The Li Clan raised no heir in isolation.
By the age of three, every child of the direct bloodline was brought to the Garden of Children, a vast courtyard enclosed within the nursery pavilion. Its walls shimmered faintly with light, humming with the steady pulse of an energy barrier. Within, bamboo swayed in the breeze, stone paths curved in elegant symmetry, and a pond reflected banners of black and gold that rippled overhead.
Here, cousins grew together. They learned to walk, to speak, to play beneath watchful eyes. Rivalries would spark in time, but first there was companionship — bonds forged in childhood before politics hardened them.
Li Heng entered the garden hand-in-hand with a nursemaid. His small legs carried him forward, but his gaze was already searching. The barrier hummed faintly as they passed, light flickering where the air touched stone. Children pressed their palms against it and laughed as sparks danced.
To them, it was a toy.
To him, it was a system.
Self-sustaining. Continuous. No wires, no smoke, no engine. Must be powered by something hidden. Arrays buried in the foundation? Cores embedded in stone? A closed cycle of energy.
He lingered at the wall, hand pressed against it until the nursemaid gently pulled him away.
---
The pond was crowded with cousins. Pebbles flew, splashing ripples across the surface.
"Look how far I can throw!" shouted Li Jian, a boy older by two years. His stone splashed near the center, and he puffed his chest with pride.
Several children cheered. Others clapped politely, trained already to encourage one another. Nursemaids smiled, recording nothing — throwing stones was no milestone.
Beside them, Li Mei sat cross-legged, folding lotus petals with intense focus. She ignored the noise, lips pursed in concentration. Li Qiang, timid and pale, clung to a nursemaid's sleeve, flinching whenever water splashed too near.
Li Heng crouched at the edge. His cousins played, but his eyes narrowed at the pond's bed. Beneath the ripples, carvings lined the stone, faintly glowing as sunlight touched them. The flow of water circled naturally, clear despite the constant disturbance.
Not random decoration. Design. A purification array. Channels and redirects, keeping the water clean. Engineering, not art. Like circuits guiding current.
He traced the ripples with a small finger. The other children laughed. To him, it was a diagram.
---
A shadow crossed overhead.
Every child looked up as an elder streaked across the sky, robes flaring, feet balanced upon a blade of steel. The sword glimmered with qi, cutting through wind with effortless grace.
Children squealed with delight. Some grabbed sticks, holding them between their legs, shouting, "I'm flying too!" Others clapped wildly, eyes shining.
Li Heng's heart thudded. His chest tightened with awe. A flying sword. Flight on steel.
Then his mind turned.
Balance impossible. Weight distribution flawed. Physics would never allow it. Unless… intent provides stabilization. Unless arrays etched into the blade create thrust. Unless mind itself acts as force.
His awe did not dim. If anything, it sharpened. Amazing. But rules exist. If it works, it works for a reason.
---
From the far side of the garden, a faint breeze carried the bitter-sweet scent of burning herbs. Nursemaids wrinkled their noses.
"The alchemists are refining again," one muttered.
The children gagged, waving their hands dramatically. A few laughed and imitated coughs.
Li Heng inhaled deeply. His nose burned, but he memorized the scent. Combustion. Extraction. Too stable for normal fire. Energy reinforcing heat, refining herbs into pills. Chemistry reshaped by qi. Fire as a tool, not chaos.
He said nothing. His cousins laughed at the smell. He simply filed it away. Another system. Another rule.
---
"Gather here," called a nursemaid, clapping her hands. The children obeyed, running to the stone platform in the center. They sat in uneven rows, legs swinging.
A young instructor arrived, robes simple but lined with faint golden thread. His eyes swept across the group, counting, measuring.
"Children of the Li," he began, voice calm but firm, "you are heirs of the clan. Even in play, discipline must remain. Remember — strength is not for self alone. It is for family. It is for clan. It is for Lingyao itself."
The children chorused clumsily after him, repeating the creed drilled into them since infancy.
Li Heng repeated the words softly. He had no trouble remembering. The message was clear. This was not an ordinary family. This was a structure built to rule billions.
---
After the creed, the children were released again. Li Jian bounded to Li Heng, grinning.
"You always stare at things," he said. "What do you see?"
Li Heng hesitated. His first instinct was silence. But Jian's gaze was not mocking, only curious.
"The water moves," he said finally, voice small but clear. "The lines under it guide the flow."
Jian blinked, then laughed. "Strange! But interesting." He patted Heng's shoulder before running off to throw more stones.
It was not rivalry. It was the beginning of something else. Curiosity, respect, perhaps even the start of a bond.
---
From the shaded pavilion, Uncle Li Zhen stood with hands clasped behind his back. His gaze swept across the children.
"That one," he said softly to an attendant, nodding toward Li Jian. "Loud, eager, prideful."
His eyes shifted to Li Mei. "Quiet. Methodical. Will endure."
To Li Qiang. "Fearful. Needs guidance."
Finally, to Li Heng. "Too quiet. Too watchful."
The attendant hesitated. "Is that flaw or strength, my lord?"
Li Zhen's lips curved faintly. "Time decides."
---
As the sun lowered, nursemaids gathered the children back toward the pavilion. The pond stilled, the barrier hummed, the garden grew quiet again.
Li Heng looked once more at the water, the carvings beneath, the ripples fading to stillness.
His cousins laughed, quarreled, bonded. The clan taught discipline, not chaos. Rivalries would come later. For now, it was family.
Others saw wonders. He saw systems.
And what could be understood… could one day be rebuilt.