Chapter 13: So Low-Key That Only Uncle Fu Noticed

"Lord Huai'an was once the old family head's subordinate—that is, your grandfather's former officer—a valiant general on the battlefield. Later, he was wounded and could no longer fight and so retired. In recent years, he has grown increasingly low-profile," said Wang Fu.

He showed no surprise at the young master's approach; after a month, he was well accustomed to his ways. The young master could be gentle and kind, yet equally capable of being domineering and indifferent.

"Lord Huai'an has several sons, but only Wu Yong causes him trouble. It's said that at birth, there was an accident—he suffered from a high fever for days, and as he grew, his speech and actions became different from others, perhaps his mind was damaged. Yet, his talent is remarkable; he is already at the seventh level of martial cultivation and is expected to break through to the ninth."

Yang Tian understood. Still, could a mere fever alter the mind so completely? Perhaps. The structure of the brain is mysterious and complex; anything is possible.

"As for how Wu Yong ended up in Desolate City, I haven't paid attention. It likely relates to his temperament. Young master need not worry—even setting aside the old family head's past relationship, Lord Huai'an would not blame you."

Wang Fu tried to comfort him, then realized his concern was unnecessary.

"So what if he blames me? Why should I care for others' opinions?" Yang Tian snorted coldly. Having acted, he cared little for the consequences. This was not only his principle towards others, but also towards himself.

After dinner, Yang Tian returned to his room. There was no need for him to manage household affairs; Wang Fu would see to everything with perfect order.

Calming his mind, Yang Tian let his intent enter his spiritual sea. He intended to use his fortune to obtain new pages from the Divine Book of China.

Perhaps the way to break the deadlock in Desolate City lay within that tome. The idea was not yet fully formed, requiring constant verification and adjustment.

A single poem had awakened his golden finger, the Divine Book of China. Within it, all were masterpieces from his past life. Because the Heavenly Dao of this world resisted and restricted such things, he needed to use fortune to veil and offset the effect, so that these masterpieces could appear in this world.

He did not know what each page contained and could only rely on luck, not select as he wished. This meant he had to strive to accumulate more fortune, to unlock enough pages and store resources so he would not be left helpless when the time came to use them.

The first page was "The Song of the Swordsman" by the Immortal Poet, Li Bai. When he first wrote it, it became a spiritual treasure of literary power, granting enlightenment and legacy, but also serving as a single-use explosive weapon in times of need.

Swish, swish, swish—

The blue fortune was exhausted, and the Divine Book of China flipped three pages. Three leaves fluttered free, transforming into streaks of light that merged into his memory and intent.

His mind returned; he opened his eyes and took up the brush he had prepared in advance.

With inspiration surging, he poured all his literary energy into the tip of the brush.

As each character took shape, it served to reinforce and stabilize the work. As the brush touched the page, the literary path recognized it—a masterpiece was born.

Each character leapt like a sprite, soaring joyfully into the air, and a rich literary energy welled up, flowing back to Yang Tian. The literary energy in his spiritual sea, previously depleted, was quickly restored and even increased in a surge.

However, a single poem could no longer grant him an instant advancement. The higher his cultivation, the harder it became; the more literary energy was required, the more immense the sea he must fill.

With his literary energy abundant, Yang Tian did not pause, continuing to compose the other two poems. Consumption followed by replenishment.

Crack!

The shackles broke, and Yang Tian easily advanced to the third level of the literary path. Three poems, each recognized by the literary path, all poured back a vast amount of literary energy, assisting his breakthrough.

Moreover, three new spiritual treasures of the literary path were forged.

Yang Tian was overjoyed.

Wang Fu had been standing guard outside the door for some time. When the first poem was completed and the literary path acknowledged it, there was no earth-shaking commotion, but he sensed it. His heart was shaken to its core.

Could it be that the young master had always been a prodigy of the literary path, merely held back by martial pursuits? Had the destruction of his martial foundation awakened his potential in letters?

The poem in the palace set him on the path of the literary arts. The poem at the old Marquis's residence made him as if reborn, as if there were no more shackles to the literary path. He not only broke through to the eighth level but suffered no suppression from the Heavenly Dao—his combat power remained intact.

Now, yet another masterpiece was recognized.

Even a thousand years ago, in the golden age of the literary path, no one could have achieved such a feat.

Wang Fu longed to enter and witness what the young master had written, for to a cultivator of the literary arts, a masterpiece recognized by the path was as vital as life itself. Still, he knew his place and did not intrude. Last time had been an accident.

He thought it would end quickly, yet one masterpiece followed another, as if the literary path trembled three times in succession.

Wang Fu was utterly stunned.

To compose three pieces in a row, each recognized by the literary path—could the young master be the reincarnation of a literary sage? It was too astonishing! Were he to tell anyone, none would believe it.

No, this must be kept secret.

After his initial shock, Wang Fu realized the potential dangers and became extremely vigilant. Such a monstrous talent was not necessarily a blessing, especially with the decline of the literary path and the current circumstances. Should such an extraordinary young master suddenly appear, both martial cultivators and the few remaining literary practitioners would be driven to seek the truth.

He must remind the young master not to reveal himself.

With his joy came concern.

Yang Tian, however, had no idea how much his actions had stirred Wang Fu's emotions. The three poems would serve as reserves for now.

He pondered what weapon he should wield. Now set upon the path of the literary arts, there would inevitably be battles ahead—going unarmed would not do.

A martial artist could use their body, or the sword, blade, spear, or staff. A scholar, on the other hand, typically relied on certain implements to fully unleash their power—the brush, for example, as Wang Fu did. Most literary cultivators used the brush as their weapon, though some preferred books, paintings, or musical instruments.

"To inscribe masterpieces upon paper, forging spiritual treasures of the literary path, may not be the most suitable approach. Previously, I was unsure, but now I understand—each page of the Divine Book of China can become such a treasure. I must prepare proper vessels for them, to maximize their power."

Thinking of weapons led Yang Tian to realize that future literary treasures should not all be mere sheets of paper.

After a while, Yang Tian made his decision.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," he called.

Wang Fu entered, approaching the desk. He saw only blank paper and regretfully composed himself. "Young master, I sensed the birth of masterpieces and the ripples of the literary path's recognition. I've come to remind you—never expose your ability to compose literary masterpieces at will, or you'll become the target of countless covetous eyes..."

"I understand. I know what I'm doing," Yang Tian waved him off. Of course he was aware. Otherwise, he wouldn't have spent a whole month on the road without using his fortune to open new pages, lest abnormal signs draw attention.

Wang Fu suddenly realized that the young master was no child; he needed no warning of such grave matters. He was simply too shocked and worried, momentarily forgetting just who the young master was.

"Fu Bo, prepare a carving knife for me—the highest quality you can find," Yang Tian instructed.

Wang Fu immediately understood: the young master meant to use a carving knife as his weapon.

He opened his mouth to offer a reminder, that a carving knife was not a weapon just anyone could wield. But the young master was no ordinary man; ordinary logic did not apply.

"Very well. I will see to it."