Young Master Fan Xian, today's story is not as interesting as the one from a couple days ago."

"Then, what kind of stories do you like?"

"An Ethereal Journey."

"A Great Epic."

"Hush!" said the small kid called Fan Xian, extending his middle finger at the bigger teens around him. He admonished, "Fighting and killing are unhealthy, digging all over for treasure makes nature unwell."

Suddenly, a furious shout came from the courtyard, "Young master, where are you!?"

Imitating his gesture, all the teens flashed their middle fingers, a most spectacular sight because of the large number of kids. They made a collective "Hush!" and ran away with laughter.

The small child, Fan Xian, stood up from the stone steps, patted the dust off his rear, turned around, and ran into the courtyard. Before he closed the door, he glanced with his clever eyes at the young, blind boss of the grocery store across from the house, displaying a complexity of emotion that did not match his age. He then gently closed the door.

It had been four years since Fan Shen had come to this world. During that time, he gradually came to the realization that he was not dreaming. He truly did arrive in an unknown world. In some ways, this world appeared the same as the one he remembered, but in others, it was not the same at all.

Overhearing the gossip of the servants in the count estate, he had finally deciphered his identity. He was the bastard son of the capital's Count Sinan.

In stereotypical stories of rich and powerful families, a bastard son was easily hated and persecuted by the wife and concubines. His honorable father, who had no real power, seems to have had only one son. To carry on the family lineage, Fan Shen was sent to Danzhou Harbor, far away from the capital.

Over the years, he had become accustomed to his identity. Still, the soul of an adult trapped in the body of a child has to withstand experiences completely different both physically and psychologically. A normal person would probably go insane. Luckily, in his previous life, Fan Shen was bedridden for many years due to a neuromuscular disease called myasthenia gravis. Compared with his miserable former life, the slight difficulty in moving now was nothing at all. Though living in the body of a child, he had adapted well to his current life.

What he was most unaccustomed to was his name. At the age of one, the Count sent a letter and gave him the name Fan Xian and the style name Anzhi.

It was not a good name. In the dialect of his hometown, it sounded like a curse, meaning "freak."

His form being that of a mere baby at the time, he had no way to express his opposition using words.

At the start of his hospital treatment in his former life, Fan Shen could move his head. He often begged the cute nurse to buy him pirated DVDs and books.

Living in the Count's home, he learned that the Countess was a kind woman with a reputation for coldness. In fact, she cared for Fan Xian very much. The servants never treated him differently for being born a bastard. However, he was still upset because he could not communicate with anyone.

How could he tell the servant girls that he came from another world? How could he tell his teacher that he could read every character in his books?

So, he often snuck out the side door to play with the non-royal children. Much of the time, he regaled them with stories from the movies and novels of his homeworld.

It seemed that he wanted to remind himself of something. He wanted to remind himself that he did not belong to this world. In the other world, he had movies, Internet and porn.

He didn't know why he told the kids about The Truman Show today. With its unsuspecting plot and without the charming Jim Carrey, he should have known that the youth of Danzhou Harbor would not like it at all.

But he told the story anyway.

Deep in his heart, he felt his situation to be ridiculous—why would he suddenly, so close to death, be reborn in this new body? He couldn't help but think of that movie...maybe the people on the streets and the seagulls in the sky were props?

Just like The Truman Show.

Truman finally realized that his reality was fake. He resolutely sailed until his boat punctured the wall of the dome, and he found an exit door.

But Fan Shen—no, Fan Xian—knew that he was not Truman. This world was real, not some huge movie set.

So he found himself telling stories every day to remind himself that he belonged to another world. How ridiculous it all was!

Chapter 3: The Nameless Yellow Book

Translator: Nyoi_Bo_Studio Editor: Nyoi_Bo_Studio

The one good thing about being reborn would probably be having four limbs that one could be active with. Xian was grateful for this fact; it would be difficult for people who never experienced the kind of disease he had to feel the sort of happiness he felt. He took comfort in the fact that this was perhaps God's gift to him.

It took him four years to finally figure it out: Since he had an opportunity to live again, why not make the most of it? If God had blessed him with this new life and he had wasted it, wouldn't that dishonor God? Since he could move now, why not move even more?

All the servants of the Count's House knew that this young master, born of a concubine, was an extremely active child.

"Young master, we're begging you! Please, calm down!"

It was during that moment that Fan Xian was sitting at the very top of the fake mountain in the courtyard, smiling as he looked out toward the distant sea.

To the maids, it was clear that a 4-year-old boy who climbed such heights and smiled with such maturity was insane.

Gradually, more people gathered around the fake mountain, with seven or eight servants eventually forming a hasty circle around the mountain.

Although Count Sinan was appreciated by the emperor, he did not earn a lot of money and was of low-ranking nobility. Even if he did earn a lot of money, he couldn't possibly spend it all on his mother and illegitimate child. That's why there were so few servants in the Count's home.

Fan Xian looked down from the fake mountains at the faces of the panicking servants and could not help but sigh. He obediently climbed down, "It was only a bit of exercise. Why all the fuss?"

The servants were used to the peculiar maturity with which the young master spoke, and so simply ignored the quirk as they took him away to his shower.

After washing Fan Xian until his lips were bright red, his teeth sparkling white, his body

smooth and smelling good, the maid held him up and smiled whilst rubbing his cheeks,

laughing as she said, "Young master looks exactly like a little girl; I wonder what lucky lady will be blessed with you in the future."

Fan Xian naively did not reply, as he wasn't the kind to use a four-year-old's mouth to flirt with a maid in her teens; he refused to do something so tasteless…He would wait until he was six to take on such a challenging task.

"Time to sleep, kid."

The maid patted the little boy's bottom. All of the servants found it odd that despite the young master's age, he was already developing an unruly attitude, and yet at the same time, he maintained the self-discipline and diligence of a grown man.

Like during his naptimes.

Those that had a normal childhood would remember how they had to fight with demons who would try forcing them to sleep during a sunny afternoon.

One knew these demons by the name of Mom, Dad, or even their teachers.

But young master Fan Xian never needed anyone to force him to sleep. Everyday at noon, he would put on his cutest, most innocent smiling face and return to his bedroom obediently to sleep, never making a single sound.

The old lady did not believe it at first, often shouting at the maids to keep an eye on him. She thought that the boy was using sleep as an excuse to mess around and play on the bed. However, after keeping an eye on him for half a year, she realized that the boy was indeed sleeping, dead to the world and often difficult to wake up, even when shouting at him.

From then on, the maids didn't pay much attention, and just kept guard outside his room.

