Lu Haotian's days no longer followed the same rhythm as the other children of the Lu Family.
They became longer.
And heavier.
He woke before dawn, long before the training bell rang. The sky was still dark, with only faint starlight slipping through the window.
He sat up quietly.
Cold air brushed against his skin as he stepped into the courtyard. The stones were damp. His breath showed faintly as he stood straight and began his sword practice.
This was the first part of his day.
Slow breathing. Controlled movements. Using faint light from the stars and the early sky see. The Shadow dance Technique wasn't that difficult, but he still praticed.
Sweat soon formed on his forehead.
Pain followed.
His skin tingled, then burned slightly, especially around his arms and back. He clenched his teeth and endured it. He had learned that stopping early only made things worse later.
He only practiced three moves.
No more.
No less.
They were simple moves, passed down as part of the Shadow Dance Sword booklet.
The first move was called Quiet Step.
It focused on balance. One step forward, one step back. Slow. Careful.
The second move was Falling Shadow.
A downward slash meant to be clean and precise. No wasted movement.
The third move was Lingering Trace.
A horizontal cut followed by a retreat, as if leaving only a shadow behind.
Lu Haotian practiced them again and again.
Not fast
Sometimes, when he repeated a move well, he felt a small spark of pride. He was still a kid, after all.
After an hour, his arms trembled slightly. He stopped, wiped his face.
By that time the sky turned pale blue, his body felt heavy, but stable. He then sits, crosses his legs on the thin mat, rests his hands lightly on his knees, straightens his back, and half-closes his eyes. He begins breathing slowly through his nose, drawing in ambient spiritual qi as faint, cool mist—gentle and unforced, like fog drifting into a quiet valley. Before the qi can reach his lower dantian, it must first pass through his mortal-grade, no-affinity spirit roots, the invisible channels that struggle to refine raw heaven-and-earth energy. Refinement is painfully difficult: the mist arrives thin and turbid, most of the chaos barely filtered, so much of it scatters or leaks away before it can condense, making every breath feel like forcing water through a clogged sieve. Still, after endless persistence, he has managed to reach the second layer of Qi Condensation. The weak, hazy qi that does survive spreads faintly through his limbs and torso like thin fog barely covering a valley, then sinks downward in meager wisps toward his lower belly.
His maid was awake by then.
"You're up again before the sun," she said, rubbing her eyes. "Young master, you're going to turn into an old man early."
He smiled faintly.
She sniffed the air. "You smell like sweat."
"That means it worked."
She nodded seriously, as if that made perfect sense.
Breakfast was simple. Porridge. Pickled vegetables. A small piece of dried meat.
Too small.
Lu Haotian ate quietly, but his stomach still felt empty afterward.
The farm lay beyond the outer courtyard, closer to the edge of the Lu Family grounds. The moment he arrived, eyes followed him.
Some curious.
Some mocking.
"Hey, isn't that the kid with five spirit roots?"
"Yeah, the one doing farm tasks."
"Waste of talent… no, waste of space."
He heard them.
He didn't respond.
Bully words lost their sharpness when heard too often.
The real trouble came from above.
Lu Rong, Early Foundation establishment
The outer elder appeared almost daily, hands behind his back, his robe spotless even in the dusty fields. His eyes swept over the disciples like they were tools rather than people.
When he saw Lu Haotian, he snorted.
"So you're still here," Lu Rong said flatly. "Second layer and already tired?"
"I'm not tired," Lu Haotian replied politely.
Lu Rong laughed softly. "Talking back now? Hm. Five silver a month makes kids bold, I suppose."
Lu Haotian kept his head lowered.
Lu Rong was the one who had approved the stipend reduction. Everyone knew it. He always made things difficult for those he dislikes. He licks the boot of strong disciples and bully those weaker than him.
"Finish that row before noon," Lu Rong said, pointing. "Or stay late."
"Yes, Elder."
Lu Rong turned away, satisfied.
Not far from him stood Liu San.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Calm.
A Qi Condensation ninth layer external retainer.
He supervised the farm and rarely spoke.
When other disciples mocked or pushed Lu Haotian, Liu San sometimes glanced their way. Just once. That was usually enough to make them back off.
He didn't protect Lu Haotian directly.
But he didn't allow things to go too far.
The work was hard.
Carrying water. Clearing weeds. Turning soil.
Lu Haotian's hands blistered and healed, then blistered again. His arms ached constantly. His stomach growled by midday.
Lunch was rough bread and soup.
No meat.
By the time the sun dipped lower, his legs felt heavy, but he finished his tasks.
When night came, he returned to his courtyard slowly.
His maid met him at the door.
"You're late again," she said. Then she saw his hands. "Ah… that looks painful."
"I'm fine."
She ran inside and came back with a cloth and water. She cleaned his hands clumsily, frowning the whole time.
"You eat more than everyone," she muttered. "If you eat less, maybe silver would last."
He laughed quietly. "If I eat less, I won't grow stronger."
She frowned harder. "That's unfair too."
That night, after dinner, he trained again.
Slow breathing.
Careful movements.
Then sleep.
His body hurt.
His life was harder than before.
But when he lay down and closed his eyes, he still thought of tomorrow.
And that was enough for now.