Re-birth: The Beginning after the End - Chapter 57

Chapter 57: PUNISHMENT

Familiar footsteps approached from the fields, and Li Hao’s shoulders tensed. “Speaking of Father…” he whispered, shooting a meaningful look at his siblings. Li Hua instinctively moved closer to Bai Ying, whose crystalline whiskers twitched with curiosity at the approaching presence. Even the wind fox, usually so bold, slunk behind one of Mother’s prized spirit-flowers, leaving only its luminescent tail visible among the petals.

“Bàba.” The siblings greeted their father in unison. Their father was already looking at them, his smile deepening as the corners of his eyes crinkled.

Their father was never a stern man—he was hilarious, kind and gentle—but that didn’t mean the siblings hadn’t experienced their fair share of his lectures.

They hated disappointing their father, and his lectures were infamous for their length. Whether kneeling or standing in the courtyard, punishment time seemed to stretch forever, the position depending on the severity of their mischief.

“My warriors,” their father greeted back. “What mischief have you caused to make your mother angry again?”

“Can’t you smell it?” their mother said from her position, now wiping the table in preparation for their meal.

“Of course I can,” their father replied, amusement dancing in his eyes. “But I would like to hear it from them.” He settled himself comfortably, clearly anticipating a good story. “Go on, someone explain.”

Li Wei began to explain, while Li Hao and Li Hua occasionally jumped in—each sibling adding their own version of how exactly a frost tiger had become their newest family member.

By the time they finished their tangled explanation, their father’s deep laughter filled the courtyard, causing even Bai Ying’s crystalline whiskers to twitch with amusement. “So,” he managed between chuckles, “not only did you disobey our rules about hunting alone, but my eldest son has brought home yet another spiritual beast?” He turned to the frost tiger with a warm smile. “Welcome to our chaotic family, Bai Ying. Try not to freeze too many of our vegetables.”

The siblings began to relax at their father’s apparent good humor—until his eyes took on that familiar glint that meant punishment was imminent.

“However,” he continued, his voice still carrying traces of laughter even as it grew firm, “since you three have so much energy for morning hunts, I’m sure you won’t mind practicing your qigong in the back courtyard until sunset.” His smile widened at their collective groan. “The old pine posts could use some attention, and your mother has been saying your lightweight technique needs improvement.”

Li Hua exchanged resigned glances with her brothers. Qigong practice meant hours of balancing on impossibly thin posts while performing various cultivation techniques—a punishment their father knew they particularly disliked. Not because it was difficult (though it was), but because it was, in their opinion, unbearably boring.

“And Wei’er?” their father added as they turned to accept their fate, “Do make sure Bai Ying understands that your mother’s prized spirit flowers are not for snacking. We’re still recovering from the incident with the thunder bunnies.”

The siblings nodded solemnly and began to help their mother with bringing out the lunch dishes.

Mother’s meals had gotten even better after they built a garden of spiritual plants. To improve their physical and spiritual abilities, her mother began making spiritually infused meals. Li Hua’s job was to water these plants, and it was perfect as she used the spiritual water from her space. The vegetables not only tasted better, but they were slightly bigger than those sold in the markets.

The rich aroma of lunch filled the courtyard, each dish infused with subtle traces of spiritual energy that would help maintain their cultivation. Steam rose from bowls of rice cooked with spirit herbs, while plates of stir-fried vegetables glowed with a faint inner light that spoke of their enhanced properties. Even the simple side dishes carried traces of power, carefully balanced by their mother’s expert hand to support their growing abilities without drawing attention from visiting villagers.

Li Hua caught her mother’s knowing smile as she helped set the table. Sometimes she wondered if her mother suspected something about the garden’s extraordinary growth, but if she did, she never mentioned it. Instead, she would simply comment on how well the plants responded to Li Hua’s care, her eyes twinkling with that particular motherly wisdom that always made Li Hua feel simultaneously seen and protected.

“Come, children.” Her father waved the siblings over. As everyone settled around the table, he smiled warmly at their mother. “I always look forward to coming home and seeing my beautiful wife and children, and enjoying these delicious meals.” He took their mother’s hand and gently pressed his lips to it. “Thank you, my dear wife.”

The siblings turned away awkwardly, though Li Hua couldn’t help but notice her mother’s flushed cheeks.

Their parents’ public displays of affection had only grown more pronounced as the siblings had gotten older, much to their children’s perpetual embarrassment.

Li Hua couldn’t help but envy it. In her previous life, she had never had the time to think about relationships—her training and missions had consumed everything. Even later, when she became both the guild master of assassins and CEO of her corporation, personal matters always took a backseat to her responsibilities. Now, in this life… she wouldn’t mind finding someone as caring and devoted as her father.

The memory from that night eight years ago suddenly flashed through her mind again—soft lips against her ear, desperate whispers of love—and Li Hua couldn’t help but shake her head to clear the thought. After all this time, she still couldn’t explain why she had that memory, or what it meant. Even Little Firefly was clueless about its origin.

“Eat, eat!” their father said as he picked up his chopsticks and began serving their mother first, as was proper.

The siblings followed suit, picking up meat and vegetables to fill their mother’s plate before taking their own portions.

After lunch, the siblings helped clean up before heading to their punishment.

Their home had grown considerably since receiving the village leaders’ approval for expansion. The once-small courtyard house had doubled in size, though the kitchen remained at its heart—the center of their family gatherings. Behind the main courtyard lay their training ground, where three tall, slender posts stood like silent sentinels against the afternoon sky. The bathhouses had been relocated further back, with two additional ones built to accommodate their growing needs. Their parents’ quarters occupied the right wing, while the siblings each had their own rooms in the left wing, a luxury that still sometimes surprised them.

Using their spiritual essence and qigong, the siblings gently but swiftly jumped onto their posts, getting into their positions, one foot on the post and the other extended outward, slightly bent. Years of practice had made these movements second nature, though the addition of qi circulation had transformed their training entirely.

Their father had waited until after their second year of physical conditioning before introducing qi direction. “The body must be strong before guiding spiritual essence,” he had explained, “or your meridians will crack like poorly made vessels.” Now, years later, each movement they made was accompanied by careful qi circulation, turning simple balancing acts into comprehensive cultivation exercises.

As part of their punishment, they began reciting the ancient cultivation scriptures their father had assigned—each verse carefully chosen to remind them of proper conduct and cultivation principles. Their voices rose and fell in practiced rhythm, the familiar words carrying deeper meaning with each passing year.

“The Path of True Cultivation lies in balance,” Li Wei started, his voice steady despite standing on one leg atop the narrow post. His water essence flowed smoothly through his meridians, supporting his balance.

“Like morning dew on a leaf,” Li Hao continued, his unique fire-water qi creating perfect harmony within his spiritual pathways as he maintained his stance.

“Strength without wisdom leads to ruin,” Li Hua added her part, directing her spiritual essence with practiced precision through the circulation patterns she had mastered over the years.

For the next five hours, they continued their recitations, moving through the ancient texts their father had drilled into them since childhood. The sun crawled across the sky as they balanced, shifted, and maintained their spiritual circulation. Their muscles burned, but none dared complain—this was, after all, a punishment. Sweat gleamed on their foreheads despite the cooling afternoon breeze, their qi working overtime to maintain both balance and proper circulation.

As the sun began its descent behind the Great White Mountain, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose, familiar footsteps approached the training ground. Their father’s voice carried across the courtyard, gentle but firm. “Enough for today.”