The sky was clear and bright, and the sound of children's voices reading aloud filled the small private schoolhouse. A group of children, none older than eleven or twelve, sat with books in hand, each wearing a serious expression.
A sixteen-year-old youth walked slowly through the schoolhouse, his hands clasped behind his back, listening to the children's voices as they read. He nodded slowly, his gaze distant yet thoughtful.
Tall and well-built, he wore white robes adorned with purple patterns. His face was slightly angular, his eyes clear as crystal, yet they often shone with a wisdom and maturity far beyond his years.
"That's enough for today," he said, glancing out the window. "Such fine weather—perfect for flying kites."
"Young Master," an eight-year-old child spoke up. "My father says studying requires hard work. If you're always chasing fun, you'll never get anything done."
The youth smiled warmly. "Your father is right," he said, "but if all you do is work hard, you'll turn into a bookworm—and that's no good either. True wisdom comes from balance. Play when it's time to play, and study when it's time to study. A sharp mind needs rest, just as much as it needs work."
Surveying the children, he added, "I want my students to understand the principles in their books—and to apply them, not just memorize them. I'm not interested in raising bookworms."
The children laughed, gathered their books, and bowed respectfully before rushing out, their voices echoing with cheers.
Yet one small figure remained, running to the youth's side. "Young Master," the child asked earnestly, "what is a cultivator?"
The youth looked down at him, amused. "Why ask that now?" he asked.
"I want to become a cultivator!" the child said, his eyes bright with determination. "My father says people like us, poor and humble, can only hope to pass exams and become scholars. But a cultivator... they can join the army, earn military merit, and rise quickly! What exactly is a cultivator?"
The youth's smile softened as he knelt down to the child's level. "A cultivator is someone who practices divine arts—an individual who can transcend the mortal realm and ascend to divinity."
"Divine arts?" The child's brow furrowed in confusion.
The youth's gaze grew distant, as if he were recalling ancient knowledge. "Since the dawn of creation, the gods have watched over humanity, protecting us with their divine power. When floods, beasts, fires, or storms threatened our world, the gods bestowed their power on mortals—giving them the chance to transcend the mundane and achieve sainthood."
The youth paused, letting the words settle. Humans, through divine control, established temples to the gods within their own bodies, venerating the divine to protect themselves and defeat their enemies. This is the Art of Divine Control."
"And those who practice this art," he continued, "are called cultivators. They combine their own energy with the divine power, crafting powerful martial techniques to battle evil. If one reaches great mastery, they may escape suffering and ascend to sainthood."
The child's eyes widened in wonder. "Then... how many saints are there?"
"How many?" The youth smiled, a touch of melancholy in his eyes. "In this age, we only know of one—Saint Su, who ascended to the heavens ten thousand years ago. Beyond that... nothing."
"Only one in ten thousand years?" The child's voice dropped with disappointment. "Are saints really that powerful?"
"They must be," the youth replied softly. "When Saint Su ascended, he sealed away all the demons in the world."
"Demons?" The child's face showed shock.
"Where there are gods, there are demons," the youth said. "Just as there is light and shadow, good and evil. In the beginning, there was demon-taming magic—a power that grew much faster than the divine arts. Those who practiced it gained strength quickly, but they were often corrupted, turning into evil beings. So, Saint Su sealed away the demons, forcing the world to focus on divine magic. This way, people were less likely to fall to temptation."
The child blinked, his mind struggling to keep up. "But... there are still so many bad people in the world today!"
The youth nodded slowly. "Indeed. Divine magic, demonic magic—they're just tools. Like swords and blades. Whether they bring justice or bloodshed depends on the heart of the wielder."
The child thought for a moment. "Where are the demons sealed, then?"
The youth's smile faded into something more serious. "That's a secret. The power of demons is boundless. No object can contain them. Only life itself can suppress their power. Saint Su's magic seeks out the most promising individuals—those with wisdom and a good heart—and seals the demons within them. These people are called Demon Sealers. They must use immense strength to keep the demons contained, ensuring peace for all."
