Chapter 65: Tea and Secrets

For the next two days, Li Zhuiyuan’s routine was simple: reading and practicing horse stance.

The first day was grueling—his legs ached so badly he could barely get out of bed the next morning. But by the second day, the soreness had eased. By the third, he barely felt any pain or fatigue at all.

He imagined himself a tree, rooted to the ground. Following Uncle Qin’s instructions, he synchronized his breath and pulse, letting his body sway slightly with the rhythm. Even the mental fog from reading all day seemed to lift.

But during those three nights, aside from teaching him the horse stance, Uncle Qin taught him nothing else.

Li Zhuiyuan wasn’t impatient, because he was making faster progress in his reading.

Memorizing facts and working through calculations wasn’t difficult for him. After three full days and late nights studying under his desk lamp after horse stance training, he had already reached the seventh volume of the Comprehensive Treatise on Yin-Yang Physiognomy.

On top of that, he had also read three volumes of the Theory of Fate Structure and Projection, managing to grasp the basic algorithms for fate projection.

Still, he understood that this early advantage was mostly due to his strong learning ability.

Going further would require time and effort, tackling the material bit by bit.

Especially the eighth volume of the Comprehensive Treatise on Yin-Yang Physiognomy. He hadn’t started it yet, but he already knew—it was the hardest. And ironically, the most important.

Still, even without mastering it, what he’d learned so far made his hands itch. He was eager to try it out.

…

On the second-floor terrace, Li Sanjiang was sprawled on a rattan chair, smoking and sipping tea while lazily listening to a radio opera—The Case of Executing Chen Shimei.

Li Zhuiyuan approached and asked, “Great-Grandpa, when’s your birthday?”

“What for?”

“So I can remember it and celebrate it in advance.”

“Heh, too bad—your old man’s birthday passed just before you came back. You’ll have to wait till next year.”

“Still, can you tell me now? I’ll write it down.”

“Sure, sure.”

Li Sanjiang told him, even including the exact time of birth, since the boy asked so carefully. He didn’t think much of it.

Soon, Li Sanjiang noticed his great-grandson alternated between staring intently at him and scribbling furiously in his notebook.

“What’re you writing, Little Yuanhou?”

“Calculating.”

“Math problems?”

“Sort of.”

“Let me see.” Li Sanjiang took the notebook and saw not numbers, but a page filled with dense vertical and horizontal lines.

“What’s this?”

“Steps in the calculation.”

“Teachers teaching this stuff now?”

“Yeah. It’s faster this way.”

“Oh. Then keep at it. Study well.”

“Mm.” Li Zhuiyuan continued to observe his great-grandfather’s face while jotting down lines.

“Little Yuanhou, I’m heading to Jiuwei Port tomorrow and won’t be back at night. Hanhou said he’ll take you to the river?”

“Yeah, I told Grandpa.”

“Good. Go out and get some fresh air. Your grandpa misses you. Back in the day, he doted on your mom more than anything. Now, it’s you. He’s seriously biased, that one.”

Finally, Li Zhuiyuan finished his calculations. His brow furrowed deeply, and a wave of dejection washed over him.

“Hey, Little Yuanhou, what’s wrong?”

“Great-Grandpa, I messed up the math.”

“So what? You noticed the mistake, that’s the important part. Just recalculate. It’s no big deal.”

Li Zhuiyuan nodded.

Based on his great-grandfather’s facial features and projected fate structure, the result he came to was:

Prone to early death, chronically ill, short lifespan, no financial fortune, water is fatal, forbidden from crooked paths.

He looked at his results. Then looked at the old man relaxing, puffing on a cigarette, enjoying the opera.

If it had just been one or two errors or vague estimates, he might’ve brushed it off. After all, he hadn’t studied everything yet. Mistakes were normal.

But this wasn’t just a miscalculation. It was completely wrong. The exact opposite.

A thick, unfamiliar sense of failure swelled in his chest—something he’d rarely experienced in his academic life.

Just days ago, he’d been quietly proud of his rapid progress. Now, that pride had evaporated.

“Great-Grandpa, I’m going to bed.”

“Alright, go on. Sleep early—your grandpa’s coming to pick you up in the morning.”

“You too, sleep early.”

Watching Li Zhuiyuan’s despondent figure disappear, Li Sanjiang scratched his chin, puzzled.

The kid just flubbed a math problem—was that really worth getting this upset over?

…

Back in his room, Li Zhuiyuan sat at his desk.

He stared at the two sets of books before him and suddenly felt the urge to throw them all to the floor.

He didn’t want to study anymore. He was sick of it.

Supporting his head with one hand, he picked up the bronze mirror with the other.

That night, he’d noticed the little Go box had vanished—replaced by this antique bronze mirror.

He guessed Ah Li had taken his gift and left him a new one.

The reflection showed a gloomy, downcast face.

The longer he looked, the more he felt—this was how someone his age was supposed to look.

This time, facing the sudden swell of emotion, he didn’t panic. He didn’t try to hypnotize himself or recite affirmations about who he was.

Who knew getting a calculation wrong could do this?

Slowly, the sense of failure settled. He took the mirror in one hand and picked up his pen again with the other.

“I’ll try calculating myself.”

There’s a saying—doctors don’t treat themselves.

But even more taboo than that is… a fortune-teller reading their own fate.

Yet all Li Zhuiyuan had were two book sets from a basement. No teacher. And the authors of those books never imagined someone would read them without knowing even the most basic principles. Like opening a calculus textbook that doesn’t even start with a multiplication table.

He started calculating.

Soon, his head felt foggy.

Must be tired. I’ll finish this, then sleep.

He pressed on.

Then he felt a runny nose. A cold?

He reached up to wipe it and looked down.

Thankfully, not a cold.

It wasn’t snot—

It was blood.

Smack!

Li Zhuiyuan’s head slumped forward, hitting the desk with a thud.

He passed out cold.

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