Observing the Art of Battle
A few years had passed since my brother's birth, and the days within the Huá Clan remained as rigid and disciplined as ever. I was ten years old now, no longer a helpless child confined to my mother's chambers but still not yet a warrior in my father's eyes. Strength dictated one's place in this world, and despite my rebirth, despite the knowledge I carried from both my past lives, I was still an outsider in the ways of cultivation.
That, however, would change soon.
My father, Jun Hie, had allowed me to observe the older clan members as they trained, particularly the teenagers who had already begun their cultivation journeys. This was not a kindness but an obligation—one meant to prepare me for my own eventual path. Watching was my only means of learning for now. I had no master, no guidance beyond my own observations, and so I had to make use of whatever scraps of knowledge I could gather.
And so, I sat quietly, my eyes sharp, as two clan members engaged in combat before me.
Qian Hao and Jaw-long.
A name that, in all honesty, I found somewhat amusing. His jaw was long—perhaps that was the reason for the name? It was fitting, at the very least.
But humor aside, their battle was what truly mattered.
Their forms clashed in the open courtyard, the sound of fists striking flesh echoing through the air. Dust kicked up beneath their feet as they moved, each blow met with another, neither gaining a clear upper hand. I watched with keen eyes, analyzing their movements, their footwork, the force behind their strikes. They fought with aggression, but there was a discipline to it, a rhythm that spoke of years spent honing their skills.
For minutes, they exchanged blows, neither yielding nor overwhelming the other.
It was a battle of equals.
And yet, my father's expression remained unreadable.
To him, this was nothing but a mere scuffle.
"Enough," his voice cut through the air like a blade.
Both combatants immediately ceased their attacks, stepping back with their heads bowed. Their breaths were heavy, their bodies tense, waiting for his judgment.
But instead of offering praise or critique, my father simply gave them a look of utter boredom.
"This is the extent of your abilities?"
The disappointment in his voice was sharp.
"You fight, but you do not dominate. You strike, but you do not kill. You hesitate, and in doing so, you show weakness."
A pause.
Then, a command.
"Both of you. Attack me."
I blinked.
For a brief moment, even Qian Hao and Jaw-long seemed uncertain. But hesitation was not something my father tolerated. Within an instant, both teenagers rushed forward, unleashing their strongest techniques against him.
I leaned forward, my interest piqued.
This would be far more interesting than their fight with each other.
The Power of a Venerable
To say that my father was strong was an understatement.
Jun Hie was not merely a warrior; he was a Venerable. A title earned through years of battle, through the mastery of cultivation techniques that placed him far beyond the reach of ordinary men. He was a figure of authority not just within our clan, but in the entire Xuan Continent.
And now, as I watched, I understood why.
The moment Qian Hao and Jaw-long moved to attack, my father did not step back. He did not evade. He did not even flinch.
Instead, he stood his ground.
And then, with terrifying ease, he countered.
A single step forward.
A single movement of his arm.
And in that instant, everything changed.
Jaw-long's punch, meant to land against my father's ribs, was effortlessly parried. Not just blocked, but redirected entirely—his entire body was sent flying backward, crashing into the dirt with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs.
Qian Hao, seeing an opportunity, aimed a powerful kick at my father's side. But before it could land, my father's hand gripped his ankle, and with a flick of his wrist, he too was sent soaring through the air.
Neither of them had even touched him.
Within mere seconds, both teenagers were on the ground, groaning in pain.
My father exhaled, looking down at them with something akin to disdain.
"This is the difference between strength and weakness."
There was no warmth in his voice, only cold certainty.
"You fight as if your lives are not on the line. You fight as if there is someone who will save you if you lose."
He turned his gaze toward me then, and for the first time, our eyes met.
"Jun Caishen," he said, calling me by my name.
I straightened my posture.
"What did you learn from watching this?"
A test.
But not one of physical strength.
No, this was a test of my understanding.
I met his gaze and answered.
"They lacked the intent to kill."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face.
"Go on."
"They fought with skill, but not with the mindset of warriors. They hesitated. They calculated, but they did not commit. They struck, but they did not seek to end the fight in a single move. Because of that, they were never in control."
A slow nod.
"And?"
I took a breath.
"And because of that, they lost before they even began."
A smirk.
"Good."
He turned away then, as if satisfied with my response.
"You will begin training tomorrow."
I froze.
This was earlier than I had expected.
I had assumed I would have until at least twelve before I was forced into rigorous cultivation. But my father had other plans.
"If you are wise enough to recognize weakness," he said, without looking back, "then you are wise enough to remove it from yourself."
With that, he walked away, leaving me standing there.
I exhaled, glancing at Qian Hao and Jaw-long, who were still recovering from their defeat.
Tomorrow…
Tomorrow, my life would truly begin.
