She observed her child as he was absorbed in his task.
His brow furrowed slightly as he concentrated on getting the lines just right, a quiet determination etched into his young face.
He had progressed at an astonishing rate in his literacy.
Yet were his ability to read fluent had speed up with each new word he mastered enhancing his ability to construct sentences and express his thoughts more clearly.
His writing, though improved, still presented challenges. His small, slender fingers struggled to hold the brush properly, making the strokes imperfect and a bit crooked, but she found there was a certain charm to the way they filled the page, showing her child's effort and concentration.
But one could see with each practice session, his wrist became looser, his movements more fluid, and his precision sharper. The once awkward strokes were gradually transforming into elegant, refined characters.
Despite this progress, the brush still seemed unwieldy in his tiny hands, a reminder that he was still a child, albeit one with the mind and discipline of someone far older.
Even though she was proud, she couldn't help but worry about him. As the child of cultivators, it was expected that he would exhibit intelligence far beyond that of mortal children. But even among the children she had seen in sects and progeny of other cultivators, he was different—so much more matured and so much more apathetic to his surroundings.
While other children played and laughed, chasing one another without a care in the world, Yu'er spent his days practicing, learning, always seeking new knowledge. He showed little interest in play, even when the opportunity arose, preferring the quiet solitude of his studies. He displayed little interest in the simple joys of childhood, his mind always so rational and focused.
It troubled her, this disparity between him and his peers.
He was undeniably talented, with an exceptional memory. He grasped new concepts after just a single lesson, not merely recalling them but also understanding them on a deeper level, often drawing connections and parallels to other ideas with ease.
He was like a sponge, soaking up everything he observed. It seemed so effortless the way he learned new things.
Was this her doing? Had the constant travel and the lack of a stable home forced him to grow up too quickly? Or was it something deeper, something tied to the actions she had taken before his birth? As she watched him, her heart ached with the questions she couldn't answer.
"Look, Mother! How is it?" Yu'er held up his writing sheet, his voice filled with a rare note of excitement.
Her eyes softened as she took in his straight posture, the way he mimicked her and the adults around him, even in something as mundane as how he sat.
Rising from her seat, she walked over to the small table where Yu'er was diligently writing. Kneeling beside him, she gently patted his head.
"You've done very well, Yu'er," she praised, her voice warm with affection. "But here, and here," she pointed to the spots where his strokes wavered, "you've made a few small mistakes."
Yu'er's face grew serious as he examined the sheet, his determination returning. "I'll fix them, Mother," he said with quiet resolve, already reaching for the brush again.
She knew that he would spend hours, if necessary, perfecting each stroke until it met his own exacting standards.
Watching him now, she couldn't help but notice how little he resembled her. His white-blond hair, alabaster skin, and those striking red eyes were a mirror image of someone else and a stark contrast to her own features.
In the early days, it had been almost unbearable to look at him, the resemblance too painful.
But her love for her son had always outweighed the pain. Over time, the sharp edges of that pain had dulled, softened by the depth of her affection for the boy before her.
Now, as she gazed at him, her heart swelled with a deep, abiding love that made all other emotions fade into the background. He was her world, her most precious treasure, and she would protect him with everything she had.
She could only hope that as he grew, his personality and temperament would follow her path rather than the one from which he inherited his looks.
So far, he was a gentle, polite, and quiet child, kind-hearted even to strangers. There was a softness in him, a pure innocence that she cherished. But the world of cultivators was anything but soft. It was a harsh, unforgiving place that demanded strength, ruthlessness, and cunning.
She knew that this world would eventually strip away some of his gentleness, hardening him in ways she wished she could shield him from.
For now, however, she was grateful that he remained so obedient, so different from the unruly, emotionally driven children she had encountered.
She had witnessed when spoiled by their parents, those children threw tantrums left and right, treating servants with disdain, their behaviour left unchecked and sometimes even encouraged. Compared to them, Yu'er was a blessing.
„Yu'er," she began, her tone softening, "tomorrow, we'll move again."
They had already stayed at this inn for thirteen days, and she needed to expedite their journey if she wanted to reach her chosen destination on schedule.
It was an ideal location to advance her son's cultivation, though one could only access it in brief intervals.
"I've found someone who can guide us beyond the Lugana Mountain Range."
Yu'er looked up at her, his red eyes wide and trusting. He didn't ask why they moved so much, didn't even complain. He simply accepted it, as he always did.
"Yes, Mother," he replied, his voice steady and calm.
Her heart ached with love for her son. He was so wise beyond his years, so understanding.
Ahh her fortune was indeed not bad.