Reality did not arrive all at once for Lu Haotian.
It came slowly, like cold water dripping on stone, one drop at a time.
At first, he still waited.
Every morning, when the courtyard gates opened, he would pause in his training and look toward the entrance. His sword would lower slightly, his eyes would search, and for a brief moment his heart would beat faster. Maybe today. Maybe his parents had returned quietly. Maybe the elders had made a mistake.
But the gates always closed again.
Days turned into a week.
The courtyard stayed the same. The trees still swayed. The stone floor was still cold in the mornings. The Lu Family disciples still passed by outside, whispering when they saw him.
The Lu Family did not officially record the exact age at which children began cultivating.
It was simply understood.
By the time a child could run without falling and endure a short stance without crying, cultivation began. Some started at five, others at six. The clan did not force results—only participation.
Talent, after all, would reveal itself on its own.
Lu Haotian began at six.
The Lu family courtyard was rarely quiet in the mornings.
"Your stance is crooked again," his father said, hands clasped behind his back, clearly amused rather than strict. "If you fall over, don't say I didn't warn you."
"I won't fall!" six-year-old Lu Haotian puffed out his chest, immediately wobbling.
Before he could tip over, his mother laughed softly from the side. "Is that confidence or stubbornness?" she teased, stepping forward to steady him. "Straighten your back. You're cultivating, not playing tag."
Haotian grinned, showing a missing front tooth. "But Father said cultivation is about feeling free!"
His father coughed lightly. "I never said that much freedom."
The boy giggled and tried again, this time concentrating harder. His movements were clumsy, but his breathing was steady beyond his years. After one full round, he collapsed onto the ground and stared at the sky dramatically. "I'm tired. Cultivation is harder than it looks."
"That's because you skipped breakfast," his mother said calmly, already handing him a warm bowl. "Drink this first, then you can complain."
"It's bitter…"
"Good things usually are," his father said, nodding seriously—then added, "Your mother made it especially for you."
Haotian froze, eyes widening. "Then I'll drink it all!"
His parents exchanged amused looks as the boy gulped it down, face twisting. "See? Brave enough," his mother laughed, patting his head. "If you keep this up, you'll surpass your father one day."
His father snorted. "Let him at least surpass you first."
At that age, cultivation did not feel heavy to Lu Haotian. To him, it was simply time spent with his parents. Between practices, his father would tell him stories of the clan's ancestors, exaggerating their exploits until Haotian's eyes lit up with admiration. His mother would laugh and scold them both, the courtyard often echoing with lighthearted voices rather than strained breaths.
By the time he turned eight.
Body Tempering, Ninth Layer.
Word spread anyway.
On the morning courtyard, children gathered in lines while instructors walked among them, correcting posture and calling out counts. Lu Haotian stood in the second row, hands clenched, feet firmly planted.
"Begin!"
The children dropped into low stances.
Sweat quickly appeared. Some faces contorted. A few wobbled.
Lu Haotian did not move.
Minutes passed.
A boy beside him glanced sideways, teeth clenched. How is he still steady?
When the instructor finally shouted "Stop," several children collapsed onto the stone tiles. One fell backward outright.
Lu Haotian straightened calmly.
Whispers followed him like shadows.
"That's him."
"He really reached the ninth layer?"
"At eight years old?"
Across the courtyard, Lu Chenfeng the patriarch's son stood stiffly.
Unlike Lu Haotian, Lu Chenfeng came from a main branch of the family. His father is the patriarch and his mother is also a late stage foundation establishment expert. Since early childhood, he had been praised as a promising seed.
Another person looking at Lu Haotian is Lu Chenfeng's twin sister Lu Yanran. Unlike Lu Chenfeng she looks at Lu Haotian coldly She dismisses him to ever be her opponent.
"Dammit" Lu Chenfeng said
He should have been the center.
But now, whenever elders glanced across the courtyard, their eyes lingered not on him—but on the quiet boy standing two rows away.
Lu Chenfeng clenched his fists.
It should be me.
Lu Haotian ignored them. His breathing remained steady. Sweat rolled down his temples, but his expression did not change.
Unlike the others, he did not train to show progress.
He trained because stopping felt wrong.