Through Zhuge Su Yeon's Eyes
My eyes, inevitably, turned to Lin.
All of my ten prodigies were different. Not merely in the comfortable sense of "each with their own personality"—no. They were so distinct that, if not for the surname they carried, few would believe they belonged to the same family.
Wen, methodical and calculating, shaped every step as though he foresaw the whole board before moving a piece.Min, wild and fierce, preferred to smash the entire board.Tao, lazy and elusive, only moved one piece if it saved him the effort of moving two.Fen, playful and creative, played with the wrong pieces just to see if the opponent noticed.Rong, steady and self-sacrificing, would hold the board in place even if it crushed him.Han... ordinary, yet intelligent—the hardest anomaly to classify.Cai, expressive and elegant, played to be seen playing.Shan, diligent and calm, moved with the patience of one who had already seen games longer than a lifetime.Ren, hardworking and proud, treated every move as though it were checkmate.
And then there was Lin.
Her temperament didn't belong to the crowd. Yes, she was methodical, but not like Wen, who weighed risks and gains before breathing. Her meticulousness sought beauty—not the kind designed to draw applause, but the kind that belonged only to herself.
At first, her technique seemed merely refined and predictable. I even thought it was a youthful affectation: the vanity of a girl who wished to fight gracefully to please an audience. But the more I observed, the clearer it became that there was no exhibitionism in it.
Lin was beautiful, yes. Her sword, elegant, yes. But her pursuit was never for the crowd.
She dressed less than any other girl in the clan—less than Yui Lan, less than Mei Lan. And when she trained, she didn't repeat the same strike until her arm trembled and sweat drenched the floor. On the contrary. She moved slowly, as though each cut were meditation.
It was the temperament of the immortals in the old legends: no hurry, no anxiety, walking toward something only their own heart could see.
And that made her perfect for cultivation.
So perfect that I had nearly persuaded her to withdraw from this tournament.
I understood someone who loved growth without needing to flaunt it publicly.
Before the tournament, we had a long conversation. In the end, she decided to participate. But like Shan, she wasn't here for results. She was here for experience.
And I gave her the freedom to fight or retreat as she wished.
After all... long-term investments are always the most profitable.
Lin loved swordsmanship, but not to the point of plunging into the fanaticism that devoured so many sword cultivators, turning them into walking temples of a single creed. To her, the sword was not an inseparable extension of body or soul—it was a tool. Refined, beautiful, precise... but still, a tool.
Because of that, I was forced to admit: I still hadn't discovered the best path for Lin.
I already had plans for all the other ten prodigies. This tournament would not be the peak for any of them. Afterward, each would follow a tailored training schedule. None would be left to gather dust and waste talent.
This tournament was only the beginning of the journey—and I intended to mold them until they became cultivators of the highest order.
But for Lin, I wasn't yet sure which path to take.
Not for lack of ability or potential, but because I hadn't yet found the right way to guide her future.
And for someone like me, that gap was uncomfortable.
Still, there was no urgency. I was certain time would deliver the right answer.
When the herald finally announced her name, the sound seemed to cut through the arena.
Lin rose without hurry.
And I, reclining in my chair, felt a spark of expectation: perhaps this fight, at last, would help me discover how to shape this girl's future.
The fight was... ordinary.
It was already the thirty-eighth duel of the day, and even the rival clans, with their larger rosters, no longer had truly noteworthy names to put against Lin. Still, her opponent was not weak.
Firm stance, solid technique.
The duel began slowly. Lin hadn't yet used the Silent Mind's Gaze. Had she done so, she could have ended it instantly.
She tried to win with her swordsmanship alone, using the martial art Dance of the Celestial Blade.
At first, it worked.Her opponent could barely counter against a well-executed early Earth-grade technique. But as minutes passed, I saw the subtle glow of her opening fade.
It was like watching a candle under constant wind—the flame still burned, but each flicker made it easier to predict where and how it would sway.
That was Lin's weakness.Her meticulous pursuit of beauty in every strike, as charming as it was useful for refinement, created a pattern. And patterns... are a weakness waiting to be exploited at the right time.
As the duel progressed, I saw predictability gather like dust on her blade. Attacks ever easier to anticipate. Steps ever clearer. No hesitation—just a path too visible.
That was when I noticed something else. Something far deeper. Something far more worthy of a high investment.
And the instant Lin prepared to call upon the Silent Mind's Gaze to end the fight—
I stopped her.
— "Forfeit." — my voice carried across the space.
Lin hesitated... but in the end, simply obeyed.She left the arena as the sixth Zhuge to withdraw from the tournament.
To any spectator, it might have seemed a sad moment.Even to her, disappointment was visible on her face—as though, despite her superior technique and effort, she had failed.
As though "predictability" had sunk roots into her heart as a budding trauma.
I, on the other hand, was ecstatic.
I hadn't told Lin to step down out of disappointment.
On the contrary.
I did so because, in my eyes, her value had just risen far too high to waste on meaningless fights.
My obsession with answers had kept me watching Lin's growth closely. And, with a little help from the system—annoying as ever—I had found something... simply marvelous.
Her profile was open before me. An entry that once seemed trivial now shone like cut gold.
See, the system was good. Very good. It avoided loopholes wherever it could, something I had learned after careful study. With the exception of my protagonist siblings—whose records were absurd from the start—the most valuable information on any clan member was not talent, nor techniques... but their Martial Physique.
It was almost as if the system knew I could extract all the rest through simple conversation.
But not the Martial Physique. That always had a fixed price.
And why?Simple: if some were cheaper and others more expensive, it would be easy to compare and discover who did or didn't have a rare physique.
And since such physiques were incredibly rare, I wasn't even sure anyone besides me and my siblings possessed one.
Still, I had bought the entries of a few members... none had a physique.
So when all their prices stayed identical, I concluded—mistakenly—that no one in the clan, aside from the protagonists, had a Martial Physique.
But today, everything changed.
My focus had been so fixed on Lin, on every detail of her movement, that I noticed something subtle: changes in her body from yesterday to today. Small, but unmistakable. Changes that couldn't be explained without a Martial Physique.
I had one myself—and I could recognize the signs easily.
I opened her profile in the system and, to my satisfaction, saw the Martial Physique price rise.Clear as day: the system had registered my discovery and adjusted the value.
That was when I understood.
The Martial Physique entries of clan members weren't equal because they were useless, but because the system refused to hand me information for free. If I got lucky and purchased the file of someone with a physique, it would be like winning the lottery. But if I figured it out myself, it would set the price there—high, of course—so as not to lose control.
A finger of gold that insists on following its own annoying rules, refusing to break everything in my favor.
It seems the author of this story detests simplicity.And adores explanations... long, meticulous, and inevitable.