Chapter 93

The True Dragon selection will be held two months from now.

Li Tiangang delivered this news to He Jianlan and notified the entire household.

Instantly, every courtyard erupted in uproar.

Yet, they had anticipated this—since Li Wushuang returned from descending the mountain, they knew it was all about the True Dragon.

Originally, the main contenders for the True Dragon were from Shuihua Courtyard; now, Li Hao from Shanhe Courtyard has suddenly emerged as a rival.

“Hmph, Liu Yuerong must be furious.”

In Linglong Courtyard, Xiao Yujing sneered.

She had no biological children, only an adopted son, Li Yuanzhao, whose talent, though an eighth-rank battle physique, was still lacking—ninth-rank battle physique was merely the baseline for top prodigies.

Naturally, he could not compete for the True Dragon.

But now that Li Hao has revealed his brilliance and stunned the world, and since Li Yuanzhao is closest to Li Hao, he might still benefit.

Yet, she did not care much about any of this.

Inside Shuihua Courtyard.

Though Liu Yuerong had anticipated it, she still gnashed her teeth.

She ordered the old woman to prepare a letter—now, she could only turn to Qianfeng’s master.

Perhaps that Buddha Lord, equal in stature to a True Person of Qian Dao Palace, might have a solution.

Though her own child was also at the Fifteen Li Realm, he was three years older.

…

…

Wuliang Mountain.

In the Wuliang Spiritual Realm, within the Brahma Pure Land Realm.

Wuliang Mountain’s rules were strict; clothing, food, shelter, and daily life were all determined by the Buddhist rank system: Vajras could reside in the Vajra Heart Hall to contemplate the Master’s Heart and attain Arhat status, while Arhats could dwell in the Buddha Hall and receive offerings.

The Spiritual Realm, supreme and unrivaled, was where the Wuliang Buddha Lord cultivated and resided.

Here, spiritual mist stretched endlessly, like a celestial land beyond the world.

“Amitabha Buddha, Lord Buddha, the message has been delivered to Qiankun Vajra; he is returning. Also, we just received a letter from the Divine General’s Mansion—sent by Qiankun Vajra’s mother, Lady Liu.”

A Bodhisattva whispered the Buddha’s name, holding the letter, and passed it through the air to the Buddha Lord above.

The Wuliang Buddha Lord wore a kasaya, his entire body radiating Buddhist light, a blazing wheel of enlightenment behind him, emitting a glow of universal salvation.

His body was enormous, over a hundred feet tall—a result of a special cultivation technique, granting him inconceivable power.

Meanwhile, Bodhisattvas who had reached the Four Stand Realm were merely human-sized, dwarfed beside him like ants, forced to look up.

The letter floated toward him, but he did not take it—only pausing before his eyes for a moment before dissolving into ash, its contents fully perceived by him.

“We already knew the news. Lady Liu is too impatient.”

The Wuliang Buddha Lord murmured: “Tell her not to rush. Talent is not determined solely by realm, but by the depth of one’s foundation. Qiankun Vajra cultivates only the pinnacle Buddhist scriptures, combined with the Li family’s ultimate techniques—he stands among the top five in his realm.”

“When he returns, I will impart to him a Buddha Vow, ensuring his supremacy within his realm.”

The Bodhisattva exhaled in relief: “Thank you, Lord Buddha.”

The Wuliang Buddha Lord softly said: “In the past century, conflicts have multiplied. Da Yu’s fortune is waning. Interfering in the Divine General’s Mansion’s True Dragon contest is a reluctant choice. When chaos approaches, it is our duty to descend and save all beings.”

“Amitabha Buddha.”

The Bodhisattva’s face was reverent.

…

…

As news of the Li family’s impending True Dragon selection spread, all sides received word and quietly moved to act.

“The True Dragon selection hinges on two main factors.”

In Shanhe Courtyard, Li Tiangang summoned Li Hao before him, looking at his son—his heart filled with both relief and unease:

“First, talent. Second, character.”

“Beyond that, merit and connections matter too, but they are secondary—mere embellishments.”

Li Hao nodded. The Second Uncle had told him this.

The Divine General’s Mansion was a top-tier clan—it did not judge solely by strength.