It was summer, so naturally the maids were tired, their bodies tilting to the side. The small fans in their hands moved softly, and occasionally, a firefly would dance in the wind created by the fan.

…

…

Back in the bedroom, Fan Xian climbed onto his bed and uncovered the mat, carefully retrieving a book that he had hidden.

The cover of the book was a light yellow, and it was showing its age. There was not a single word on the cover, but the borders were embroidered using unknown motifs. These motifs curled on their final stroke, like clouds or the wide sleeves of ancient clothing.

He gently opened the book to page seven, which showed the illustration of a ** man. A part of the man's body was obscured by red lines, and even though the boy couldn't discern what paint the red lines were made with, they created an illusion that made them seem as though they were slowly moving in some direction.

Fan Xian sighed; he looked four on the outside, and he had to be careful not to reveal his true self. Fortunately, he had the book to pass the time with.

The book was given to him by a blind youth named Wu Zhu when he was very little...

Fan Xian had always thought of the young blind man, who was a servant of his mother in this world.

Trapped in the body of the baby, he had lain in the arms of the blind young man while travelling from the city to the port. Perhaps the young man did not anticipate a baby remembering anything, but as Fan Xian was not an ignorant baby on their travels together, he could tell that the young man truly cared for the toddler with all his heart.

For some unknown reason, the young man left after dropping him off at the duke's no matter how the old lady had persuaded him to stay.

Before he had left, he placed the book next to the baby.

Fan Xian always had suspicions about the situation: Did the servant have no reservations about him learning on his own? After some thought, he realized that the reason was because he was still a baby at the time, and it would have been thought impossible for him to recognize the words, so naturally there was no problem.

However, Fan Xian could read the text of this world, and after the dramatic change that had happened to him, he believed, without a doubt, in the existence of gods and devils. He was even more certain that the book looked exactly like a prop on a Hong Kong wireless television drama, some kind of spiritual training to zhenqi. [1]

It was a shame that there was no name to the book, otherwise he would have been out on the streets asking the neighborhood kids if this zhenqi spiritual training method was any good.

Thinking of this, Fan Xian laughed out loud. Since God let him relive his life, he was going to treasure this opportunity. Neigong [2] was something good that did not exist in his world, and even if this nameless spiritual training method on zhenqi had been a bunch of nonsense, it didn't stop him from starting to practice with it at the age of one.

It wasn't far off from starting practice in the womb, and you couldn't get any earlier than that

No one born in this world, not even the masters worshipped by the people, not even if they were geniuses, could be on the same level as Fan Xian, who started zhenqi training at such young age.

What was it called? This is the early birds getting the worms; this is stupid birds flying first.

In any case, surely he would not be as stupid as kids who got their first glimpse at martial arts, right?

While Fan Xian was thinking about this, he could already feel the zhenqi flowing. It slowly circulated the lines of the drawings in the book, and flowed into his body. This was an extremely soothing sensation, as if warm water was cleansing every inch of his body and organs.

Gradually, Fan Xian fell into meditative state and comfortably slept on his bed.

[1] Essential qi

[2] Exercises to benefit the internal organs; the art of building up one's strength through breathing and other exercises of the internal organs

Chapter 4: Practice and Study

Translator: Nyoi_Bo_Studio Editor: Nyoi_Bo_Studio

In truth, Fan Xian did not know that he was practicing a profound spiritual art. If he had become a soldier, he would train carefully, practicing with utmost caution, and ask for the aid of a teacher or the watchful eye of a trustworthy friend.

The most dangerous aspect of this practice was in the fundamentals. When accumulating one's qi in the dantian and xueshan - the pubic region and the coccyx - an enormous discrepancy will arise between the reaction speed of the practitioner's body and spirit. The most direct consequence of this is the immobilization of the practitioner's bodily functions, which will leave them in a vegetative state.

When this happens, the inexperienced practitioner may falsely believe that they have lost control of their senses, and forcibly channel zhenqi into the organs. If they are both fortunate and exceptionally strong, they may be able to redirect the body's scattered zhenqi into the meridians, but this will all be for naught. If this happens to a novice, they may begin to panic, and this may lead to actual demonic possession.

Though also a novice, Fan Xian could not only kept control of his senses, but was able to comprehend this mysterious feeling with more ease than some of the strongest practitioners. This was partly thanks to the experiences of his previous life, and partly thanks to luck.

When he had begun to practice manipulating this obscure zhenqi force, his new body was that of an infant. The innate energy he had drawn from his mother's body had not yet completely returned to the world; it remained within him. Thus, his training advanced effortlessly so that, miraculously, a great part of this innate zhenqi remained in his meridians.

Consequently, those obstacles which are most likely to stump the average practitioner were no trouble for Fan Xian.

In his previous life, Fan Xian's illness confined him to his sickbed for a number of years, and he was long accustomed to his brain having no command over his body. So when he first encountered this situation, he did not panic, but instead felt the warmth of the memories of his past.

Thus, during his first attempt at practice, just as he became vaguely aware of his qi, it dispersed. When this left him paralyzed, he remained unafraid.

It was exactly his absence of fear which kept his mind clear and undisturbed, allowing him to easily surmount this most challenging of obstacles.

From that point on, his practice became easier. He needed only to contemplate the secrets of the art, and he would enter a meditative state. This helped Fan Xian sleep soundly throughout his daily nap; even thunder did not wake him.

Most practitioners found it difficult to enter such a state because it was largely reliant on chance and coincidence. To be able to meditate during one's daily nap like this child did was an indescribable luxury.

Heaven truly smiled upon him.

...

...

As soon as he awoke, he found his cute little face writhing against a towel held by the servant girl who washed him.

In the afternoon, he began to study in the library under the tutor whom the Count had specially invited from the Eastern Sea to teach him. This tutor was not particularly old by any means; no more than thirty. Yet his body gave off the decrepit odor of someone much older.

Literary culture had greatly improved across the state of Qing over the past decade, and ever since the publication of the scholar Hu Shih's Discussion on Literary Reformation, battle lines had been drawn between "old language" and "new language".

The so-called "old language" was what Fan Xian remembered to be classical Chinese, while "new language" was similar to written vernacular Chinese, though perhaps a bit more refined.

Fan Xian's tutor was an ardent classicist, and so Fan Xian spent every day poring over one classic text or another. Although these classics were rather different from the Four Books and Five Classics, the classical literary canon of Fan Xian's world, they were astoundingly similar in moral content, and even featured the same schism as that between Confucianism, Mohism, Legalism, and Daoism.

When he had his first lesson, Fan Xian started wondering just where he actually was.

