Re-birth: The Beginning after the End - Chapter 134

Chapter 134: THE TECHNIQUES PART 6
Li Wei began to approach combat like a scholar solving a puzzle. Instead of striking directly, he created patterns of movement that led the training constructs to interfere with each other. His presence became like a complex equation—when one variable shifted, the entire solution changed, leaving his opponents striking at empty air while stumbling into each other’s paths.

Li Hao discovered that his natural chaos could become a weapon itself. Rather than consolidating his presence to attack, he learned to maintain his fragmented state, letting each echo of his presence carry just enough substance to deflect or redirect an opponent’s force. The training constructs found themselves thrown off balance by impacts that came from everywhere and nowhere, their own momentum turned against them.

Li Hua’s adaptation proved the most elegant. She stopped thinking about attacks and defense as separate actions. Instead, she moved like water finding its course—her presence flowing naturally into the spaces her opponents left unguarded. When a training construct struck at her, she wasn’t there; when they defended, they found themselves guarding against nothing while she slipped through their defenses like morning mist.

“Yes,” Old Xiao’s voice carried satisfaction. “Now you begin to understand. Combat isn’t about existence versus existence—it’s about choosing the nature of your existence in each moment.”

The training ground transformed into a fluid dance of shadows and suggestion. Where before there had been obvious exchanges of attack and defense, now there was only movement—natural as wind through leaves, inevitable as water flowing downhill. The training constructs found themselves increasingly disoriented, unable to establish any pattern or presence to effectively engage.

The siblings paused, absorbing Old Xiao’s words. Each found their own way to understand what it meant to attack without attacking.

Li Wei, methodical as ever, began to approach combat like a scholar solving a puzzle. Instead of striking directly, he created patterns of movement that led the training constructs to interfere with each other. His presence became like a complex equation—when one variable shifted, the entire solution changed, leaving his opponents striking at empty air while stumbling into each other’s paths.

Li Hao discovered that his natural chaos could become a weapon itself. Rather than consolidating his presence to attack, he learned to maintain his fragmented state, letting each echo of his presence carry just enough substance to deflect or redirect an opponent’s force. The training constructs found themselves thrown off balance by impacts that came from everywhere and nowhere, their own momentum turned against them.

Li Hua’s adaptation proved the most elegant. She stopped thinking about attacks and defense as separate actions. Instead, she moved like water finding its course—her presence flowing naturally into the spaces her opponents left unguarded. When a training construct struck at her, she wasn’t there; when they defended, they found themselves guarding against nothing while she slipped through their defenses like morning mist.

“Yes,” Old Xiao’s voice carried satisfaction. “Now you begin to understand. Combat isn’t about existence versus existence—it’s about choosing the nature of your existence in each moment.”

The training ground transformed into a fluid dance of shadows and suggestion. Where before there had been obvious exchanges of attack and defense, now there was only movement—natural as wind through leaves, inevitable as water flowing downhill. The training constructs found themselves increasingly disoriented, unable to establish any pattern or presence to effectively engage.

The siblings followed the winding path back to their quarters, their steps silent despite their exhaustion. Even in this simple walk, they found themselves unconsciously practicing—their presences fading in and out like shadows at twilight, their movements leaving no trace in the world around them.

Li Hao was the first to break the contemplative silence. “I’m starving,” he announced, his usual energy returning despite the day’s strain. “Do you think we can manage to eat while maintaining these techniques? Because I really don’t want to do another hundred drills tomorrow if Old Xiao catches us being ‘too present’ during dinner.”

Li Wei shook his head, though a slight smile tugged at his lips. “Trust you to turn everything into a food-related question.” He paused thoughtfully. “Though you raise an interesting point about maintaining the techniques during mundane activities.”

“Only you would call eating ‘mundane,'” Li Hao retorted, pushing open the door to their quarters. The familiar scent of herbs and incense welcomed them home, and for a moment, their carefully maintained states of semi-existence wavered with relief.

Li Hua headed straight for the kitchen, her movements still carrying that new fluidity they’d learned. “I’ll make dinner,” she offered, already reaching for the kettle. “You two can practice existing and not-existing while setting the table.”

Li Hua moved through the kitchen with practiced efficiency, her movements reflecting both her new training and the routine she’d established over the past two weeks. She pulled out several clay pots, already knowing exactly what she needed to prepare. The training left them all ravenous, and she’d learned to cook enough to satisfy even Li Hao’s endless appetite.

