Chapter 16: Nature of Character

When the maids had withdrawn, Li Hao stopped playing chess and rose to walk toward the courtyard.

Li Fu also stood, and when Li Hao did not speak to him, he reverted to his stoic military demeanor—a silent shadow, ever at Li Hao’s heels.

He had inquired with the servants about the earlier assassination attempt, studied it closely, and felt a chill of dread.

Especially these past days spent playing chess with the boy, he now knew precisely: the seat he occupied was the very spot where the assassin had once stood.

Only a chessboard separated them.

At such close range, during a child’s moment of vulnerability and inattention, it would have been enough for a sudden, lethal strike!

Yet that assassination had been thwarted—was the assassin incompetent, or the clan elder who intervened too terrifying, or was this child simply blessed with extraordinary fortune? Thus, Li Fu took it as a lesson: he never left Li Hao’s side, not even for meals, drinks, or sleep. Any retainer or maid who came within three feet of Li Hao was met with his hawk-like gaze, sternly scrutinized.

This made the servants and maids in the courtyard secretly suffer—each time they reported to the Young Master, they trembled, daring not raise their heads… they were nearly becoming introverted.

Seeing Li Hao approach, Bian Ruxue pouted slightly and turned her body aside, as if unwilling to be seen by him.

Li Hao watched her sulky, wounded expression and smiled faintly. He ordered a retainer to bring a small stool, then some pastries and fresh fruit, and sat beside her to eat.

“You’re practicing swordplay with a distracted mind. You’ll never beat anyone like this,” Li Hao said with a chuckle, watching the girl’s erratic sword swings.

Bian Ruxue’s eyes suddenly reddened. She stopped her sword, lowered her head, and whispered, “If Brother Hao could cultivate, you’d surpass me in sword art—your intelligence would make you the greatest.”

After a year of training in the practice ground, Bian Ruxue had grown rapidly. As she matured, her mind began to understand why, after the Bone Measurement, the elders had looked at Li Hao with such expressions.

She now understood what Li Hao had lost that year.

Hearing Ruxue’s words, Li Fu’s brow twitched slightly. Deep within his emotionless eyes, a trace of regret and sorrow surfaced.

Wasn’t this also the Li family’s sorrow? The Xing Wu Hou’s sorrow?

Li Hao felt a touch of helplessness—he himself hadn’t mourned, yet this girl was the one who grew sad.

“Don’t say that.”

Li Hao comforted her: “Practicing swordplay is so tiring. Look at you—battling wind and sun, freezing in winter, sweltering in summer. How exhausting! But me? In summer, I sit in the pavilion eating chilled melon, playing chess. In winter, I burrow under the covers, sleeping until the sun’s high. That’s true happiness!”

Li Fu couldn’t help glancing at the boy—yes, that was exactly the kind of thing he’d say.

Without the Xing Wu Hou around, the other consorts couldn’t enforce strict discipline. Upon his return, Li Fu had noticed the boy’s attitude had grown somewhat cynical and careless.

“You’re not afraid of hardship,” Bian Ruxue looked up and said.

“What do you know?”

Li Hao snapped: “Look at me now—I’m too lazy to even stand. If I can sit, I won’t stand; if I can lie down, I won’t sit. Some hardships are meaningless. If hardship had purpose, why would we need comfort? You’re too young to understand. Just focus on your sword practice.”

“Don’t talk nonsense.”

Li Fu could no longer bear it and snapped a rebuke.

What nonsense—hardship has no meaning? Every soldier on the frontier endures hardship.

As a cultivator, one fears nothing more than lack of talent or resources.

This brat, born into fortune yet blind to it—no talent, yet complains of hardship. He won’t study himself, and now he’s leading Ruxue astray? Unacceptable.

Li Fu had seen Bian Ruxue’s sword talent—exceptional. She would surely achieve great heights in sword art and become Li Hao’s shield. He couldn’t let this reckless boy talk himself out of his future protection.

“Uncle Fu, I think Brother Hao is right.”

Bian Ruxue quickly defended Li Hao.