Talent was vital, but talent alone was insufficient. If one’s character was abysmal, they would not go far.

Traits like impatience, arrogance, or obsession—if paired with top-tier talent—were like entrusting the family to a madman behind the wheel; it would only accelerate destruction.

Stability, restraint, adaptability, composure under praise or blame—these were the hallmarks of superior character.

In short, one needed not only outstanding talent but also sound moral character—that was the standard expected of a great clan’s heir.

As for connections and merit, they were merely bonus points.

Connections were also a reflection of character—after all, how could one build connections without a skillful, adaptable disposition?

Someone who offended everyone they spoke to—no matter how strong—would make the entire family enemies if he became patriarch.

The Li family’s True Dragon selection, though less rigid than the imperial crown prince’s, was still meticulously chosen—not like small clans, where a bastard might seize fortune and suddenly rise, overwhelming everyone else and forcing uncles and aunts to kneel in awe.

But such bastards often soared beyond the clan, leaving it behind entirely, merely acting as absentee lords.

The reason top clans endured was because their patriarchs had to lift the entire family, guiding it forward—that was why character was tested.

Li Tiangang looked at Li Hao and said: “I am not worried about your talent, but these years I have neglected your upbringing, leaving your character lax. If you applied yourself, your achievements would far exceed this.”

He paused, glancing at Li Hao.

He had said this before—now it was merely a repetition.

Li Hao’s previous reply had been: So what? Now, seeing Li Hao’s expressionless face, he sighed: “I know we failed you by not being there. But the billions of people in Yanbei need us. If I abandoned Yanbei, I cannot say what Da Yu would do—but the people of Yanzhou would suffer catastrophe.”

“As a son of a military family, you should understand this.”

“I understand!”

Li Hao spoke, his gaze fixed earnestly on his father: “I have never blamed you for this—not once.”

“I can attest to that,” said Li Fu, standing quietly beside the pavilion. He looked at Li Hao, his eyes filled with pity and sorrow, and said to Li Tian Gang: “My Lord, when the young master was attacked, you ordered me to return and protect him. I asked him then—he did not blame you. Instead, he worried whether you were in danger in Yanbei.”

Li Fu, who had been standing silently listening inside the pavilion, interjected. He looked at Li Hao, his eyes filled with pity and reluctance, and said to Li Tiangang: “My Lord, when the Young Master was attacked, you ordered me to return to the mansion to protect him. I asked the Young Master about it, but he did not blame you at all—he was instead worried whether you might be in danger in Yanbei.”

Hearing Li Fu’s words, Yu Xuan, standing like a guard beside them, froze.

He stared at the earnest, stubborn boy, and suddenly felt something unnameable stir within him.

He was an orphan—he understood that feeling.

He had been abandoned at birth, raised in the barracks. At four or five, every time he saw other children with parents, playing and laughing, his heart ached.

He was abandoned at birth and raised in the military camp; when he was four or five, every time he saw other children accompanied by their parents, playing and laughing, his heart ached.

In countless nights, he had screamed into the dark: Why were you so cruel? Why abandon me? If you wouldn’t raise me, why give me life?

That rage faded slowly with age, as he came to believe his unknown parents might have had unbearable reasons.

And this boy—born separated from the Marshal and Lady, at this age, he had expected him to harbor the same bitterness as himself—yet he understood? How old is he?

Looking at the boy’s slender frame, Yu Xuan felt something within his chest threaten to spill out.

He suddenly realized—he had never truly known this young master before.

Hearing Li Fu’s words, Li Tiangang froze.

He met Li Hao’s earnest gaze and knew he was not lying—Li Fu’s testimony confirmed it. A sharp ache rose in his nose.

But he never wept easily—he inhaled deeply, suppressing the sting, then remembered Li Hao’s earlier indifference and asked: “But have you ever harbored resentment?”

But he never shed tears easily; he took a deep breath and suppressed the sting in his nose, then quickly remembered Li Hao’s earlier demeanor and asked: “Have you ever harbored resentment?”

Li Hao answered earnestly, without concealment.

All three were stunned—they had just believed him, yet this contradicted everything.