It was a stuffy summer and the humidity hung in the air of the library. The tutor opened the south-facing window and the crying of the cicadas carried by the cool, refreshing breeze penetrated the room. He turned around and saw his young pupil slumped over the table, lost in thought. He was about to summon up some words of rebuke, but somehow lost the mettle to do so when he looked upon his charge's fair, gentle face.

In truth, he quite admired the boy. Though young, he spoke eloquently and knew quite a bit about what their forebears had written on virtue. For a four-year-old urchin, it was really quite impressive.

The tutor also had doubts. Count Sinan seemed so anxious, and the demands in his letter had been so great that he felt forced to obey. Now he had to begin teaching the scriptures to this young child. If it were any ordinary person, they'd only be studying a few characters at that age; puerile stuff, really.

At the end of the lesson, Fan Xian politely saluted his teacher and respectfully waited for him to leave the library. Then he shed his outer layer of clothing, already drenched with sweat, and ran out of the library. The anxious servant girl followed, rushing after him shouting, "Be careful!"

He stopped when he reached the courtyard and a silly, innocent smile spread across his face. Like a little adult, he swaggered into the room and, upon seeing the old lady sitting in the center, yelled out sweetly, "Nainai!"[1]

The old woman smiled kindly, the deep wrinkles on her face showing her age. Only occasionally, her eyes would flash in a way that let people know that this was no ordinary old lady. It was said that Count Sinan owed everything he had to this woman's presence in the capital.

"And what did you learn today?"

Fan Xian stood politely in front of her chair and told her everything he learned from his tutor that day. After saluting her, he went to the side courtyard to eat with his younger sister.

The relationship between the old lady and her grandson was a strange one, perhaps because Fan Xian was an illegitimate child. Though the old woman never mistreated him, she expected a lot from him, so there was always a slight feeling of distance.

Fan Xian remembered this old lady cradling him as he cried when he was just a newborn. She could never have imagined that a newborn baby could understand what she said to him, let alone remember it so deeply.

"My child, it's ok if you want to blame your father for this. Poor little one. Just born, and your mother's no longer with us."

...

...

History - this was perhaps the biggest question on Fan Xian's mind. The moment he arrived in this world, he witnessed a murder. He knew that his father was Count Sinan, whose face he had never laid eyes on - but who was his mother? That year, Count Sinan had followed the emperor's army on his expedition to the west, and the murderers had come to kill Fan Xian's mother.

His body was home to a soul that had come from another world, so he could never feel any sort of filial emotion toward the Count. But, from time to time, he thought of that long-dead woman whom he called mother.

[1] "Nainai", or"grandma", referring specifically to one's fraternal grandmother.

Chapter 5: The Nocturnal Visitor

Translator: Nyoi_Bo_Studio Editor: Nyoi_Bo_Studio

"What are you thinking about?"

As the two servant girls were serving food, the young girl sitting next to Fan Xian asked, pouting. Her skin was slightly ashy and she was somewhat skinny, so she looked rather pitiful sitting next to the fair and genteel Fan Xian.

Fan Xian stretched out his hand and stroked her downy hair, chuckling. "I was wondering what you usually eat when you're in the capital."

This little girl, even younger than Fan Xian, was Ruoruo, Count Sinan's daughter and Fan Xian's half-sister.

She was such a sickly child, and the Countess felt sorry for her granddaughter, so the girl had been brought to Danzhou the previous year to recuperate. Though she had been coalescing for nearly a year, it had no noticeable effect; her hair remained wispy and thin. In a noble family such as the Count's, there was no shortage of food, so it couldn't have been malnutrition - it was likely a natural debility.

Fan Xian and the young girl got along very well. Although he saw himself as being something of an uncle to her, he was really there to provide company. He often took her out to play and told her stories. In the eyes of onlookers, however, this was evidence of their deep sibling bond.

It was Fan Xian's status as a bastard that caused some awkwardness - it wasn't proper to compare him to the Count's legitimate daughter, so the servant girls took pains not to bring up the Count's business in the capital.

She answered her brother's question earnestly, twiddling her fingers, telling him of all the things she ate when she was in the capital. But as she began to list them, it seemed that all she could think of were candied hawthorn fruits and little dough figurines.

By the time they had finished eating, it was late. The sun had sunk halfway beneath the horizon and dense crepuscule enveloped the courtyard.

"Ruoruo, you're such a weakling."

"Stop being mean."

"Ok, what story do you want to hear today?"

"Snow White!"

Fan Xian smiled. He was lucky nobody else was around, because it would be most unsettling to happen upon this four-year-old boy smiling that wicked smile that only adults are capable of.

"How about I tell you a ghost story?"

"No!" Horrified, Ruoruo shook her head vehemently, her ashen cheeks suddenly damp with tears. It was clear that over the past year she'd already suffered enough ghost stories.

...

...

Tormenting young girls was one of Fan Xian's vices. He was an expert at menacing the servant girls, and often told them ghost stories which would incite incessant shrieking and leave them huddled together in bed, trembling.

Though he couldn't tease them verbally, lest he arouse suspicion, he still enjoyed their soft, perfumed embraces.

He reassured himself that he was still a child and needed physical contact. There was nothing shameful about it; it was a natural desire.

And whenever the servant girls got curious - the young master is still so little, how does he know so many scary stories? - Fan Xian placed the blame squarely on his tutor.

And so the servant girls came to look on the tutor with mistrust: Count Sinan spent so much money bringing him here to teach the young master, and he spends all his time telling ghost stories, scaring the life out of the poor little lad and scaring us girls half to death - what an awful man!

After wrapping up the last ghost story, two of the servant girls were frightened senseless. They washed the young master and tucked him into bed.

It seemed like a normal night.

Fan Xian rested his head upon the hard porcelain pillow, then went to his wardrobe and brought out a winter robe. He folded it up into a rectangle and used it as a pillow.

He rested against the pillow, but his eyes stayed wide open. The dark night shimmered. He couldn't get to sleep.

Even though he had come to accept many things about his reincarnation into this world, there was still one thing he couldn't get used to: that he had to be asleep by 9 o'clock in the evening.

He'd spent enough time sleeping on his sickbed in his past life.

He felt along the surface of the bed and discovered a nook where he would not be seen. He relaxed and, naturally, his zhenqi began to slowly flow. He soon entered a meditative state.

A moment before he entered this state of emptiness, Fan Xian wondered - how should I live in this world? Just how should he spend the decades ahead of him?

He was just about to drift off into the harem reveries that he had conjured up so many times in his former vegetative state when he was woken by an unexpected guest.

...

...

"Are you Fan Xian?"

There was someone at the foot of his bed with icy-cold eyes and unusually brown pupils. With just one look, Fan Xian knew that this was not a benevolent visitor.