Steam rose as she lifted pot lids, checking the rice and the slow-cooked beef that had been simmering since morning. The scent of garlic and ginger filled the air as she stir-fried vegetables with quick, precise motions. She’d discovered that keeping her brothers and grandfather well-fed was its own form of training—one that brought its own satisfactions.

When she carried the first round of dishes out, she wasn’t surprised to find Grandmaster Yu already seated at the table beside her brothers, his eyes brightening at the sight of the food. Like clockwork, he appeared for meals, his appetite rivaling Li Hao’s, though he would inevitably vanish until breakfast the next day. It had become their routine—train until exhaustion, eat until satisfied, rest, and begin again.

“Ah,” Grandmaster Yu’s expression softened with anticipation as she set down a large bowl of beef stew, “I was hoping you’d make this again.” The praise was simple but genuine—he’d grown particularly fond of her cooking over the past weeks, often taking second and third helpings without any pretense of restraint.

Li Hua made several more trips between the kitchen and table, each time returning with another steaming dish. A platter of stir-fried vegetables seasoned with garlic and ginger, a large pot of soup rich with herbs and tender meat, bowls of perfectly cooked rice, and plates of small side dishes that she’d learned were everyone’s favorites—spicy pickled vegetables for Li Wei, sweet braised mushrooms for Li Hao, and the fermented bean paste that Grandmaster Yu particularly enjoyed.

“Sister,” Li Hao grinned as she finally settled down with them, “if your combat skills ever fail, you could always open a restaurant.” He was already reaching for the beef, his chopsticks moving with practiced speed.

Li Wei nodded in agreement, serving himself from the variety of dishes with more restraint than his brother, though his portions were just as generous. “The physical training is essential, but I suspect keeping us well-fed is equally important to our survival.”

Grandmaster Yu hummed in appreciation as he took his first bite, already reaching for seconds before he’d finished his first helping. These moments were precious—their grandfather’s stern demeanor softening in the comfort of their evening meals, though they all knew he would disappear again once dinner was done, returning only for breakfast the next day.

“The realms would be more peaceful if everyone had someone to cook for them like this,” Grandmaster Yu said, his chopsticks moving steadily between dishes. His eyes crinkled with warmth—a rare expression that appeared most often during these shared meals.

As the meal drew to a close, Li Hua stifled a yawn. Her muscles ached from the day’s training, and the thought of another week with Old Xiao made her bones feel heavy with anticipation.

“We’ll clean up,” Li Wei said, already gathering empty dishes. It had become their unspoken arrangement—she cooked, they cleaned. “You should rest, sister.”

Li Hao nodded, stacking bowls with unusual care. “Yeah, you’ll need it. If today was any indication, Old Xiao’s going to have us dancing through shadows until we forget what being solid feels like.”

Grandmaster Yu rose from the table, his eyes holding a weight that made Li Hua pause in her retreat to bed. “Walk with me a moment,” he said softly, gesturing toward the garden. Behind them, her brothers’ bickering over washing duties faded into comfortable background noise.

The evening air carried the scent of jasmine as they walked between carefully tended paths. Moonlight painted the garden in shades of silver, transforming familiar plants into mysterious shadows. Even exhausted as she was, Li Hua’s instincts noted how her grandfather positioned them precisely where no one could overhear.

“I spoke to Old Tang about your… friend,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “It seems there are as many mysteries surrounding him.” He paused, studying a flower as if it held answers. “My disciple, the Realm Master, thinks very highly of him. That carries significant weight, as you know—he has always shown excellent judgment in these matters.”

Li Hua’s tired muscles tensed at his careful tone. “But?”

“But even the most promising stars can draw destructive forces into their orbit.” His eyes, when they met hers, carried centuries of wisdom.

He smiled then, gentle pride mixing with concern. “I trust his judgment, as I trust yours. But as one who has watched many promising cultivators walk similar paths, I advise caution. Some allies, no matter how worthy, bring storms in their wake.”

She nodded, understanding the layers beneath his warning. “I’ll be vigilant.”

“Good.” He squeezed her shoulder gently. “Sleep well. Tomorrow brings its own challenges.”

Li Hua made her way to her quarters, her grandfather’s words echoing in her mind. The moment her head touched the pillow, exhaustion claimed her completely. Her last conscious thought was not of training or techniques, but of storms gathering on distant horizons, and how many secrets could dance in a single shadow.

She was asleep before her brothers had finished drying the last dish.