The first rule Gu Hao wrote was simple.
No child would be measured.
He wrote it twice to be sure.
The Gu Clan welcomed three newborns that season.
Two to mortal families working the expanded fields.
One to a Qi Condensation cultivator and his wife.
Healthy cries. Strong lungs. Ordinary beginnings.
Gu Hao visited none of them publicly.
He watched from a distance.
On Earth, he had seen what happened when potential was named too early.
Children grew into expectations before they grew into themselves.
Here, with qi and bloodlines involved, the damage would be worse.
So Gu Hao forbade testing.
No meridian scans.
No affinity stones.
No whispered judgments.
Not even curiosity.
Instead, he focused on environment.
Nutrition improved quietly.
Living quarters standardized.
Medical care equalized.
Mortal children and cultivator children received the same early treatment.
This confused some elders.
Gu Yuan asked carefully, "Patriarch… shouldn't we prioritize—"
"No," Gu Hao replied calmly. "Not yet."
He began collecting data without interference.
Birth records.
Parental background.
Long-term grain exposure.
Living conditions.
Nothing invasive.
Just time.
Gu Hao noticed something subtle by the end of the month.
Mortal infants born to families working Gu Clan fields showed fewer early illnesses. Stronger appetite. Faster recovery.
Not cultivation.
Just health.
Gu Hao smiled faintly.
Health was where everything began.
Gu Jian observed him one evening.
"You're planning something," he said.
"Yes," Gu Hao replied.
"And you're not telling anyone."
Gu Hao nodded.
"Because I don't know yet," he said. "And pretending I do would be cruelty."
The clan stabilized into routine.
Cultivators trained.
Trade flowed.
Fields expanded carefully.
Children grew without attention.
That was the point.
Gu Hao wrote often.
Not conclusions.
Constraints.
No bloodline selection before maturity
No forced pairing
No cultivation exposure before body readiness
No privilege before contribution
These were not laws.
They were guardrails.
One night, Gu Hao stood near the residential quarter.
He heard laughter.
A baby crying.
Someone humming badly.
This was the sound of continuity.
On Earth, he had learned too late that institutions failed when they optimized for results instead of people.
Here, he would not repeat that mistake.
He wrote a single line in his private notes:
You don't grow forests by pulling on saplings.
The Gu Clan's future had begun.
Not with breakthroughs.
With children who had not yet been told what they were meant to become.