Andrew often retreated into the vivid landscape of his mind. He spent countless hours devouring every book he could find, absorbing knowledge like a sponge. Vavilon, the name of his city, conjured images of bustling streets filled with half a million souls, a vibrant tapestry of lives. Yet, he knew a stark truth: men in Vavilon were an anomaly. In a city of that size, only about twenty men existed,
most of them common folk, far removed from the path of cultivation.
He understood the progression of power, the stages that followed the initial body forging. First came the Foundation Establishment stage, where cultivators solidified their essence, extending their lifespans and gaining rudimentary control over elemental energies. Next, the Golden Core, where a nexus of pure energy formed within their dantian, granting them mastery over higher techniques, even flight. Beyond that lay the Nascent Soul, a realm of near-godlike power, an existence where one's very soul could leave the body and traverse vast distances. Anything beyond that remained a mystery, a distant whisper of power too immense for a five-year-old to fully grasp.
His own aptitude, a level two, placed him firmly on the path to a Golden Core. He felt no doubt, a certainty cold and hard as iron within him, that he would reach that stage. But he knew he wouldn't stop there. He would push further, break through the perceived limits. He would receive all the support he needed, he would create a vibrant, happy life for himself, and he would father many children. He held no reservations about that future.
In his mind, he saw himself as a Core Formation cultivator, soaring above Vavilon, his divine sense sweeping across the city. He pictured the awe in the eyes of the women, their admiration for his prowess, their eagerness to join him. His grip tightened on his knees. He would be a protector, a provider. He would establish a legacy that echoed through generations.
Each session on the mat brought him closer to that vision. His body, still small and developing, tightened with each breath, each flow of Qi. He pushed his limits, welcoming the burn in his muscles, the almost unbearable pressure in his bones. He knew this painful process was reshaping him, forging him into something stronger, something capable of fulfilling his grand design. His focus was absolute, each moment a brick laid in the foundation of his future empire. The dull ache in his limbs became a familiar friend, a constant reminder of his journey.
He envisioned the day he would effortlessly perform feats unheard of in Vavilon, wielding elemental powers, commanding the very air around him. He saw himself as a guardian, a pillar of strength, his will shaping the world around him. He would not just exist; he would thrive. He would not just cultivate; he would conquer.
The sounds of the household faded. Amara's soft humming from the kitchen, the rustle of leaves outside – they became distant echoes. His world narrowed to the rhythm of his own breath, the pulse of energy within him. He was a force of nature in the making, a silent storm brewing. The path was long, arduous, and fraught with challenges, but he had an unwavering belief in himself, a certainty that bordered on arrogance. He would break through the Foundation Establishment stage with ease; he would form his Golden Core; he would stand among the legends. He would defy all expectations and carve his own destiny, not just for himself, but for those who would come after him. He was Andrew, and he was just getting started.
Andrew also absorbed the intricate hierarchy of power within Vavilon. He learned about the Golden Core families, their matriarchs commanding immense influence across the city. He rattled off their names in his mind, a silent roll call of the powerful: the Kerman family, the Hammed family, the Dizen family. These families, with their formidable leaders, anchored the city's political landscape. He understood the unspoken rule: one did not cross a Golden Core matriarch lightly. Their power resonated through every street, every marketplace, an omnipresent force.
Beyond these dominant houses, numerous Foundation Establishment families held sway, their matriarchs ranging from early to peak Foundation Establishment power. Andrew felt no fear towards them. He knew, with an unshakeable conviction, he would soon reach that level himself. The gap between them felt less like an insurmountable chasm and more like a temporary inconvenience, a stepping stone on his ascent.
He committed the names of the influential families to memory, file cards in his mental archive. These weren't just names; they represented power dynamics, alliances, rivalries. He saw them as pieces on a chessboard, movements to anticipate, strategies to devise. He knew his path would intersect with theirs, and he prepared himself for those encounters.
