Chapter 25: The Master

The maidens of the inner courtyard hurried past, their footsteps light and silent as they carried sheets of white paper to the archery practice ground, then bent low to unroll the one-meter-square sheets beside Li Guanyi, followed by the delivery of fine inkstones, brushes, ink, and paper.

Li Guanyi picked up a brush and moistened it on the Huizhoun inkstone.

He then wrote down the formula, arranging the data on one side.

The original assumed symbols were replaced with characters: Tian, Di, Ren.

His calligraphy had been taught by his aunt; in poverty, he had practiced by dipping his fingers in water and writing on stone tables, or using twigs to write on damp sand—always visible, and now, as his strokes appeared, the idle chatter around him dimmed.

Huh? He really has some skill.

Many people gathered around Li Guanyi.

Some Xue family youths ran off to fetch friends who weren’t present.

Using mathematics to teach archery—no one had ever seen such a thing before. Today, whether they gained insight or merely witnessed entertainment, it was certainly no bad thing.

Xue Shuangtao watched Li Guanyi, her eyes flickering slightly, curiosity rising within her—she wondered how he intended to accomplish this.

Only Xue Changqing still held his bow, endlessly drawing and releasing arrows, even though he never hit the target; he was only eight, and though he had trained in the Xue family’s internal arts since childhood, his strength was insufficient, his archery too crude to master the Xue family’s divine bow techniques—his arrows landed before, behind, left, and right of the target.

Those who practiced archery here were all Xue family youths.

Naturally, they all knew the situation of this young master; now that this math master had spoken such bold words, they were curious—and deep within, even where they hadn’t realized it themselves, carried strong disbelief, even a touch of contempt.

This disbelief stemmed from their long-held experience.

Thus, the older they were, the more they rejected and resented it.

Archery is an extremely profound martial art! To hit the target requires thousands, even tens of thousands of repetitions.

They had all endured this process.

How could it possibly be decided by mere paper and pen? The murmurs around them grew louder; even whispers, when multiplied by numbers, became noisy.

Li Guanyi lifted his brush, glanced around at the curious stares, showed no fear, merely set the brush down and smiled: “Enough. I’m ready.”

Xue Changqing had shot many times, never hitting once, frustrated:

“If you win, I’ll obediently come with you to study mathematics.”

“Even… even I’ll give you a full string of cash every day!”

He lifted his head, puffed out his chest: “I’ll raise the price!”

“And if you lose?”

Li Guanyi smiled: “If I lose, I won’t force you to study. How’s that?”

Xue Changqing’s eyes lit up: “Deal!”

Then he paused. He should have been thrilled at escaping math lessons—but if Li Guanyi won, didn’t that mean he truly could use mathematics to help him hit the target? Wouldn’t that be exciting too? For a moment, he didn’t know whether he hoped Li Guanyi would win or lose.

Amid this complex emotion, Li Guanyi told Xue Changqing to nock an arrow, while he remained seated, judging the angle, estimating, then said: “Raise the arrowhead three fingers up. Hmm, slightly lower now. Good.”

“Draw full, shoot.”

Is it really that simple?!

Is he mocking me?! Xue Changqing’s fingers instinctively released.

The arrow flew.

Others laughed, watching the spectacle; elders always stood beside apprentices during archery practice, helping stabilize posture—archery angle was pure instinct; how could one possibly judge it from mere observation?

Obviously unreliable. Even the young mistress was deceived by this man.

Just a brat with no sense…

A dull thud echoed, and the Xue family cultivators’ thoughts momentarily froze.

The faint murmurs around them ceased instantly.

A sudden, absolute silence.

The shift was too immense.

One could even hear the faint tremor of the arrow’s fletching after striking the target.

Xue Shuangtao’s eyes widened slightly as she stared at the arrow embedded in the target, then turned to the boy—her gaze flickered with something unusual. Xue Changqing stared at the arrow, whispering: “I… I hit it?!”

“I hit it!”

“Sister, I hit it!!!”

The Xue family youths whispered among themselves—astonishment, resentment, belief it was luck—each reaction different.

Li Guanyi rose to stand, then paused slightly.

A faint warmth flowed through his chest.

The bronze tripod hummed; the jade fluid, silent and unseen, began slowly rising—this meant… Li Guanyi lifted his head slightly, seeing no old man, yet hearing as if a tiger’s low growl echoed beside him—a massive paw, the size of a lion’s head at the gate, pressed down beside him.

How could he discern elegance and languor from such a simple motion?

The blue-clad youth sat cross-legged, his gaze utterly still.

Around him lay unrolled sheets of white paper, inscribed with clear, strong, bone-structured characters; a vast, majestic white tiger paced in a circle around him, its tail slightly raised like a whip, its blue eyes fixed on Li Guanyi.

The Xue family’s ancestral patriarch had arrived.

Li Guanyi abandoned his earlier plan—merely letting Xue Changqing hit the target was enough.

The fish had bitten; now, he would use heavier bait.

