Three days later, within the Zhong residence, in the grand hall of the rear courtyard, Master Zhong leaned on a dragon-headed cane, surveying his eight eager adopted sons.
"Have all the preparations been made?" Master Zhong asked.
"Yes, Father!" the group replied in unison, their excitement palpable.
"Everything within the estate will proceed in perfect order. Rest assured, Father," Zhong Tian added.
Master Zhong nodded with a faint glint of approval in his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the seven adopted sons, each at the peak of the Postnatal stage. Satisfied, he tapped his dragon-headed cane against the hall's polished floor in a rhythmic pattern.
Click-clack, click-clack.
To the astonishment of the sons, a section of the floor split apart, revealing a staircase descending into the depths below.
Their eyes widened in disbelief—even Zhong Tian, who had served Master Zhong for years, couldn't hide his shock. How many secrets did their father still keep?
"Come," Master Zhong said as he led the way, descending the staircase.
The eight exchanged glances but dared not voice their questions, silently following their father downward.
The further they descended, the more spacious it became, until they arrived in an enormous underground hall.
In the dim light, a wolf's head carving on the wall caught their attention. Master Zhong turned it gently, and the floor above resealed with a soft grinding noise.
The vastness of the subterranean chamber astounded them. In the distance, a massive iron construct loomed—something like a house on wheels. Adjacent to it were twin iron tracks extending into endless darkness.
Before the iron house stood over a dozen attendants, bowing deeply to Master Zhong upon his arrival. Clearly, these were people he had arranged long ago.
Master Zhong's eyes lingered on the iron machine, a nostalgic gleam in his gaze. "A steam locomotive," he murmured to himself—a relic of his past life's memories. Though he couldn't recreate modern machinery, he remembered the principles of coal-fired steam power driving pistons to propel early locomotives.
It had taken fifty years and countless skilled craftsmen nearly twenty of those years to develop the steam engine. Finally, they had succeeded. But Master Zhong had kept this marvel a secret, constructing a private underground railway for his own use.
"A wise rabbit digs three burrows. Why not me?" he mused with a faint smile.
"Let's go." He gestured for his sons to board.
As they entered the luxurious carriage, curiosity brimmed in their eyes. Wasn't the plan to attend the Dragon Gate Conference? What was this contraption for?
"Set off," Master Zhong commanded from inside.
"Yes, sir!" The attendants outside responded crisply. Moments later, the iron beast roared to life.
Clang-clang-clang... Whoooosh...
The steam train began its subterranean journey, its thundering engine echoing through the underground tunnels.
As the train sped along, the flickering lanterns along the walls blurred into streaks of light. The eight sons watched the scenery rush past with awe and wonder. But their questions remained unspoken; Master Zhong sat calmly with his eyes closed, seemingly meditating, leaving no room for interruptions.
For three days, the train traveled nonstop. By then, the initial marvel had subsided, replaced by a quiet acceptance. They had long since understood that they were far, far away from the Zhong estate.
Finally, on the third day, the train slowed to a halt in another underground hall. Led by Master Zhong, they disembarked and ascended a hidden passage, emerging into a grand estate nestled at the foot of Heng Mountain.
"This is my private property," Master Zhong explained. "You'll rest here for two days and adjust your conditions to peak form. Then we will proceed to Dragon Gate Valley to attend the conference."
"Yes, Father," the sons replied dutifully.
Under the care of stewards, they were shown to their rooms, while Master Zhong retreated to a secluded courtyard. In his chamber, pristine and meticulously maintained, a single framed portrait adorned the wall.
It was a painting of a stunning woman with luminous eyes and a delicate smile. Her black hair cascaded down her back, and she wore a vibrant red robe, holding a flower delicately to her nose as though savoring its fragrance. The beauty of her expression seemed to transcend time, captivating all who beheld it.
Master Zhong stood silently before the painting for an hour, his emotions hidden in the depths of his gaze.
"Bao'er... Have you forgotten me? Why haven't you returned?" he whispered, his voice tinged with sorrow.
Eventually, he sighed and sat cross-legged on the bed, setting his dragon-headed cane aside to compose himself. Ahead lay the Dragon Gate Conference, and he needed to be at his best.
Two days later, they departed northward into the rugged mountains. The terrain grew treacherous, thick with poisonous plants and venomous creatures. Master Zhong's vast experience and preparations allowed them to navigate the hazards unscathed.
Five grueling days later, they arrived at the valley, joining various factions converging from all directions. Among them, the Zhong sons recognized a familiar figure: the head of the Zhao family, one of the Four Great Clans of Da Kun Kingdom.
"Master Zhao?" they murmured, astonished.
The white-robed Zhao clan leader, appearing no older than fifty despite his true age, turned his sharp gaze to Master Zhong.
"Zhong Shan? Fancy meeting you here," Zhao said, his tone laced with surprise.
Master Zhong chuckled. "Life is full of unexpected encounters. Zhao clan leader, it's been a while."
Their exchange was brief but heavy with unspoken rivalry. After a cordial farewell, Master Zhong led his sons into Dragon Gate Valley, their hearts steeling for what awaited within.