It was a polite enough question, but when asked in the middle of the night by someone who had snuck into one's room, face concealed, dagger in hand, and with small bags tied about the waist, it was a somewhat disconcerting one.

Fortunately, Fan Xian was not a normal four-year-old boy; if he were, he would have cried out upon seeing this strange man.

He was also acutely aware that a visitor who could so stealthily infiltrate the Count's estate was a man of great means and little mercy. If he were to cry out, he would certainly be killed.

Thinking this over, Fan Xian couldn't help but feel some pride in the fact that, even in the face of death, his cognitive skills remained sharp. He coughed twice, trying to keep the fear in his heart from bursting forth. Disguised as this adorable young boy, he pounced!

...

...

"Papa, you're finally back!"

Eyes brimming with tears, the four-year-old boy threw himself into the embrace of this would-be murderer, his arms clutching his waist. Yet the child's arms were too short, so he could only grasp onto his clothing as if he feared the man would run away.

Perhaps he had grasped too firmly. With a rip, the boy tore a strip from the man's clothing.

The night visitor furrowed his brow. He couldn't figure out how to react, so he tore himself away from Fan Xian's embrace and stood there dumbfounded. He seemed to be trying to figure out why Count Sinan's bastard child would call him "papa".

He was perplexed. His clothing was made from the finest materials; even a blade should have trouble tearing it. How did this young child rip it with his bare hands?

Yet Fan Xian was even more puzzled than the man. When he was all alone, he had used his time in the rock garden to test the power of his zhenqi on the stones. When he discovered that his slender little fingers could just barely crush softer stones, such as turquoise, he developed confidence in his capability for self-defence.

Fan Xian had managed to use the distraction of his childish tears to get his opponent to let down his guard. He focused all his strength into his fingers, fully expecting to be able to stop his assailant in his tracks. He hadn't expected that he'd only tear away some clothing.

It seemed like something serious was about to happen.

Chapter 6: The Pillow

Translator: Nyoi_Bo_Studio Editor: Nyoi_Bo_Studio

Although Fan Xian was only four years old physically, he carried a grown man's soul within him. The bloodshed that had surrounded him on the day of his birth into this world was imprinted upon his mind and had always weighed upon him heavily. He knew that one day, his own mysterious past would catch up with him.

It seemed that today was that day.

His sneak attack had not been successful. His pathetic tears, intended to confuse this unexpected visitor, were of no use now. He quickly racked his brains in search of a means of escape.

If he cried out, his assailant would make short work of him. Currently, the man wasn't moving - he was clearly still confused by Fan Xian crying out "Papa!"

Seeing that his sneak attack had been ineffective, Fan Xian decided to rely on the innate advantage of his youth. He looked up into the visitor's eyes and wailed: "Papa! Papa…!"

As tears streamed down his face, he nervously continued to plot his escape.

"It's no use pretending, young Master Fan." The visitor's tone was indifferent, and yet seemingly without a trace of menace. "You're a smart one, it seems. Quite an instinct for self-preservation for one so young. But it should be quite obvious to you that I am not Count Sinan."

The night visitor gestured with the knife in his hand, and then moved toward Fan Xian.

Fan Xian's face remained streaked with perfectly innocent tears, but his heart pounded. "Who are you?" he sobbed fitfully.

"Your father sent me to find you. So don't scream."

The night visitor's eyes were tiny, brown, and not particularly pleasant to look upon. The wrinkles in the corners betrayed his age, and his manner of speaking reminded Fan Xian of dirty old men who tried to trick the young servant girls into relinquishing their maidenhood.

But Fan Xian didn't give anything away, and he perfectly played the role of a frightened child, startled and slightly angered.

"You're not my papa!"

Then, as if he hadn't seen the knife in his assailant's hand, he turned tail and climbed up on the bed, grumbling. "I don't even know what my papa looks like."

The man laughed darkly, advancing toward the bed.

Suddenly, turning around and looking behind the visitor, Xian's eyes flashed with surprise as he shouted out, "Mama!"

...

...

It wasn't exactly a great diversion. He would have not been fooled had anyone else tried it. After all, the night visitor was a great master who owned an entire laboratory in the capital.

But as he had no reason to suspect this young boy of trickery, the night visitor believed him when he heard his cry out "Mama!"

The night visitor's face betrayed a look of shock as he whipped his head around to look.

Of course, behind him was only a tightly-closed door and the deep dark night.

A thwack! echoed throughout the bedroom.

His head covered in blood, the man fell to the floor.

In his hand, Fan Xian held a chunk of the porcelain pillow. Still rattled, Fan Xian looked down at the man, gripping the severed chunk of porcelain tightly. He gritted his teeth, raised his arm, and brought it down full-force upon his attacker's head.

There was a sickening thud. Despite the fact that this night visitor was a grand master, he'd be out of it for a while thanks to the blow from that pillow.

...

...

A servant-girl's voice arose from outside. "What was that?"

"It was nothing! I dropped a cup. We'll clear it up tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? If Young Master steps on it, then what will we do?"

"I said we'll deal with it tomorrow!"

Hearing such a forceful response from the usually gentle and innocent young lad, the servant girl decided not to press the matter.

Fan Xian went back to one side of the wardrobe, and with some difficulty, pulled out a heavy winter quilt. He tore it up into strips with his fingers, twisted it, and securely tied up the man who lay on the floor.

At this point, he discovered that his back was soaked in cold sweat.

A sudden fear gripped him: This was the first time he'd ever tried to kill someone, in either his previous life or this one. He wasn't sure whether he'd actually killed the man or not, but he'd taken a great risk - if this man was a skilled fighter, then Fan Xian's own little life would have undoubtedly been snuffed out.

Passing his hand over the night visitor's cloth-covered face, he found that he was still breathing. He wasn't sure why, but he suddenly got it in his head that he should do his visitor in for good.

He shivered.

It seemed he had become so hard-hearted after his rebirth - he was almost ready to do something so heartless, without even the slightest hesitation.

He was unaware that deep within his heart, he saw himself as someone who had already died once. His rebirth in this world was a particularly precious gift, and he would not allow anyone to threaten his life.

It was a simple principle: just as one can only realize the strength of wine after one gets drunk, one can only know the value of life after one has died.

Gripping the knife in his hand, he pondered. He still wasn't sure whether he should kill this nighttime visitor who lay on the floor. Suddenly, he thought of someone, and a smile crept across his face. Quietly, he pushed open the door, and crawling through a hole that the dogs used to come in and out, he came to the shop that stood on the street corner outside the Count's compound.

...

...