Li Fu glared, his anger rising—this girl listened to Li Hao too well. If he corrupted her, it would be disastrous.

“Don’t fill her head with such nonsense. Boy, don’t think I won’t beat you—I’ll hit you, and even your father will say it’s justified!”

Li Fu couldn’t bring himself to scold the gentle, orphaned girl, so he turned his stern warning on Li Hao.

Li Hao smiled sheepishly—he knew he had no common ground with this rigid, serious man.

Moreover, the Divine General’s Mansion was a military lineage, and the Li family had always promoted frugality and endurance.

Though the consorts in each courtyard wore brocade and jade, envied by the world, the Divine General’s Mansion’s status and heritage could afford far greater luxury.

Yet Lady He Jianlan, for years, had fasted two days every week. She didn’t believe in Buddha—she said it was to remind herself and her children not to be lost in wealth and splendor, forgetting the soldier’s duty and integrity.

“Yes, yes, Uncle Fu is right.”

Li Hao turned to Ruxue: “See? You’ve made Uncle Fu angry. Hurry up and practice your sword.”

Ruxue blinked her little eyes, pouting slightly—clearly, it was Brother Hao who provoked him.

But she didn’t argue. If she could take the blame for Li Hao and absorb Uncle Fu’s anger, she’d gladly do it.

Hearing Li Hao’s shameless words, Li Fu nearly laughed in exasperation. He rolled his eyes—this boy was truly impossible to discipline.

“Uncle Fu, could you watch Ruxue’s sword technique and give her some pointers?” Li Hao asked Li Fu.

Li Fu replied coolly: “I use the dao. I don’t know sword.”

"The Dao and the sword are interconnected—there's little difference," Li Hao smiled.

“What do you know? When mastering a weapon, even the tiniest difference creates infinite variation,” Li Fu snapped, then restrained himself—this boy didn’t understand martial arts; such thinking was natural.

Li Hao sighed in resignation, went back to eating fruit, and propped up his leg, watching Ruxue practice.

“Your spinning technique is wrong.”

After watching for a while, Li Hao casually pointed: “If you pull your arm down a bit more, it’ll look better.”

“Don’t talk nonsense—you’ll disrupt Ruxue,” Li Fu frowned sharply.

An outsider instructing an expert? Unthinkable!

But Bian Ruxue ignored Li Fu. She was used to Li Hao’s casual advice. Though he’d never stepped onto the martial path, every time she followed his instructions, she felt her movements flow more smoothly.

Now, she lowered her arm and executed the spin again—and suddenly, a sense of clarity and ease filled her. Li Fu let out a soft “Huh?” Not because Ruxue had obeyed Li Hao—after all, this girl was far too obedient to him—but because, as Li Hao suggested, the slight adjustment had genuinely added more ferocity to the sword’s momentum.

He looked down at the boy, munching fruit, legs sprawled in an uncouth posture. Was it coincidence?

Or did he judge by aesthetics? “Use your waist! For this spinning slash, it’s not just your arm—you must drive the motion with your waist,” Li Hao added.

Bian Ruxue nodded slightly, then practiced again, repeating it several times until she grasped the essence. The sword now whipped the air—its power noticeably stronger than before.

Li Fu raised an eyebrow, startled. One mistake was chance. Two? Not anymore.

Could this child truly understand sword art? Did he possess sword talent?

Though Li Fu disliked Li Hao’s character, he had to admit: after half a year of observation, the boy was extraordinarily intelligent, mature, and wise beyond his years.

Could it be that he truly had sword talent—but, unable to cultivate, could never manifest it?

The thought filled him with quiet grief. What a terrible loss—if true!

As Li Hao casually offered advice, Ruxue’s technique gradually approached perfection.

There was no choice: with Li Hao’s understanding of sword art, merely glancing a few times allowed him to record Ruxue’s upper-tier sword form onto his panel, instantly elevating it to the Ultimate level. He guided her using this Ultimate-level comprehension—skipping perfection entirely. Even if she grasped only a fraction, her power matched perfection.

Then Li Hao asked the girl to demonstrate the move she’d lost against her opponent the day before.

