"Well... I don't know."
But after a moment, Li Qingchen's heartbeat slowed, his face cooling back to normal.
Li Xueruo placed her fingers on her lips, tilting her head slightly as her clear eyes lingered on him. "Then, Master Divine Child," she said softly, "guess whether I'm wearing anything now?"
"I think... I should be wearing it," Li Qingchen muttered, pretending to glance her way. "Oh—no, wait—why are you asking that? I don't know!"
"Then do you want to touch it?" she teased.
"Eh!?"
"Try it?"
"…No… I guess not!"
"Come on!"
"Alright, alright! Your thing's indeed here with me," he admitted in defeat, face twitching. "But don't misunderstand—I don't even know how it got here! Maybe it turned into a spirit and flew here on its own! It definitely wasn't me!"
…
Despite his frantic excuses, the outcome was still the same: by the end of it, Li Qingchen's face was covered in crimson lip marks.
"This Divine Child's taken advantage of everything," he muttered while walking down the stone path, cheeks still burning. The so-called system—it never warned him what kind of "reward" was coming. Surprise, they said. Now, all he felt was dread. Who knew what absurd gift would drop next?
If that girl dared to tease him like that again, he'd… he'd probably still not fight back. She was, after all, his number one fan—and far too fearless for her own good.
Not long after, Li Qingchen returned to his residence—only to find someone already waiting inside the hall. When he looked up and recognised the figure, his eyes widened.
"Sixth Ancestor! Why are you here?"
The old man laughed warmly, stroking his long beard. "Little rascal, don't you know? I'll be your instructor for the next month."
Li Qingchen blinked, then nodded slowly as the memory surfaced.
"Come, Qingchen," the Sixth Patriarch said, turning toward the courtyard. "We'll train by the back mountain. Today, Grandpa will teach you the sword."
The two soon arrived at the mountain's base. As they ascended, Li Qingchen remembered the Fifth Patriarch's warning—and a cold shiver ran down his spine. He had always thought of the Sixth Patriarch as a kindly elder, gentle and wise. But after hearing his Fifth Grandfather's stories… he knew better.
The man walking ahead of him was once known across the realms as the God of Death. His blade was unmatched; his temper, unflinching. It was said that a thousand years ago, when an elder of Tiandao Sacred Land killed a Li clan prodigy, the Sixth Patriarch went alone to their gates. Dozens of elders fell beneath his sword. When two Great Saints joined the fray, the sky split open—yet even outnumbered, he slew one and gravely wounded the other before walking away in calm defiance.
From that day, his name spread through the three thousand great worlds like a storm.
The rush of falling water pulled Li Qingchen back from his thoughts.
They had reached a waterfall cascading over jade-green cliffs, mist rising like silk. The air shimmered with spirit energy.
Before he could take another breath, the scenery blurred—and suddenly, they stood atop the mountain peak. Clouds floated below their feet; sunlight spilled through in golden sheets. It felt like standing within the heavens themselves.
"Qingchen," the Sixth Patriarch said, voice low but steady, "what kind of swordsmanship do you wish to learn?"
"The coolest. The strongest!" Li Qingchen answered without hesitation.
"Oh?" The old man's brows lifted slightly, and he chuckled. "You're ambitious. But can you bear it?"
Originally, he had planned to teach simple sword forms—safe, foundational techniques. Yet seeing that spark in the boy's eyes, he changed his mind. Let him taste the difficulty. Let him see what true power demanded.
"Very well. To master the strongest, you must first know the basics."
He began to explain each form patiently: "Point. Stab. Chop. Sweep. Carry. Draw. Intercept. Wipe. Lift. Strike. Hang. Block."
Li Qingchen listened carefully, repeating every motion under the crashing waterfall, droplets glimmering like scattered stars around him.
Time flowed quietly.
As the Sixth Patriarch's explanation ended, Li Qingchen moved on his own—each motion sharper, steadier, more alive than before.
Then came the sound.
[Ding — Reward Granted: Transcendent-Level Comprehension Ability.]
Li Qingchen froze, eyes widening.
The air trembled.
The Sixth Patriarch's expression turned solemn as he watched. Within moments, the boy's aura transformed. That naive, uncertain energy—gone. What stood before him now was a swordsman with the poise of a master.
"Bloody hell," Li Qingchen whispered, and even the Sixth Patriarch felt the same awe. He had never expected such a terrifying shift from one so young.
Perhaps the "reward" from cleaning Li Xueruo's room had only just manifested. The system, as always, was late—but its gifts were monstrous.
Power surged through him. Every swing of his sword resonated with force, the air cutting in ripples of light.
In those simple strokes—chop, stab, sweep—there was already the beginning of intent. Each form carried a whisper of something greater, something ancient.
And then, the impossible happened.
His movements flowed together—one form birthing the next, until the pattern was no longer mimicry, but creation.
"This... this is a self-created martial art," the Sixth Patriarch murmured, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "He's doing it… instinctively."
For all his centuries, he had never seen such comprehension. Each time, the child shattered what he thought possible.
As Li Qingchen sheathed the wooden sword, sunlight glinted off the mist behind him.
He exhaled slowly and smiled. "The system never misses, does it?"
"A sword that seeks perfection will always cut its wielder first,"
The thought slipped through him, sharp and quiet as the blade in his hand.. "But if I must bleed to grow stronger, then so be it."
And the waterfall roared on, as if the heavens themselves were applauding.