Chapter 11

Cheng Qian pretended not to care, but his ears were definitely perked up.

After all, spells were the backbone of immortal tools—and those tools were what most ordinary people imagined when they thought of immortality.

Han Yuan leaned forward and asked, "Second Senior Brother, how powerful are they?"

Li Yun grinned at him. "Anyone alive who dares to call himself 'powerful' probably already thinks he's ready to ascend."

Han Yuan wasn't fond of this senior brother, but he also knew better than to offend him. Besides, he wasn't as prideful as Cheng Qian—he didn't hold grudges long. A bag of pine nuts was enough to win him over.

He looked at Yan Zhengming's free-spirited figure with a bit of envy and asked, "Brother, when will we get to learn how to carve that?"

"We won't," Li Yun said, waving his hand like it was no big deal. "To learn a spell, you first have to awaken a sense of qi. Don't ask me what qi is, I don't know either. Master says it's some kind of... connection between heaven and earth. A mystical feeling. You'll get it someday. Maybe. Don't think about it too hard, or you definitely won't."

Li Yun had naturally upturned lips, so even when he wasn't smiling, he looked like he was. When he did smile, it rarely meant anything good. "Some people go their whole lives without ever sensing it—either because their talent's no good, or just plain bad luck."

Han Yuan tensed up at that. He sat up straight and muttered, "That's a shame."

"Of course it is," Li Yun said. "Without qi, no matter how good we get with wooden swords, it's just exercise. Not actually useful."

At first, Cheng Qian didn't pay much attention to Li Yun's words. He had already made up his mind: Yan Zhengming was all show and no substance. If he could awaken qi in seven or eight years, then if Cheng Qian couldn't, he might as well give up and go back to farming.

But something in Li Yun's tone made him pause. There was meaning hidden in what he said.

Cheng Qian turned and met Li Yun's gaze, speaking slowly. "Sounds like Second Senior Brother knows how to awaken a sense of qi?"

Li Yun smiled at him, eyes curving like little hooks—black and white glints of mischief. But he said nothing.

Cheng Qian didn't take the bait. He replied coolly, "Oh? That's great. I hope Brother achieves enlightenment soon."

If there really was some method to awaken qi, Li Yun would've used it long ago. Obviously, he just wanted to find a guinea pig.

This kid's sharp, Li Yun thought, his smile twitching.

Han Yuan, on the other hand, couldn't sit still. "Wait, what method? What is it?"

Li Yun gave up teasing Cheng Qian and turned to Han Yuan instead. "I can't tell you. It's against the sect rules."

He said "can't tell," but his tone clearly meant "ask me more."

Li Yun had dug a nice big pit, and Han Yuan cheerfully stepped right into it.

Having just gone through a big life change, Han Yuan seemed to latch onto his new brother, completely trusting him. Li Yun spun his tale with flair: "There's a legend—written in an old book about the landscapes of Mount Fuyao—that a great demon lives at the base of the mountain. On the night of the full moon—the fifteenth of each lunar month—the demon's energy echoes with the moon's phase, making the mountain's pure and impure qi surge wildly. At that time, even mortals who haven't started cultivation can feel it."

His tone suddenly shifted to serious: "Of course, our sect master strictly forbids us from leaving the compound on the first and fifteenth nights. The back mountain is a forbidden area."

Han Yuan looked deep in thought.

Li Yun feigned concern: "You two are new. You probably haven't memorized the rules yet, huh? It's written very clearly. With your good talent, Junior Brother, if you just train steadily, you'll feel qi eventually. No need to think about shortcuts and rule-breaking, right, Third Junior Brother?"

Cheng Qian replied with a faint smile, "Second Senior Brother is absolutely right."

Li Yun: "..."

He studied his third junior brother again—small, quiet, always looking down. Couldn't tell if the kid was just shy, or if all his growth went into his brain.

Cheng Qian's calm response had left him a bit stumped. He forced a smile. "Third Junior Brother is so well-behaved."

Not far away, Yan Zhengming was sipping a bowl of osmanthus plum soup when he caught sight of the group. He had always found Li Yun suspicious, and now he was sure—he was up to something.

Suddenly feeling inspired, he turned to the nearby Daotong. "Hey, call over that short one—what's his name again?"

"That's the Third Young Master, Cheng Qian," the boy answered nervously.

"Right, him." Yan Zhengming nodded. "Tell him to wait for me. When I'm done practicing spells, I'll teach him swordwork. Master said I should."

Mu Chun overheard, squinted, but didn't say anything. That brat Zhengming rarely wanted company—it was a good sign he had taken a liking to someone.

The Daotong ran over to deliver the message. Cheng Qian listened but didn't respond. He just thought maybe the senior brother had lost his mind.

Han Yuan muttered, "Aww, I still wanted to play with you later."

Cheng Qian glanced at him. You're more likely to get played by Second Senior Brother, he thought.

He nodded politely to both and moved aside to wait—not because he was eager to learn from Yan Zhengming, but because he was curious about the spell practice.

Unfortunately, it didn't take long to realize that spells were utterly inaccessible to those without qi. And, from what he could tell, Yan Zhengming wasn't doing much besides carving lines into wood under Master's watchful eye.

The only thing Cheng Qian really gained was a clearer picture of just how strict their master could be.

As expected, Senior Brother was all style and no substance. He couldn't sit still for more than a few moments—shifting in his seat, fussing over his bun, changing outfits because he was "too sweaty", demanding water only to complain it was too hot or too cold.

He kept getting distracted—gossiping about Li Yun and Mu Chun, humming tunes the maids had made up...

Cheng Qian didn't know what kind of wood was being carved, but he still thought: Just like grinding a lazy donkey.

Master Mu Chun knew his troublesome disciple too well. He placed an enchanted hourglass on the table—it should have run out in half an hour, but it would pause if Yan Zhengming lost focus. A half-hour task often dragged till nightfall.

Yan Zhengming once thought he and his master were soulmates in procrastination. But every time they practiced spells, Mu Chun turned cold and unrelenting.

Mu Chun once said he entered the Dao through the sword. Most who did were naturally focused—but Yan Zhengming, alas, was the exception. So he needed extra discipline.

Cheng Qian quickly saw that nothing here would benefit him. He whispered to the Daotong for a brush and paper and started on his daily assignments—first copying the sect rules, then transcribing the Qingjing Sutra from memory.

Mu Chun noticed, and his stern expression softened. "Cheng Qian, come sit back here."

Yan Zhengming frowned and looked up into his master's sharp eyes.

What midday backlight? Clearly, the master was making a point—showing him he wasn't as good as this little newcomer.

Yan Zhengming glanced at Cheng Qian's writing and scowled. "Even a dog could press its paws neater than that."

Cheng Qian didn't look up. "Thank you for the advice, Senior Brother. But even neat dog paws are useless—since that beast can't sit still."

He then glanced pointedly at the hourglass. Yan Zhengming realized with a start—it had stopped again.