Chapter 86

"Okay, Grandma."

Li Zhuiyuan nodded and reached out to turn the page.

The Liu Clan's Art of Observing Qi wasn’t like other books that often spanned dozens of volumes. It had only one, divided into twenty-four chapters—a true embodiment of brevity and depth.

Li Zhuiyuan liked to quantify and analyze metaphysical knowledge. To him, this book read more like a master framework.

The Liu Clan used it as a core, branching out into various extensions, making it the foundational text.

Studying and understanding it was the first step no Liu Clan disciple could bypass.

For a talented disciple, it was a key—one that unlocked the gate to learning and mastering the myriad techniques passed down by predecessors.

Take for example the horse stance and breathing techniques Uncle Qin had taught him—those already carried the rhythm and logic of The Qin Family’s Guide to Viewing Flood Dragons.

At this level, the deeper your comprehension, the more efficient your progress would be in mastering auxiliary techniques and martial skills.

Go one step further, and you entered a different realm—akin to gaining access privileges.

You could design and create new branches tailored to your own nature. As for the existing ones, you no longer needed to study them; one glance was enough to grasp the concept—oh, this is a solid idea.

Li Zhuiyuan figured he was just about to finish the first level, not quite at the second yet.

Truth be told, he felt a bit guilty. He’d taken a shortcut—standing on the shoulders of a certain “book thief.”

But everyone had their blind spots, their dark corners under the lamp. Inertia of thought could easily lead to “Why don’t they just eat meat porridge?” moments.

Like when a top student tried to explain a problem to a failing one, often confused why something so “simple” could be so hard to grasp.

The book was right there, after all.

That “book thief” must have been a rare genius, but while copying this book, he likely never intended to pass it on. Who in their right mind would intentionally make the text so cryptic and abstract for future readers?

Most likely, the person had a few drinks, or just got carried away while transcribing, naturally imprinting their rhythm and comprehension of The Liu Clan's Art of Observing Qi into their handwriting—for their own pleasure.

Even so, that person’s insights also stemmed from this book. To resonate with his handwriting meant reaching the same depth of understanding—a great feat in itself. Borrowing from a reference book to improve learning efficiency wasn’t necessarily worse than memorizing every word by rote.

Besides, the boy had read so many books that he never focused on this one alone. And he didn’t have the complete version—just a solitary copy, essentially a broken segment.

That was why, in the past, when he analyzed feng shui or adjusted formations, he’d often end up with nosebleeds or even temporary blindness. He was brute-forcing application methods from theoretical basics.

He was only a child then. If it had been a regular adult, they would’ve collapsed long ago—utterly drained, blood weeping from their hearts.

"Grandma, last night I read…"

"Xiaoyuan, how much did you read last night?"

Li Zhuiyuan paused slightly and said, "I read the first chapter."

"Xiaoyuan, it’s not that I’m scolding you. I know you’re smart, but there’s no need to be so greedy and hasty. Haste makes waste. One chapter a night? Then in a month, you’ll finish all twenty-four chapters?"

Ah, he’d reported too much, too fast.

Even when combining The Qin Family’s Guide to Viewing Flood Dragons with this book, he hadn’t spent nearly that long.

"The hull must be solidly built, or it won’t survive hidden reefs or waves. Come, Grandma will show you."

Liu Yumei had originally planned to hear his specific questions first before going through them one by one. But seeing him act so “careless,” she couldn’t help but knock him down a peg—even if she was pleased.

She had high hopes for the boy.

Liu Yumei tapped her ring finger against the teacup, drawing out a drop of tea, and flicked it lightly.

“Vmm!”

Li Zhuiyuan felt a ringing in his head. At the same time, Liu Yumei leaned forward, attempting to press her thumb to the boy’s brow to help stabilize his half “walking the shade” state and prevent spiritual exhaustion.

But before she touched him, she saw that he had already half-opened his eyes.

He didn’t need her help—his control over shade-walking states was far better than she’d expected.

