The morning after their first lesson, the nursery courtyard was alive with restless energy.
Children tugged at their robes, servants chased after loose sashes, and jade tags from yesterday clinked softly in small hands. Even the air felt different—charged, heavy with expectation.
Li Heng fastened his tag at his waist. He had spent half the night tracing the carved characters, Qi and Rule, until his fingers remembered them without light. The hum of the barrier wall still lingered in his mind. Not myth, not miracle. A system waiting to be understood.
Now, standing among cousins and kin, he watched. Jian all but bounced on his heels, impatient to prove himself. Mei's robe was flawless, her hair tied so neatly that not a strand dared disobey. Qiang adjusted his tag for the third time, nervous hands betraying caution. Rou's chin lifted high, pride sharp as a blade. Wei yawned so dramatically a servant smacked him with a fan, and Shun leaned against a post, eyes half-lidded but watchful.
The bells tolled, low and resonant, the vibration carried through the clan's arrays so that even the mountains seemed to answer.
Servants led them down garden paths to the Teaching Hall. Yesterday, they had stopped at the outer chamber. Today, stone gates opened only when jade tokens were pressed against them, leading the children deeper, into the true inner chamber.
The space was vast. The ceiling soared into shadow, banners swaying though no wind touched them. Jade inlays spread across the polished floor, pulsing faintly when their feet stepped onto them. Pillars lined the hall, carved with images of battles, treaties, harvests—reminders that the Li Clan ruled not by chance but by order and record.
The children settled into rows.
At the front stood four instructors.
Master Qin, law scholar and Golden Core elder, radiated authority like the weight of mountains. His gaze pressed silence into the air.
Beside him, Mistress Yao, her fingers still stained with ink, arranged brushes with precise care.
The third, a crimson-robed Alchemist, carried the scent of herbs and ash.
The last was new: a broad-shouldered man in soot-marked robes, a heavy hammer strapped across his back, calloused hands blackened by flame. He was Master Kuang, Artifact Master.
When all were seated, Master Qin stepped forward. His voice was steady as carved stone.
"Yesterday you learned of Qi. Today you will learn where Qi leads."
The words struck heavy in the air.
"Foundation cultivators govern cities. Core cultivators command provinces. Golden Core commands armies. Nascent Soul rules worlds. This is not poetry. It is law. Our clan endures because power and law bind as one. Seventy billion lives rest beneath this ladder."
Silence followed, sharp and unbroken. Even Jian, usually restless, held still.
Li Heng's chest stirred. He heard his father's dawn voice: Foundation rules cities, Core provinces, Golden Core armies, Nascent Soul worlds. His mother's whispers layered atop: Without patience, even Nascent Soul collapses.
Now, here, doctrine aligned with fragments. Not myth. Not story. Structure.
Master Qin's gaze swept the hall. "Remember: triumphs and failures are both recorded. Records outlast memory. That is how family becomes lineage."
He stepped aside. Mistress Yao unrolled silk. Her brush moved, each stroke glowing with Qi until lines shimmered.
"Arrays," she said. "Law inscribed into stone and air. One shields a city. Another burns an army. But misplace one line, and protection becomes ruin."
She pressed her palm against the silk. The torches dimmed. Her voice deepened, echoing from every wall.
Gasps rippled. Jian's eyes widened, Mei leaned forward, Qiang's breath caught. Rou's eyes blazed, Wei mouthed "how?" and Shun's lids lifted, gaze sharp.
Li Heng followed the glow. Channels, conduction, resistance. Like circuits. Qi as current, stone as board.
The crimson-robed alchemist stepped forward. Without word, he sliced his palm. Blood welled bright. He swallowed a pill. Before their eyes, the wound closed smooth as if untouched.
"This is alchemy," he said. His tone was cold, factual. "Fire, balance, matter transformed by Qi. One pill preserves ten lives. One mistake kills a hundred. Precision is law."
Jian blurted, "With pills like that, no soldier would fall!"
Mei's lips tightened. "And all would fall if records are wrong."
Rou whispered, "If side branches could master this, none could dismiss us."
Wei nudged Heng. "What if it tasted like candy?" Mistress Yao smacked his head with her brush.
Heng ignored them. Herbs rot in days, yet pills last for years. Preservation. Stabilization. A reaction that prevents decay. This is no miracle—chemistry hidden within fire.
Then Master Kuang stepped forward. He set a dull iron plate on an anvil floating beside him. His hammer rose. With one strike, Qi flared through the ore, glowing lines spreading like veins. A second strike, and the plate vibrated, projecting a map of Lingyao's capital above them. Streets gleamed as channels, towers pulsed as nodes, canals curved like conduits.
The children froze, awed.
"This is artifact forging," Kuang said, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Do not think artifacts are only swords and armor. This city itself is an artifact. Each road, each tower, each canal forged into alignment. Without forging, stone is only stone. With it, the land itself breathes, fights, endures."
Jian's jaw dropped. "Then I'll forge a sword that splits mountains!"
Mei's gaze sharpened. "And without records, your sword will shatter before it leaves the forge."
Qiang whispered, "If even land can be forged… it can also break."
Rou's eyes burned. "Then side branches must master artifacts if we are to be equals."
Wei grinned. "Can you forge beds that sing?" Mistress Yao's brush cracked his skull again.
Shun stayed quiet, but his eyes lingered on the glowing channels with uncanny focus.
Li Heng's pulse quickened. A city, an artifact. Lingyao itself a machine. Roads and towers as circuits. Qi as current. This is not sorcery—it is engineering, scaled to a world.
Kuang's hammer rested on his shoulder. "Grades divide all things. This plate is only 3rd-grade Mortal, yet it carries the design of a city. Above it are Spirit, Earth, Heaven, Immortal. Each grade higher demands cultivation and skill. A Qi Accumulation smith cannot forge beyond Mortal. A Foundation cultivator may reach Spirit. Core can temper Spirit high-grade. Golden Core forges Earth. Only Nascent Soul shapes Heaven. Without cultivation, no matter your cleverness, the fire consumes you before the metal bends."
The silence afterward was absolute.
Then Master Qin spoke once more. "Law. Array. Pill. Artifact. These are the pillars of our clan. Forget this, and you will serve. Master them, and you may rule."
Attendants moved down the rows, jade slips placed into small hands. Four characters carved deep:
Law. Array. Pill. Artifact.
Mistress Yao's voice cut like steel. "Trace them until your hands bleed. If you cannot write, you cannot think."
The lesson ended.
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Parental Interlude
Back in the family courtyard, Lady Yan awaited him. She brushed the dust from his robe, eyes searching his face.
"So, Heng'er," she asked, voice soft but intent, "what did you learn today?"
"That cities breathe," he said. "That pills obey law. That even stone may be forged to carry words."
Her lips curved faintly, but her gaze was sharp. "Then remember: every breath may heal, or burn. You must learn which is which."
Later, his father summoned him to his study. The room smelled of ink and iron. Ledgers lay beside weapon racks. Li Wei did not look up from his scroll until Heng stood silently before him.
"Golden Core commands armies," he said at last. "Did you hear it? Did you understand its weight?"
"I did," Heng answered.
Li Wei's gaze lifted. "Then hold it in silence. To speak of power invites envy. Envy kills faster than any blade."
The silence stretched. Then his father returned to his writing. Heng bowed and withdrew.
In the quiet of his chamber, jade slip warm in his palm, Li Heng traced the words again and again. Law. Array. Pill. Artifact.
Not miracle. Not myth. Civilization.