Li Hao took a deep breath, fixing his gaze on his father.

“My resentment is not that you didn’t return—it’s that you sent twenty-four military reports, nearly two per year!”

“Yet in these fourteen years, you sent only seven family letters!”

Li Hao was no ordinary boy. Had he been a mere fourteen-year-old, he might have buried these feelings, sulking quietly.

But he chose to speak plainly—only this way might his relationship with his father be mended: “Every time a military report arrived at Changchun Courtyard, I went to see it. I waited, hoping a family letter would come with it. I was disappointed seventeen times.”

“On those seventeen occasions, Lady Da fabricated seventeen letters to comfort me. She thought I didn’t know—but I could tell the moment I heard them.”

“I don’t need you to travel thousands of miles just to glance at me briefly. But I don’t understand—why, when you could write, did you never send even one family letter?”

“Don’t you wonder how your son lives? Has he learned to brush his teeth? Has he been bullied? Has he been wronged? Has he been unhappy?”

As Li Hao spoke, the accumulated bitterness in his eyes could no longer be hidden.

This body carried the blood of the man before him—he had always seen him as his father.

Fourteen years apart did not guarantee deep affection, but disappointment and loss were inevitable.

Hearing Li Hao’s words, all three were silent.

Li Fu stared at Li Hao, his body trembling slightly.

He had spent these years beside Li Hao—he had seen Lady Da’s glances and expressions, knew those letters were forged.

But he never imagined the young boy had seen through them too.

And yet, every time he heard them, he returned smiling.

Had he been pretending all along? To spare Lady Da’s kindness?

Li Fu clenched his teeth. This battle-hardened man, who had never shed tears in combat, now felt tears welling up.

Li Tiangang and Yu Xuan stared at Li Hao, their expressions turning complex. Li Tiangang had no reply—faced with these words, he found himself utterly without excuse.

Li Tiangang and Yu Xuan stared dumbfounded at Li Hao, their gazes quickly turning complex; Li Tiangang had no reply—faced with Li Hao’s words, he suddenly found himself unable to conjure any excuse.

He wanted to say that the border wars were urgent and relentless, leaving him no time to think of anything else.

But was that a valid excuse? He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Even if it was that urgent, couldn’t he spare a moment to write a letter home? He could send military reports—why not a single family letter?

He could only think of one reason: he had truly neglected this son.

When had this started?

He couldn’t remember. Perhaps it was after he kept learning that Li Hao could not achieve Foundation Establishment or dissolve his blood, and his focus gradually shifted entirely to the battlefield.

Or perhaps it was truly the constant warfare that had worn him down, leaving him no energy to care.

Even in his heart, he considered another reason: he had had too little contact with this son—he had left right after Li Hao’s birth, so he had never grown accustomed to having a son.

But… could he voice such a thought? As a father, could he say it aloud? The most terrifying part was that he barely remembered those seven letters—several times, it was his wife who reminded him.

At this moment, Li Tiangang’s face turned pale and grim. For the first time, he realized how utterly failed he had been as a father, despite his undefeated record on the battlefield.

“Hao’er…”

Li Tiangang looked at the boy before him—his eyes clear, yet earnest.

He dared not meet his gaze; his heart ached. He pulled Li Hao into his arms, his voice slightly hoarse: “I’ve wronged you!”

Hearing his father’s whisper beside him, Li Hao’s otherwise unshaken heart softened slightly.

He sighed inwardly—was “I’m sorry” enough?

Some things could never be made whole again.

Yet, he quietly told himself to let it go.

Many things, after all, take time.

He was willing to accept the apology, yet a faint sense of loss remained—perhaps this was simply life?

Li Fu and Yu Xuan watched this scene in silence, their hearts aching for Li Hao’s quiet compliance and maturity, and mourning how the strife beyond the borders, beyond the countless fallen soldiers, had also wounded a child thousands of miles away.

Long moments passed.

Li Tiangang slowly calmed himself, gathered his emotions, took a deep breath, and said to Li Hao:

“I’ve missed fourteen years of your life—I will make it up to you!”

“From now on, whatever you want, I will give you!”

Li Hao exhaled, then said: “Then I hope for more freedom.”

(End of Chapter)