23rd January - The Legacy of a Name
The name Jun was more than just a title—it was a burden.
It was the name of my father, Jun Hie. The name of my grandfather. The name of my great-grandfather before him. Passed down through generations of Venerables, warriors who had carved their names into history with blood and steel. Each one had upheld the legacy of strength, ensuring that the name Jun was feared and respected across the Xuan Continent.
And now, it was my turn to bear it.
Expectation weighed heavily upon my shoulders.
I was not merely Jun Caishen.
I was a Jun.
And today, I would prove whether I was worthy of that name.
The First Battle
The courtyard was filled with the murmurs of clan members as they gathered to watch my first official training match. The sky above was a dull gray, heavy with the promise of rain, as if the heavens themselves were judging this moment.
My opponent was Jaw-long.
A teenager a few years older than me, taller, stronger, and far more experienced. He was a formidable fighter, someone who had already begun his cultivation path while I was only just stepping into mine. To underestimate him would be foolish.
Yet, as we faced each other, I could see it in his eyes.
He had already underestimated me.
"You're the Venerable's son, huh?" He smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Hope you don't break too easily."
I remained silent.
Words meant little here.
Only battle mattered.
And so, at my father's command, the fight began.
The Harsh Reality of Combat
I moved first, launching forward with all the speed my ten-year-old body could muster. I aimed for his ribs, a quick strike to test his reaction—only for my fist to meet nothing but air.
Jaw-long had dodged with ease.
And before I could react, his counterattack came.
A fist slammed into my stomach.
Pain exploded through my body, my breath forced from my lungs. But before I could even register the pain, another blow struck my face, snapping my head to the side. My vision blurred.
Then, a kick.
A crushing force against my chest sent me flying backward, my small body crashing into the hard stone ground.
Gasps echoed from the watching clan members.
I coughed, struggling to push myself up, my limbs shaking from the impact. But Jaw-long wasn't finished. He was already moving toward me, his stance confident, his next attack prepared.
I had no time to breathe.
No time to think.
Only time to survive.
I rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding his next strike. The ground where I had been just moments ago cracked beneath the force of his fist. If that had hit me directly, I would have been unconscious already.
I had expected this fight to be difficult.
But I hadn't expected to be completely overpowered.
I was losing.
I was losing badly.
And then—
I felt it.
A shift within me.
A surge of something deep in my blood.
The blood of my father. The blood of my ancestors.
The blood of a Venerable.
The Strength of Blood
Pain still wracked my body, my muscles screaming in protest as I struggled to stand. My breath was uneven, my vision still swimming—but I was alive.
More than that, I could keep going.
Jaw-long had expected me to stay down. He had expected me to lose.
But the moment he saw me rise again, his smirk faltered.
"Still standing?" His voice was amused, but I could hear the faintest hint of irritation beneath it. "You really don't know when to quit, huh?"
I spat out a bit of blood.
"No."
And then, I moved.
I was slower than him. Weaker than him. But now, I understood.
He was stronger, but he was predictable.
He relied on his size, his speed, his raw power.
But I had something he didn't.
I had endurance.
I had will.
And I had blood that refused to break.
Jaw-long swung at me again, but this time, I dodged—barely. His fist grazed past my face, but I used that moment to strike at his exposed ribs, a quick jab that forced him to stumble back.
It wasn't enough to seriously harm him.
But it was enough to make him realize one thing.
I wasn't going down easily.
A Battle of Wills
The fight continued, but now, it was different.
Jaw-long was still stronger, still faster—but I had learned.
Every time I was knocked down, I got back up.
Every time I was struck, I endured.
I adapted, watching his movements, analyzing his patterns, using whatever small advantages I could. I couldn't win through brute force.
But I could win through attrition.
I could outlast him.
And slowly, ever so slowly, I could see the frustration growing in his expression.
"Why won't you stay down?" he growled, breathing heavily.
I smirked, despite the pain.
"Because I'm a Jun."
His eyes narrowed.
And then—
"Enough."
My father's voice rang out, stopping the battle instantly.
Jaw-long and I both froze, turning to see him watching from the sidelines, his arms crossed. His face was unreadable, but I could sense the weight of his gaze.
"The fight is over," he declared.
Jaw-long stepped back, clearly unsatisfied. He had wanted to finish me. To break me.
But he hadn't.
I was still standing.
And that, in itself, was a victory.
The Verdict
I turned to face my father, my breath ragged, my body aching from the countless blows I had taken.
His eyes met mine.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, finally—
"You are weak."
The words cut deep.
"But you do not break."
A pause.
"That is enough… for now."
And then, he turned and walked away.
The clan members whispered among themselves, but I paid them no mind.
I had survived.
And in this world, in this life—
Survival was the first step to power.