"Demon Sealers..." the child whispered, his eyes sparkling with awe. "Young Master, don't worry—I'll keep this secret!"
The youth patted the child's head gently. "Even if you told anyone, they wouldn't believe you. It's been ten thousand years... people have forgotten. And she never intended for this legacy to be known by the world."
"Young Master," the child asked with a hopeful look, "do you know divine arts? Could you teach me?"
The youth shook his head with a soft laugh. "I'm afraid not. My father is a great general and a powerful cultivator, but I have no interest in cultivation myself. I know nothing of it."
"Oh..." The child's face fell with disappointment.
Just then, a sturdy young man entered the schoolhouse. His posture radiated authority, and his eyes held a quiet strength. His features were strikingly similar to the youth's.
"Eldest Brother," the youth said, bowing respectfully.
"Qingfeng," the young man replied, his voice deep and commanding. "Why is class ending early today?"
"The weather's perfect for flying kites," the youth replied with a smile."Good timing, then," the young man said. "Father wrote that the border conflicts continue, so he won't be able to return. But his word is his bond. The betrothal date remains unchanged, and he's asked me to prepare the gifts. I don't know anything about this kind of thing... I'll need your help."
"Betrothal gifts?" The child's eyes lit up. "Is someone getting married?"
"My eldest brother," the youth replied with a grin. "By the way, he's a cultivator who knows divine control techniques. When the time comes, I'll ask him to teach you."
"Great! Great!" The child jumped with excitement, eyes full of admiration for the young man, who smiled awkwardly under the attention.
"I'll be busy with family matters these next few days," the young man said. "Tell everyone not to come for now. When I have time, I'll send word."
"Yes, Young Master!" The child bowed before darting out.
The young man took the youth's hand and led him out of the schoolhouse, locking the door behind them. They stepped into the bustling market street, weaving through stores to arrange the betrothal gifts.
The young man's name was Ye Qiuting, and the boy was Ye Qingfeng. They lived in Chitian City; their father, Ye Yang, was a renowned general of the Feiming Kingdom. A cultivator at the Saint Martial realm, Ye Yang commanded the northern border city of Beidou.
Though the Ye family wasn't one of the ancient noble clans, they had risen to prominence during Ye Yang's generation through his military and cultivation achievements. Years ago, Ye Yang had arranged a marriage between his son and the daughter of the prominent Lin family. Now that both children had come of age, it was time to formalize the union. But Ye Yang's duties to the empire kept him at the border. So, the brothers took on the task of preparing the betrothal gifts.
After days of preparation, they gathered the gifts and set out to deliver them. On the appointed day, they first went to their father's quarters. Kneeling before their mother's spirit tablet, they offered incense. Ye Qiuting addressed it with reverence.
"Mother, today your son will present the gifts to the Lin family and set the wedding date. Rest assured, Mother, I will carry on the family name and ensure our lineage flourishes."
"What do you mean, 'countless descendants'?" Ye Qingfeng laughed, unable to hold back.
"Qingfeng, don't joke in front of Mother," Ye Qiuting said, his expression stern.
The two brothers shared a few more heartfelt words before departing. With their servants and betrothal gifts in tow, they arrived at the Lin family residence. To Ye Qiuting's surprise, Lin Yiquan, the head of the Lin family and Ye Qiuting's future father-in-law, came out personally to greet them.
"Why has Uncle Lin come to greet us himself?" Ye Qiuting asked, stepping forward.
"Uncle, nephew... soon enough, we'll be father-in-law and son-in-law," Lin Yiquan laughed heartily. "No need for formalities."
Ye Qiuting bowed respectfully. "My father... he's still at the border," he said awkwardly.
"No need to explain," Lin Yiquan waved off the concern. "We understand. The General has to focus on the border. As in-laws, we can't