Techniques were not meant to be learned.
They were meant to be understood.
At least—that was how Li Chen saw it.
Back at the residence, Li Chen did not immediately begin practicing. Instead, he placed the three jade slips on the stone table and sat opposite them, hands folded, eyes half-closed.
Xu Ming stood nearby, curious but silent.
"Watch," Li Chen said. "Comprehension begins before movement."
He picked up the first jade slip.
Silent Breath Circulation.
As spiritual sense entered the slip, streams of information flooded his mind—circulation routes, breathing rhythms, minor concealment formations layered within the technique.
Li Chen frowned slightly.
"…Too crude."
He did not reject it.
He trimmed it.
He isolated the core principle: reducing presence by reducing intent. Then, instinctively, he overlaid it with fragments of the Divine Art of Silent Severance.
Breath slowed.
Heartbeat softened.
Qi flow thinned until it was nearly indistinguishable from the ambient world.
Xu Ming shivered.
For a moment, he could no longer feel Li Chen's presence at all.
Then Li Chen opened his eyes.
"Done."
Xu Ming's mouth opened slightly. "That fast?"
"The technique was shallow," Li Chen replied. "Its value lies in its direction, not its depth."
He moved on.
Shadow Step.
This time, Li Chen stood.
He did not circulate qi immediately. Instead, he watched the wind brush against the courtyard stones, the way shadows shifted with the sun.
"The technique assumes fear," Li Chen said calmly. "That's its flaw."
He stepped forward.
There was no burst of speed.
No distortion of air.
His foot simply landed somewhere else.
Xu Ming sucked in a breath.
Li Chen's body blurred—not because it moved fast, but because it moved at the right moment.
The shadow he left behind faded half a breath later.
Li Chen shook his head. "Too wasteful."
He altered the circulation on the fly, stripping away excess spiritual output, turning the technique into a near-instinctual adjustment of position.
"Shadow Step is now complete," he said.
Xu Ming swallowed.
"…You changed it."
"Yes."
Finally, Li Chen picked up the last jade slip.
Falling Leaf Sword Art.
He did not stand.
He did not draw a sword.
He simply closed his eyes.
The images flowed—gentle arcs, soft descents, yielding strikes meant to redirect rather than clash.
Li Chen's brow furrowed.
"…This technique misunderstands gentleness."
He raised a finger.
Sword intent—so faint it barely existed—condensed at the tip.
Xu Ming felt it.
Not sharp.
Not oppressive.
But absolute.
The finger moved.
The stone table behind them split cleanly in two.
No sound.
No shockwave.
The cut was so precise that the two halves remained standing for a full breath before sliding apart.
Xu Ming's legs weakened.
Li Chen opened his eyes.
"A leaf does not hesitate," he said quietly. "It falls because it must."
He exhaled, and the sword intent vanished completely.
The courtyard was silent.
Xu Ming bowed deeply.
"Master… what realm are these techniques now?"
Li Chen considered the question.
"They still look ordinary," he said. "That's enough."
He stood and brushed dust from his sleeves.
"In the lower realm," Li Chen continued, "survival is about being underestimated."
Xu Ming nodded fiercely.
"I understand."
Li Chen glanced at him.
"Good. Because next, you'll learn them too."
Xu Ming froze.
"…Me?"
Li Chen's lips curved faintly.
"If you're going to protect me," he said, "you'll need techniques that don't get you killed."
Above them, the sky remained calm.
No heavenly phenomena.
No recognition.
The Dao, for once, said nothing—
—and that silence suited Li Chen perfectly.