Though surprised, she understood.

Liu Yumei sat back down and half-closed her eyes.

Now, the old woman and the youth sat across from each other in silence.

Yet in another layer of vision, they were standing. Between them hovered a smooth, fist-sized sphere of water, suspended in total darkness.

“Chapter One: Qi is the origin of creation, the source of all phenomena. Extreme stillness stirs movement. In clarity, the end is known. In realization, the beginning is born. This is form. This is method. This is principle. This is the cosmos.”

Liu Yumei smiled gently, hooking her finger through the water sphere. With a graceful pull, a ripple stretched forth from it, changing endlessly before her—sometimes still, sometimes moving, appearing, vanishing.

Then she cupped her hands. The ripples vanished. She opened them again. The ripples returned, shifting through myriad forms, reflecting light and shadow.

Every obscure concept was broken down, softened, and fed directly to him.

After a year of silent study, the boy finally felt the warmth of tutelage.

Of course—if there was a teacher, what knowledge couldn’t be learned? How could exams go poorly?

But the warmth of mentorship never lasted. In youth classes, students and old professors always ended up tormenting each other. That was the true recurring theme.

"Grandma."

"Speak."

"Could there be another interpretation?"

"Let’s hear it."

Li Zhuiyuan raised his hand, clenched a fist, and slammed it into the floating water sphere.

“Boom.”

The sphere shattered and exploded outward.

Liu Yumei was startled, puzzled—then her eyes slowly widened.

The dispersed droplets formed a mist, and with his traditional painting skills learned from Ah Li, the boy created a wild yet evocative landscape.

The old woman and the youth now stood amidst mountains and waters.

Streams and pools, movement and stillness. Rain on the western slopes, sunlight on the east. Ends and beginnings. Death and rebirth. In mountain mists and flowing rivers, truths revealed themselves. Every visible thing was steeped in karmic resonance—this was nature.

Liu Yumei pressed her lips together, then looked at the boy in disbelief.

In her life, she’d seen many prodigies. But at this moment, she realized: for all her refined tastes, she’d never truly savored the finest.

It didn’t mean the boy had already surpassed her. He still had a long way to go. But she could see it clearly now: one day, he would surpass her, her late husband, her son.

Last night, she’d felt a joyful thrill, a rising desire to teach. Now, that flame was doused like a cold bucket of water.

Only a thread of unwilling smoke lingered.

She had a vague realization—perhaps she had nothing left to teach him.

Still, she struggled a bit—for the sake of her dignity, her reputation, the Liu Clan’s pride.

Liu Yumei resumed reciting from Chapter One of The Liu Clan's Art of Observing Qi:

“What is a configuration of countercurrent assault?”

Li Zhuiyuan scanned the landscape. The mountain transformed into a snow-covered peak. Meltwater flowed from the summit, trickling into rocky crevices and vanishing from sight.

Liu Yumei asked, “Where is the countercurrent?”

“To act knowing it’s futile—that is the countercurrent.”

“And what is the configuration of life and death converging?”

Li Zhuiyuan looked down. Liu Yumei followed his gaze.

The interrupted stream had, over time, worn a new path through rock and soil—reforming into a flowing current.

She asked several more questions from Chapter One. Each time, the boy merely glanced out of the corner of his eye, and scenes formed on their own.

What others approached with caution and reverence, Li Zhuiyuan expressed with casual ease—like freehand doodles, yet every stroke revealed mastery.

And such improvisation was harder—because sketching real-life scenes had references. This did not.

Liu Yumei knew it clearly. In real settings, he would be able to analyze feng shui patterns quickly—and even reshape them at their core.

This wasn’t just talent.

It was as if Heaven itself was chasing him with a bowl and spoon, begging him to eat.

“Whew…”

Liu Yumei closed her eyes. She gave in.

Like a master artist realizing her student had surpassed her—in intent, structure, and taste.

At this point, trying to guide him further would only clutter his path.

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