Tap tap tap. He knocked gently on the shop's door, his voice low so that no one else in Danzhou could hear him in the night.

But Fan Xian knew that the person inside would hear the knocking. Although he pretended not to know him for the past four years, when things came to a head, Fan Xian thought of him as the only person he could trust.

"Who is it?" The vendor's dull and emotionless voice came from the shop.

Fan Xian wondered if this man really was the same as he was outside the capital years ago, meticulous in all his affairs. He rolled his eyes, and in a quiet voice he responded, "it's Fan Xian."

Sure enough, the wooden shop door opened without a sound, and the blind youngster stood at the doorway like a ghost, startling him.

Fan Xian looked at the person who had brought him to Danzhou Harbor. He looked at this man with, with cheeks that seemed untouched by time these past four years and eyes covered by a length of black cloth, and he couldn't help but wonder: How was it that this man hadn't aged at all?

Chapter 7: The Guest

Translator: Nyoi_Bo_Studio Editor: Nyoi_Bo_Studio

With an unconscious assassin lying on his floor, he had little time to ask questions. "Someone came to kill me," he said, getting straight to the point. "I knocked him unconscious and he's lying on my floor."

The blind youngster cocked his head slightly. His heart skipped a beat, but his face didn't move an inch. He bowed his head courteously.

"Young Master Fan, what on earth are you talking about?"

"There's no time to pretend. You know who I am." Fan Xian laughed. No matter what, he'd always pretend he didn't know him. Pulling the blind boy along by the hand, he tried to lead him back to the estate.

"You're still talking nonsense, young master."

The blind boy furrowed his brow. It seemed doubtful that this young child could know his identity - when he had bought Fan Xian to Danzhou, wrapped in swaddling clothes, he was no more than a few months old. He shouldn't have been able to remember him. Could the Countess in Count Sinan's mansion have told him who he was?

It was the dead of night. In the distance, dogs howled mournfully - someone in some house had used the wrong door.

Wu Zhu's face remained indifferent as he listened to Fan Xian talking beside him. Finally, he closed the door of the shop and made his way over to the Count's compound. Fan Xian let out a relieved sigh and followed, his small strides struggling to keep up.

Coming to the Count's house, the two boys squeezed through the dog-hole and stood there in the bedroom. Wu Zhu "saw" the unconscious assassin on the floor.

Fan Xian looked at the man, unsure whether he was alive or dead.

"Wu Zhu," he asked nervously, "why did you always pretend not to know who I was when I came to your shop?"

Wu Zhu cocked his head again. He paused for what seemed like a long time before he finally spoke. "Young Master, you really have amazed me."

He was indeed rather taken aback. Even though he knew that the boy standing before him was the Lady's child and so would no doubt be an unusual young boy, he would never have expected a four-year-old to be so mature, let alone capable of… matching wits with Master Fei.

"Let's deal with him first."

With great difficulty, Fan Xian had managed to turn the assassin over, and he removed the cloth covering his face, revealing his true identity.

His facial features were thin, and he seemed to be getting on in years. The beard on his chin was streaked with flecks of white, but for some reason, there appeared to be a faint green tinge, as if he were ill.

Somewhat perturbed, Fan Xian jumped over behind Wu Zhu, and grabbed his sleeve. "This assassin doesn't look like a nice guy," he whined.

"This is Master Fei, head of the Third Bureau of the Overwatch Council." Wu Zhu squatted on the floor, feeling the assassin's jawline. "He is one of three people known to be masters of the use of poison. He is adept at using it, identifying it, and remedying it. For someone as fearsome as this to be struck down by a kid like you, holding a chunk of porcelain pillow? I don't know whether you're extremely lucky or if his luck just ran out."

"He was unlucky," Fan Xian said quietly to himself. Granted, he was rather astonished to encounter such a powerful figure, but thinking on it, it was much worse luck for such a man to encounter a freakish young boy whose soul came from another world.

"Don't touch him," he warned Wu Zhu. "What if there's poison on his body?"

Wu Zhu didn't pause, nor did he explain anything, but his determination suggested to Fan Xian that he wanted to show there wasn't a poison out there that could harm him.

Fan Xian knitted his brow with a pained expression. "Uncle, what do we do about him?"

He wasn't always of a mature temperament, but in this world, this blind youngster was the first person he had known, and the only person who he dared to trust completely. He knew that he was a powerful warrior, so he made sure to act both cute and deferential, and 'uncle' seemed the best thing to call him.

His gaze darted from place to place, and finally fell upon the knife. He gritted his teeth. The best thing to do, he thought, would be to stab this Master Fei to death.

Sensing his movement, Wu Zhu stood up. "You are so different from the Lady," he said, shaking his head. "So young and yet so ruthless. I don't know who taught you to be like that."

"I learnt it myself." Fan Xian didn't dare offend this warrior; not when he was the only person he trusted. "Uncle, I know that you've spent all this time in the shop protecting me. And I know that you're worried my mother's enemies could find me because you're here, so you didn't stay in the Count's house. So it's a good thing that I'm a little ruthless."

Wu Zhu shook his head again, saying nothing.

Fan Xian knew that this sworn servant of his mother was beginning to get suspicious. He laughed. "Uncle, what do we do next?"

His meaning was clear. Killing was an area in which Wu Zhu excelled.

Wu Zhu's response came as a surprise. "Young master, you got the wrong man," he said coldly.

"Huh? The wrong man?" Fan Xian stood dumbfounded, slowly lowering his head to look at the assassin's bloodied face.

"But either way, we can't stand around doing nothing."

"Master Fei is head of the Third Bureau of the Overwatch Council," Wu Zhu said coolly. "But secretly... to be precise, he is a subordinate of a subordinate of your father. So he hasn't come to Danzhou to kill you. If he wanted to, I don't think there would be anything you could do about it; you'd already be dead."

Fan Xian thought back. The assassin now lying on the ground had said that his father had sent him, but...

...…

...…

"Hell, you've become just like T-Bag. Who'd believe this old lech?"

————————————————————————

Fei Jie had been in the Overwatch Council for years. He was now in his fifties, and though he had a reputation as an expert in poisons, the truth of it was he was already semi-retired. If he hadn't had an offer from a powerful person to teach in Danzhou, and he'd had the courage to turn it down, he'd never have left the capital.

But he didn't expect to be assaulted, left bleeding and close to death the first time he laid eyes on his student.

Looking at the cherubic face of this young boy, with his big blinking eyes, he felt a twinge of fear mixed with shame. He knew exactly who this cute little kid was, and it filled him with a sudden anger that he couldn't express.

He turned to face a young lad who looked like some kind of servant, ready to take his anger out on him. "You! Untie me this instant! I am Master Fei, and the Count has paid a lot of money for my services!"