Ruxue obediently complied.

Li Hao instantly understood—and even imagined the scene of how her opponent had defeated her.

But he said nothing. With Li Fu beside him, a slight hint of sword talent was acceptable. Too much detail would seem unnatural.

“This sword strike looks bad. I think the downward slash should be angled—bend your elbow back.”

“Change the slash to a direct thrust here—don’t let your wrist shake.”

Li Hao offered his advice casually.

Ruxue frowned, listened carefully, slowly understood Li Hao’s words, then practiced again, repeating it over and over, inching closer to his description.

Li Fu glanced at Li Hao—he was now certain: Li Hao possessed extraordinary sword talent.

Though the boy expressed himself like an outsider, judging only by “beautiful” or “ugly,” a child so young perceiving the beauty of weapons—wasn’t that itself a talent?

After all, to a genius, things appear in a different light.

Li Fu sighed inwardly, his regret for Li Hao deepening.

The next day.

The two went to Changchun Courtyard for morning greetings, then Ruxue hurried off to the practice ground.

After morning training and lessons, Ruxue found the junior boy from yesterday. Holding a sword nearly as tall as herself, her face was serious as she challenged him again.

Hearing her words, the boy burst into laughter.

The other junior boys gathered around him joined in mocking and ridiculing.

They dared not provoke the legitimate heirs—but Bian Ruxue was no true Li. She was merely the betrothed of a legitimate heir, still unmarried, and that heir was the infamous waste of the Divine General’s Mansion. One day, any of them would surpass him.

Thus, they resented the boy sitting atop a mountain of wealth and favor.

“Didn’t you learn your lesson after being beaten by Brother Bai yesterday?”

“Wanting to defend that waste? If you’ve got guts, make him come himself! I’ll let him use both hands!”

“Hmph, Brother Bai held back yesterday. You’re still ungrateful.”

“Your talent is good, but Brother Bai has trained here eight years. If you want revenge, maybe in half a year—but by then, Brother Bai will probably be gone.”

Ruxue bit her lip, her small face fixed intently on the boy in the center: “Are you afraid?”

The words stirred the boy’s blood. The boy called “Brother Bai” was Li Dongbai—one of the top three talents among the junior heirs, with a Seventh-Rank Battle Body, enjoying resources nearly equal to the legitimate heirs, already at the Zhou Tian realm.

But the practice ground’s rules required the stronger party to suppress their cultivation to match the weaker party’s level.

Ruxue’s current cultivation was Tongli Realm, Level Ten, Perfect!

“Today, I’ll make you lose clearly,” Li Dongbai’s eyes turned icy. He hadn’t intended to provoke this girl with peerless talent—he’d merely been chatting with his companions, mentioned the waste, and casually voiced his opinion, when this girl had come to challenge him.

Though a junior heir, he had high pride. He wouldn’t apologize—hence yesterday’s duel.

“Come on!”

Li Dongbai stepped onto the practice ground’s platform.

Soon, the crowd swelled around the platform—everyone eager to watch the clash between these two junior talents and the prodigy girl.

Outside the arena, the practice ground’s instructor, an old soldier, smiled with narrowed eyes, encouraging such youthful contests.

A sword’s edge is forged through grinding. Without struggle in youth, how can one gain hardship? How can one grow? Should one wait until old age, bones brittle, to fight for survival?

Soon, two figures—one tall, one small—clashed within the arena.

The same scene had already been witnessed by the veteran in the army yesterday; today’s difference was minor, only that Li Dongbai’s strike had grown slightly more ferocious.

“It seems Xue’er will lose again,” the veteran thought to himself: “After all, his cultivation is still too short. Though his talent is exceptional, he still needs refinement.”

At that moment, figures crossed within the arena, and the most intense sword strike was unleashed.

With a sharp clang, a sword flew out, rolled off the fighting platform, and plunged diagonally into the sandy ground.

The figure on the platform froze in place.

The cheers and shouts from the crowd supporting both sides also froze.

And so did the veteran’s face, its smile frozen.

(End of Chapter)