The bells rang again, deep and resonant, shaking the air as if the entire manor had become a drum. The sound traveled through stone corridors, carried by hidden arrays until every courtyard stirred. Attendants gathered the children, ushering them with clipped words. Even Jian lowered his voice as they filed into the vast hall.
The chamber they entered dwarfed the Teaching Pavilion. Its ceiling stretched into shadow, banners swaying high above, each embroidered with the Li crest. Jade inlays crisscrossed the polished floor, glowing faintly as though alive. This was not a place for play. This was the marrow of the clan.
At the far end stood five elders. They wore no ostentatious robes, no ornaments, yet their presence pressed on the hall like weight on a chest. Behind them stood objects—pill furnaces, weapons, etched staves, and shelves of bamboo slips. The children whispered, nerves prickling in the air.
From the dais above came the voice of the Patriarch. He did not need volume. Every syllable landed as if carved in stone.
"The Li Clan does not endure by swords alone. Professions are our roots. Without them, the tree falls."
His hand rose, and the first elder stepped forward.
The man smelled faintly of herbs, sleeves rolled to the elbow, a bronze furnace hovering at his side. "I am Master Yun of Alchemy," he said, voice steady. He snapped his fingers; the furnace flared alive, blue flame licking its rim. He dropped dried herbs inside. Smoke curled upward, bitter and sweet, as leaves blackened, shrank, and finally condensed into a glowing bead that clinked against bronze. Master Yun caught it. A pill, no larger than his thumb.
"This is spirit marrow, grade one. It binds broken bones."
Gasps broke out among the children. Jian whispered, "Imagine fighting without fear of wounds." Rou clenched her fists in excitement. Mei leaned forward, already noting every word.
Heng's eyes lingered on the ash drifting from the furnace. Input, heat, transformation, waste. This is not miracle. It is chemistry, regulated fire. Failures come from uneven ratios or temperature. If waste is this heavy, efficiency must be abysmal.
The second elder stepped out. Broad-shouldered, sleeves burned at the edge, a hammer on his hip. "I am Master Lei, Artifact Master." He raised a half-forged blade, its surface etched with faint runes. With one strike of his hammer, sparks burst, and the runes lit as if waking.
"Artifacts are our arms. Without them, cultivators are bare-handed against storms." He flicked his finger; the blade darted forward, cleaving a stone block in two. When he recalled it, the cut was smooth, clean as water through clay. "Grades rise with cultivator strength. Foundation forges only Foundation tools. Core forges Core. Golden Core forges Golden Core."
Jian grinned, wide-eyed. Rou's pride gleamed in her face. Wei muttered, "So long as you don't stab yourself first," drawing a chuckle from Shun.
Heng's gaze fixed on the steel. Metal, heat, hammer, pressure. Qi infused into latticework, runes as regulators. This is metallurgy fused with energy science. Sparks are waste, fractures from poor calibration. Could flow be smoothed, losses reduced?
The third elder was plain-robed, eyes sharp as blades. He leaned on a wooden staff. When he set it down, the jade lines underfoot lit. Symbols traced into the air; the staff pulsed. A shimmering barrier spread across the children like invisible glass.
"I am Master Shan, Array Master." His voice was carved stone. "Lines, nodes, rhythm. Arrays are locks, walls, amplifiers. With them, we bind Qi into shape. Without them, our clan would be blind. With them, even Nascent Soul may bleed before breaching our gates."
Jian shoved at the barrier; it rippled but held. Mei pressed her hand against it, whispering, "Even resonance." Shun tapped once, eyes narrowing in rare focus.
Heng's heart quickened. Nodes, lines, currents. This is circuitry. Energy grids disguised as runes. If mortal wires regulate electrons, arrays regulate Qi. If arrays leak, they must be optimized. A barrier is only as efficient as its inscriptions. There is science here waiting to be rewritten.
The fourth elder stepped forward, a scar across his cheek, robe plain, stance unyielding. "Instructor Han. Martial path." His voice cut like steel. "Without strength, pills rot, arrays collapse, weapons rust. Martial cultivation is root and trunk. Foundation governs cities. Core commands provinces. Golden Core commands armies. Nascent Soul rules worlds. Beyond lie realms most will never see."
He spread his palm. Pressure exploded outward, air thick as iron. Children staggered; some fell to their knees. With a flick, it vanished. Silence followed.
Jian's fists trembled in awe. Rou bit her lip. Mei drew steady breath. Qiang nearly crumpled. Heng's chest tightened, but not in fear. This hierarchy is law. Not ambition, but physics. Authority rises with stages, and stages are measurable. This is the scaffolding of rule.
The final elder was thin, ink-stained, carrying only a bamboo slip. "I am Elder Zhou, Law Keeper. Laws bind clan to clan, elder to child, father to son. Records endure beyond memory. Without them, we are not family—only beasts."
He held up the slip. "Births, deaths, trades, debts, victories, failures. We record them all. This is how lineage survives."
Mei's eyes gleamed with pride. Jian scoffed but listened. Wei smirked but tilted his head thoughtfully. Heng's pulse steadied. Ledgers. Records. Data. Governance is not mystery. It is information science. Root cause of stability.
The Patriarch's voice returned, weight settling like a mountain. "Alchemy. Artifacts. Arrays. Martial Path. Law. These are roots of our clan. Together they sustain seventy billion under our crest. Together they make Li bloodline endure. Roots before branches. Without roots, no tree reaches heaven."
The five bowed as one. The hall fell into murmurs. Children buzzed with excitement—dreams of pills, weapons, barriers, armies.
Heng's gaze lingered on the glowing jade lines under his feet. Not sorcery, not miracle. Circuits. Disciplines. Laws waiting to be understood. His small hands curled in his robe. If roots are law, then I will study their rhythm. If branches are power, I will shape their flow. Rules bind this world. And if bound, they can be refined.