The servant appeared to be even more arrogant than he was. He didn't pay any attention to him at all. "I don't recall it ever being stated in your boss's and my agreement that you would come teach," he said coolly.

"Master Wu?" Fei Jie's muddied eyes widened - though they were discolored brown from the use of poison, he could see clearly now who the servant was. "Why, it's you!"

Fan Xian stared at the now-awake assassin. This was puzzling indeed.

Chapter 8: The Cemetery

Translator: Nyoi_Bo_Studio Editor: Nyoi_Bo_Studio

Fan Xian was perplexed by Fei Jie. Why would a father care so much about his illegitimate child? Why would he hire a teacher especially for him? If all he needed was someone to teach him to read, then why did he send for this old weirdo?

Fan Xian could see that Fei Jie recognized Wu Zhu. He didn't feel it was right to interrupt their conversation, and so he sat on the bed and played dumb, with a distracted look on his face.

Waiting for the masters to explain everything, Fan Xian loosened the bed sheet that he had bound Fei Jie with, then hid behind Wu Zhu giggling, acting the fool.

But the two imposing men in front of him were fully aware that he was no ordinary child.

Daylight was beginning to break. The sounds of crowing roosters and servants boiling water could be heard faintly in the distance.

"At some point, I'd like you to explain how you know who I am," said Wu Zhu coldly as he led Fei Jie out of the door.

Fan Xian's heart skipped a beat. He had no idea how he should explain it. When he travelled the hundreds of miles to Danzhou with Wu Zhu four years ago, he was barely a few months old. He racked his brains, but couldn't think of a good excuse; all he could do was blame that strange old man for his frightening intrusion.

The city of Danzhou had begun to rouse itself awake, but the unremarkable shop showed no signs of being open.

Hidden in a secluded room within the shop, Wu Zhu eyed Fei Jie coolly. "What is that cripple up to?"

Fei Jie could be considered a great expert in more ways than one, but faced with the rumored cold-blooded viciousness of the blind youngster, he was nervous. "The young master will one day be a grown man," he replied, "and he'll face a lot of problems in the capital. The earlier he is prepared for them, the better chance he has of success."

Wu Zhu lifted his head to face him.

Though he knew full well that he was blind, Fei Jie always felt that behind the cloth that covered his face, Wu Zhu was staring at him with murder in his eyes. "If you object, Master Wu," he said, "I shall return to the capital. I am sure that the master will treat your complaint seriously."

Wu Zhu shook his head. "I thought the cripple sent you for more than that. It's not that simple."

"Correct." Wu Zhu was the only one who dared to speak about the master that way, thought Fei Jie. "The master has never found the box that the Lady left behind," he said, bowing his head as he spoke. "He is very worried that someone may find it, and so he has asked that you advise him on the matter, Master Wu."

"It's no use looking," said Wu Zhu flatly. "The Lady destroyed it before she passed away."

Fei Jie nodded and turned to leave. Stopping, he frowned. "There's something odd about the young master. He's only four years old, and yet you've let him study such a powerful form of zhenqi cultivation. Are you not worried something might happen?"

"What's odd about it," replied Wu Zhu as he stared at the man who was soon to be the young master's teacher, "is that I never taught him any zhenqi. That'll be your job."

Fei Jie rubbed the wound on his head, which was beginning to ache. He had a bad feeling about all this. Forcing a smile, he took his leave.

After he had left, Wu Zhu made his way into a secret room within the shop. There in the corner stood a dust-covered box. Though his eyes may have been covered by a length of black cloth, anyone could have seen that he was deep in thought.

...

...

Later that day, a strange man came to the Count's mansion. Presenting a card with his name on it, he received an audience with the Countess. Somehow, he gained her trust, and was invited to serve as the second tutor for the young master of the Fan household.

The servant girls quickly spread this strange news. How could this roguish-looking old man, his head covered in bandages, be qualified to act as tutor for the adorable young master?

In the library, Fan Xian kneaded his tutor's back, massaging it with his fists. Considering the ugly business with the porcelain pillow that had transpired the night before, he felt that he had best get back in Master Fei's good books as soon as possible.

"It wasn't my fault, sir!" He said in a voice so sweet and childish that even he felt repulsed by it. "You had a knife, and I'm just a little boy, so I was scared..."

I had the knife because I had to pry open the door, thought Fei Jie. I just wanted to take a peep at what the fabled bastard child had grown up to look like. How was I to know he suffered from insomnia?

It was perhaps an inevitable misunderstanding, and unfortunately it had left him with an aching head. There had to be some way he could be compensated for his troubles.

"I thought you were going to teach me something in secret," said Fan Xian.

"That's right," replied Master Fei. "In a lot of folk tales, a young child meets some strange traveller and learns some mystical art, and no one around them has any idea what's going on. That sort of thing actually happens a lot."

Fan Xian fixed Master Fei with a stare as he talked.

"But there are more than just fools in this world, and you are not my daughter-in-law, and I do not care for climbing walls every day." Fei Jie stared sternly back at the young boy. "Given that I've pretended to be a teacher, it is better that I use this as an opportunity to teach you."

Fan Xian giggled and climbed onto his lap. "Teacher, do you know my papa? What is he like?"

Fei Jie's face went red. He knew this young child was ruthless, no matter what sort of innocent act he put on, yet he was filled with a sense of powerlessness. On hearing the question, he paused in thought for a moment. "The Count is a friend of my boss', so he asked me to come and teach you. You can call me your teacher."

"Teacher, what are you going to teach me?"

Fei Jie laughed, and his brown-flecked pupils flashed with an unusual light. "I... am a master of poisons. I have come to teach you how to use poison to kill, and how to avoid being poisoned by others."

He thought his words would frighten the young boy to tears, but he quickly realized that the little boy standing in front of him was no ordinary child, so trying to scare him in this way would be of no use.

Sure enough, Fan Xian's big eyes were filled with excitement, and he fluttered his long eyelashes as he blinked with fervent interest. "What are we waiting for? Do you want me to go catch some rabbits to experiment on? Or maybe some frogs?"

Fei Jie turned away, dumbfounded. Was this kid really only four years old?

———————————————————————

Several months later, at a burial mound a dozen or so miles away from Danzhou Harbor, faint dawn began to break in the pale eastern sky. It spread across the gloomy cemetery, making it seem even ghastlier and more dreadful.

With his hands tucked into his sleeves, Fei Jie stood outside the cemetery looking at the young master who was stooping in an open grave with trembling brow.