Vavilon, he also discovered, had a singular, overarching protector: a Nascent Soul cultivator. A being of unimaginable power, her presence a silent decree of inviolability over the city. She was the final arbiter, the ultimate deterrent. Her existence ensured a fragile peace, a balance between the competing Golden Core families. Andrew imagined her, a shadowy figure, yet radiating an aura that encompassed the entire cityscape. He held no illusions about challenging such a being. Not yet, at least. He understood the prudence of caution, the wisdom of biding his time.
He felt the stirrings of ambition, cold and calculating. The current power structure was a temporary arrangement, a map he would redraw. He envisioned himself moving through these established families, not as a suppliant seeking favour, but as an equal, eventually as a superior. He saw the matriarchs of the Kerman, Hammed, and Dizen families as formidable opponents, but not insurmountable obstacles. He would observe their strengths, pinpoint their weaknesses, and plan his approach with meticulous detail.
His training continued, every push and strain an investment in his future. He felt the Qi flowing through his meridians, strengthening his body, preparing him for the trials ahead. The Foundation Establishment stage felt tangible, within his grasp. He was five years old, but his mind contained the accumulated knowledge of a lifetime, a vast library of understanding he couldn't explain. He embraced it, utilizing it to dissect the world around him.
He pictured himself leading his own family, not just a Foundation Establishment family, but one that rivalled, then surpassed, the Golden Core families. He would establish a legacy that outshone even the Nascent Soul protector. He saw children, many children, a vibrant lineage, all under his careful guidance, all embodying the strength and ambition he cultivated within himself. His future was not a whisper; it was a roar, echoing in the quiet chambers of his mind. He would not just adapt to Vavilon; he would redefine it. He would not just navigate its power structures; he would master them. His time was coming.
Andrew had everything he wanted, or rather, everything he needed. Even the Matriarchy, that vast, all-encompassing organisation, seemed to align with his ambitions. He saw them as a powerful tool, a resource to leverage. Their system, designed to preserve humanity, inadvertently served his purpose. He would use every advantage, every hidden lever, every subtle nuance to achieve his goals. He acknowledged the many things still beyond his reach, the vast chasm between his current state and his ultimate vision. But he saw it not as a barrier, but as a temporary phase, a challenge to be overcome with time, with relentless drive.
His current life, simple and structured, facilitated his growth. The Matriarchy provided him with Lucy. He absorbed her teachings like dry earth soaking up rain, his innate understanding far surpassing his years. His body strengthened with each passing day, capable of feats that bewildered the mind.
Andrew was a man, a truth he held firm in his core, despite his small frame. He was no seed, no mere vessel for the Matriarchy's grand plan. He would not become a tool wielded by others, sculpted to fit their expectations. He would sculpt his own destiny, carve his own path. He saw the women of Vavilon not as his masters, but as components of the life he was building, a life where he stood at the apex. He would be the one to "fuck" all those women, a private, rebellious thought that thrilled through him. No one would put him in a position of humiliation, no one would make him feel less than a man.
His goals stretched high, reaching for the stars, and he knew, with an unshakeable conviction, he would grasp them. He would shape his own life, twist it to his will, not bow to the will of others. The thought of being reduced to a mere sperm donor, a means to an end, sent a cold shiver through him. He would shatter that expectation. He would dominate.
Every cultivation session became a declaration of independence, each flow of Qi a silent oath. He pushed past the pain, past the fatigue, transforming his body into a weapon, a shield, a monument to his defiance. He envisioned the future clearly: himself, standing tall, surrounded by the progeny of his choosing, a testament to his power and will. His eyes, though innocent in appearance, held a spark of ambition, cold and calculating.
The world might see him as a child, an anomaly, a precious resource to be carefully managed. He smiled inwardly. Let them. Their underestimation was his greatest advantage. He would grow, he would learn, he would plot. He would become a force of nature, an unstoppable tide. And when the time came, he would rise, not as a product of their design, but as the architect of his own empire. He would show them what a true man could achieve. He would not just survive; he would conquer.