He dipped his brush again, calmly recalculated, then said: “Nock the arrow.”

The Xue family youths, who had just begun arguing, fell into stunned silence, exchanging glances.

Didn’t he already hit the target? What more could he do? Only Xue Changqing obediently drew his bow, excited. Li Guanyi observed, confirmed the angle, gave simple instructions again—Xue Changqing released the string, and this time the arrow struck the tail of the previous arrow, splitting its fletching.

A sixteen-year-old Xue youth murmured: “… Linked arrows?”

Linked arrows tested not power, but precision. Some could split boulders with one shot, yet struggled to link arrows—mere brute force. Yet this advanced technique appeared now in a child who, half an hour ago, couldn’t even hit the target.

Li Guanyi said again: “Nock the arrow.”

Xue Changqing shot two more arrows, both striking the fletching of the prior arrow—four arrows, each linked. For mathematics and physics, once parameters are fixed, the outcome is identical. Li Guanyi marveled: warriors truly were different—they could maintain arrow stability.

The rest of the Xue family were incredulous.

Xue Shuangtao’s voice rang clear: “Lianzhu.”

One arrow fired first, then three follow in rapid succession, each arrow linked to the next like beads on a string.

A technique from the Six Arts of the Gentleman—testing not power, but precision and control.

Their hearts trembled; their resentment vanished completely.

Li Guanyi dipped his brush again and said calmly: “Draw the bow. Nock the arrow.”

The Xue family’s expressions tightened instinctively.

Again?! Three more shots?

This time, the arrow struck the target, forming a cross with the first arrow’s impact point.

Xue Shuangtao’s eyes brightened slightly as she whispered: “Jingyi.”

Four arrows pierce the target, arranged like the wells of a grid.

Another of the Five Archery Tests.

Only the sound of arrows slicing the air remained.

[Target Hit]

[Linked Arrows]

[Lianzhu]

[Jingyi]

The Xue family practice ground was utterly silent, save for Xue Changqing’s faint breathing. Li Guanyi said calmly: “Draw the bow. Nock the arrow.”

The Xue family youths held their breath.

For no reason, they suddenly felt the cross-legged youth before them had grown immense. His four words—calm, unchanging in tone—carried an inexplicable, crushing pressure, making them feel as if they could not breathe.

Only Xue Changqing, ecstatic, nocked his arrow immediately. Li Guanyi confirmed the angle.

He lowered his gaze, as if calculating, then said: “Shoot.”

The arrow flew.

Spinning, it pierced through the already-full target, striking the bullseye with enough force to split the brittle target entirely.

Long silence followed. Li Guanyi lifted his brush.

The entire Xue family paled.

The youth calmly placed his brush on the brush rest.

Xue Changqing asked: “Master, aren’t we practicing anymore?”

Practice? Your hands are shaking.

Li Guanyi shook his head: “The ink’s run out.”

Only then did the Xue family youths notice the inkstone before the youth had dried completely.

At that moment, the gate suddenly opened.

Beyond lay the vast, distant blue sky. An old man with white hair and beard entered; the wind stirred the white papers covered in ink, and the blue-clad youth sat calmly within, his gaze still serene, his robes and hands untouched by a single ink stain.

“Hahaha! What a marvelous math master—truly, talent so great it pierces the heavens!”

The Xue family youths all bowed with reverence.

“Ancestor!”

Xue Changqing rushed forward, bow and arrow in hand: “Grandpa! Grandpa! I hit it! I succeeded! Teach me the Divine Bow Thirteen Forms!”

The old man laughed heartily, ruffling his grandson’s hair with affection: “Good, good! My Changqing is truly a genius. It seems, at last, someone in this generation can wield our family’s century-and-thirty-year-old [Poyun Zhentian Bow].”

Divine Bow Thirteen Forms

[Poyun Zhentian Bow]? Li Guanyi, curious, rose and bowed.

The bronze tripod’s jade nectar had been nurtured to seven-tenths.

Unfortunately, Xue Changqing had reached his limit; otherwise, Li Guanyi could have prolonged it further, but harming the child would be unacceptable. Yet seven-tenths was sufficient—there would be more time afterward, and it would surely be complete in a month.

The old man looked at him, admiration in his eyes, and said:

“Young Master Li Xiao, indeed, remarkable skill.”

Li Guanyi replied: “Merely arithmetic.”

The old man laughed heartily: “Merely arithmetic? I’ve never heard of such arithmetic. I’m quite curious.”

He thought for a moment and said: “Might I trouble you for a brief stroll and chat?”

Li Guanyi looked at the old man and the white tiger beside him.

The old man’s expression was calm, but a hint of curiosity could be seen on the white tiger’s dharma form’s face. Li Guanyi pondered—dharma forms seemed less able than their true bodies to conceal emotions, to mask intent. He composed himself, smiled, and answered:

“Of course.”

At this moment, the bronze tripod’s jade nectar had reached seven-tenths.

(End of Chapter)