Under the pretext of going on an outing, Fei Jie had taken Fan Xian away from the Countess for several days. They had actually gone to the cemetery to dig up corpses to study the structure of the human body.

He knew that the young master Fan Xian was no ordinary child, but as he watched him acclimatize so quickly to the gloom of the graveyard, steady his mind, and dissect the corpses as he had been learning that month, he couldn't help but feel rather horrified.

Fei Jie was a professional, used to dealing with corpses all the time. But he had never come across a four-year-old boy who was so calm around dead bodies.

The prim, handsome boy, surrounded by the fetid stench of death, wore a face mask as he yanked the entrails out of a half-rotted corpse.

It was an utterly ghoulish scene. This second life was about as miserable as the first one, thought Fan Xian horribly.

Chapter 9: Age is Just a Number

Translator: Nyoi_Bo_Studio Editor: Nyoi_Bo_Studio

Pulling down his face mask and washing his hands with clean water, Fan Xian started recording the features of the corpses. He analyzed the diseases the deceased might have contracted, taking detailed notes in a black, leather-bound notebook Fei Jie had given him.

After he was finished, he stood up, his face somewhat pale, his long eyelashes fluttering incessantly. "Is there anything else to do, sir?"

Looking at him, Fei Jie frowned. He hadn't expected the kid to have such guts.

Before he could open his mouth to say anything, the nausea had finally gotten to Fan Xian. He ran to the edge of the graveyard and began to vomit violently. When the nausea had finally passed, he stood up again.

A soft look of pity glanced across Fei Jie's face. Had he been too harsh, ordering a four-year-old boy to get up close and personal with such terrible things? As he watched Fan Xian vomit, Fan Jie suddenly realized that this was the first time he really seemed like a child, rather than an old soul in a young body.

"It's okay. You've got some first-hand knowledge now. We can discuss it another time."

Before Fei Jie could finish his sentence, Fan Xian's young voice interjected.

"It's a shame Danzhou's such a small town. Not enough dead people. Otherwise we might be able to find fresher corpses."

Fei Jie's heart skipped a beat, and he slowly turned his head to look into Fan Xian's innocent eyes. He wasn't sure exactly what he was expecting to find in them. After a long while, he spoke coldly. "Why..."

"Huh?"

"Why aren't you scared? Why aren't you angry at me for making you do these things?" Fei Jie fixed the young boy with a bewildered frown.

Fan Xian lowered his head. "Teacher," he said respectfully, "you said you would poison someone so I would be able to watch and learn. I'm scared. I'd much rather dig up corpses."

"So there are some things in this world that frighten you."

"There are." Fan Xian looked pitifully at his teacher. "I'm only four-and-a-half years old."

"Age is just a number." Fei Jie nodded, then shook his head again. "Even though you're young, there are some things that you might not understand but will have to learn anyway. A nobleman's bastard like you will face plenty of plots and attacks. One's worthless sympathy can often be the thing that leads to one's downfall."

Fei Jie had the odd feeling that the child fully understood everything he'd just said. At that moment, rays of daylight found their way into Fan Xian's eyes, setting them off with a shimmer.

Fei Jie was briefly taken aback. There was something wholly otherworldly in the boy's eyes. Over the years, his poisons had killed countless people. During the year of the late Emperor's northern conquest, his poisons had killed thousands of soldiers from the Northern Wei Kingdom. His crimes would undoubtedly damn him to hell. Then why did the sight of this innocent child cause him such unbearable unease?

After putting right the nameless grave they had disturbed, the bizarre master and student pair walked eastward toward the dawn. "You must have a lot of questions," said Fei Jie as they took to the road.

"Hm," Fan Xian grunted in affirmation, a sweet smile spreading shyly across his face. "You're very good to me, teacher."

Fei Jie hadn't expected the child would answer so tactfully. "If you can smile about something like this," he said, laughing bitterly, "I really wonder how mature you are."

"Better to laugh than to cry."

"That's true." Fei Jie stared at the city walls in the distance, furrowing his brow. "Your father owns a great estate in the capital. A lot of people will struggle to take it from you, so you'll have to become strong and learn as much as you can."

Fan Xian said nothing. He was deep in thought. He'd always heard that his father, Count Sinan, was well trusted by the Emperor, and that he lived in the capital.

The year before last, there was a great political upheaval in the capital, and a great many nobles had died in a coup. Finally, His Majesty had taken control of the situation, purging the houses of countless aristocrats. Although his father was one of those nobles, he had somehow managed to retain the trust of the Emperor, and had even greatly improved his standing.

But Fan Xian still couldn't understand what kind of estate could lead to his own death. How could it cause his father to enlist this formidable intermediary from the Overwatch Council to serve as his teacher?

"I understand. One day, someone will try to kill me, so you're teaching me to use poison. Really, I'm scared someone will try to poison me."

"Right. Killers have many methods, but poison is the easiest and least likely to arouse suspicion." Fei Jie rubbed the crown of his head. "My job is to teach you about such matters within a year, so that no one can kill you by poisoning one of your meals."

"But why only now? Surely you've been worried that somebody might poison me for the past few years." Fan Xian needed clarification, so he continued asking questions; all the while he couldn't help but worry that his teacher would sense a maturity beyond his years.

Fei Jie smiled, but his words were grim. "Because last month, Count Sinan's concubine gave birth to a son. In other words, you already have a rival for Count Sinan's estate. And that concubine has connections within the Overwatch Council. Your father was worried something might happen to you, and it wouldn't be convenient to dispatch someone to guard you for a long period of time, because that would arouse suspicion. So he sent me to teach you."

Fan Xian noted that Fei Jie had said both "Count Sinan" and "your father".

"I'm a bastard," said Fan Xian, smiling. "By law, I have no right to inherit my father's title. So the concubine shouldn't worry about me."

"One can never be too sure of anything in this world," Fei Jie snapped back. "Although you've got Master Wu protecting you, he can't be your nanny. Poison in your food might not hurt him, but it will still kill you. And if you die, you don't know how many people might die alongside you."

Fan Xian's misgivings grew stronger. What sort of power did he wield, this father he had never seen? It was clearly far more than someone of his stature should normally have.

...

...

The morning sun was bright, and as Fei Jie led his charge toward the walls of Danzhou, their shadows - one tall, one short - stretched out upon the ground. Fei Jie observed Fan Xian's face, still rather pale. "Truth is, dead people are nothing to fear."

"Okay."

"And don't use zhenqi to control your emotions. If human emotions aren't given the proper outlet, even if your powers of zhenqi control are at their peak, you'll become a murderous monster."

"I understand." Obediently, Fan Xian scattered the zhenqi within his body and stopped suppressing the fear and disgust he felt at handling corpses.

At that moment, Fei Jie suddenly spoke. "There are still some rotten entrails in your sleeve. You taking them home for breakfast?"

"Aargh!" The child's frightened shriek and the subsequent sinister laugh of his teacher pierced through the quietude of the rustic dawn.

Chapter 10: No Shame in Asking

Translator: Nyoi_Bo_Studio Editor: Nyoi_Bo_Studio

Over the year that passed, young Fan Xian began to learn all that Master Fei knew about poison. Occasionally, they would find the time to leave the city, searching high and low for poisonous ingredients like strychnine trees and purging nuts, as well as tasting various types of fungus. There were countless times when Fan Xian was overcome by such a powerful stomach ache that he would have feared for his life if he didn't have such a grandmaster in poisons by his side.

Of course, in order to fully pursue his studies, under the command of Master Fei, his young and delicate hands were responsible for the deaths of innumerable rabbits, and toads would flee at his approach.

That year, Fan Xian turned five.

Strangely, after Fei Jie had arrived in Danzhou, Wu Zhu no longer made the effort to avoid Fan Xian. Every time Fan Xian slipped away to Wu Zhu's shop to drink wine - which, as a child, he shouldn't have been drinking - Wu Zhu made him a few bar snacks to go along with it.

Fan Xian was curious. Wu Zhu was a servant of his mother's - why didn't he care that he drank wine?

Fan Xian knew that his mother was no ordinary lady, and that was why she'd had such a dedicated and powerful servant as Wu Zhu. But he couldn't be sure that the blind boy's strength and skill would always protect him.

Without even realizing it, Fan Xian had gotten accustomed to Wu Zhu being close by to guard him. He'd gotten used to occasionally sighting Wu Zhu down some alleyway or next to some street-side tofu seller, his eyes covered by that length of black cloth.

Over the year, the zhenqi within Fan Xian's body continued to make slow, steady progress. He was on the verge of making a breakthrough, but the powerful zhenqi that accumulated in his sleep became somewhat unstable and began to affect his moods.

He knew that there were many unknown dangers in this still-unfamiliar world, and that there were many things about Count Sinan's estate in the capital that he did not understand.

After he awoke, he set himself a goal: "Live well and make progress every day!"

And because of this "grand" goal, in order to keep himself alive so that he could some day carry out his three "grand" missions, he dedicated himself to his practice.

In his past life he was paralyzed as a result of his debilitating muscle disease. So to find himself able to move freely in this new life made him value it all the more. Every day he rose early to strengthen his body, climbing up onto every surface he could, working so diligently at it that it began to perturb Fei Jie.

Unfortunately, he could never find a truly appropriate way to train himself physically. He showed far more diligence than any other child, but he usually consoled himself with the fact that, being a young man in his twenties, it was only proper that he be more committed than those other snot-nosed brats.

But nobody knew the truth. He wasn't born this committed; he was just hyperactive. He'd been confined to a bed for over a decade - there was no way he'd let himself get lazy now.

...

...

Night fell, and Fei Jie sequestered himself within his private room. He leant on his writing-desk as the oil-lamp flickered. The white hairs on his temples seemed to have turned darker since he came to Danzhou. With a goose-quill in his hand, he wrote something down on white paper.

A knock came from outside. "Come in," Fei Jie said softly, not bothering to lift his head.

Fan Xian pushed open the door, lifting his feet over the high door threshold. He scratched his head and approached with a big grin. "What are you writing, sir?"

Fei Jie didn't seem annoyed in the slightest. He pushed his paper to one side and turned around. "What's wrong?"

He'd spent the better part of a year in the company of Count Sinan's baseborn son, and he wasn't sure why, as the poison master of the Overwatch Council, feared by corrupt officials and underworld criminals alike, he felt some sort of warmth and kindness when he laid eyes on the kid. He was young, but he was tough and hardworking. He didn't look at poison with the contempt and disgust that most people did, and that pleased Fei Jie.

And most importantly, he was smart and thoughtful, so much so that he didn't seem like a five-year-old child at all.

"Master Fei." Fan Xian scrambled up onto a chair with some difficulty, finally managing to plant his buttocks on it. "I would like to know what my father is like."

This wasn't the first time he'd asked about the pasts of Count Sinan and his mother, but every time he had, Fei Jie had refused to say a word.

"Your father is an incredible man," replied Fei Jie. "Of course, your mother was even more so."

The words meant nothing. The Overwatch Council was responsible for investigating the kingdom's biggest criminal activities and probing into official corruption. It was greatly feared throughout the land, and Fei Jie had been a member since its earliest days, rising up to the lofty post of director of the Third Bureau, feared even by the capital's criminal underworld.

And such an imposing figure, a grandmaster of the use of poison, had come to the far-away town of Danzhou to tutor Count Sinan's baseborn son, simply because the Count had ordered it.

It was clear that Count Sinan wielded great power in the capital, but it was hard to say whether that power stemmed from his official status or from other, less upright means.

Fan Xian still knew nothing about his mother, who died on the day he was "born", but his intuition told him that she was no ordinary woman. He didn't know why - maybe it was the blood, her blood, that ran through his veins - but he had always felt a vague yearning for this woman he had never seen.

Fei Jie did not seem like he wanted to carry the topic any further. "Now that the Count's concubine has given birth to a son, you have no chance of inheriting his estate. So what are you planning to do?"

Fan Xian smiled sweetly. "You taught me how to use poison, and how to cure it. I've learnt quite a lot about medicine. Worst comes to worst, I could be a doctor."

Fei Jie stroked at his beard. "You're right," he said with a hint of pride. "Even the doctors of the imperial palace don't know any more than me about medicine. As my only student, you could easily become a physician."

They discussed the option of becoming a doctor, but deep down, both knew it was little more than a pipe dream.

"Teacher, I'm having problems with my zhenqi practice," said Fan Xian suddenly. "I was hoping you could help me. That's why I came here tonight."

Fei Jie was unparalleled in his mastery of poison, but that was all he would teach Fan Xian. "Life is limited," he told him, "but there is no limit to methods of killing. Therefore, we should devote our limited lives to the limitless pursuit of the most efficient method of killing."

And to Master Fei, poison was the most effective method for killing.

Fan Xian had the world's greatest master of poison as his teacher - why was he bothering with zhenqi? When it came to this sorcery that Fan Xian couldn't stop worrying about, Fei Jie felt the same as any other citizen of the Kingdom of Qing - it was of very little use when it came to combat.

But this was the first time in a year that Fan Xian had brought it up, and Fei Jie couldn't help but feel curious. He stretched out his fingers and took Fan Xian's pulse. Then he went pale.