Xia Chen’s new three-courtyard estate couldn’t touch the marquisate’s grandeur, but in the capital, it stood as a fine mansion.

Nestled in the inner city near Central Avenue, its prime spot and delicate gardens and rooms caught Xia Chen’s eye at once.

Still, buying it cost three thousand taels—a figure downright astronomical for ordinary households.

Silver packed real punch these days—Xia Chen’s stipend as Head Director netted just fifty taels a month.

Six hundred a year total.

“Chang’an’s rice is steep—living big in the capital ain’t easy!”

Under a peach tree in the courtyard, Xia Chen sighed.

Ignorant of firewood and rice till you ran a house—he’d never felt it in the marquisate, all needs met.

Now, out on his own, he saw the grind—food, clothes, shelter, every grain and drop cost coin.

Over a decade, festival gifts from elders had piled up to just over two thousand taels. If Cui Mengruo hadn’t choked back tears last night and shoved three thousand taels into his hands upon learning he’d leave the marquisate, he wouldn’t have

scraped enough to buy this place.

“Young Master!”

A tender voice called—a gentle maid stepped from the house.

Yes, Bi Zhu was his now.

She’d been Cui Mengruo’s shadow, meant to join Xia Chen’s quarters once he hit Eighth-Rank to tend his daily life. But lately, swamped with duties and unused to company, he’d put it off.

Last night, knowing he’d leave, Cui Mengruo wept—insisting he take Bi Zhu to look after him.

Seeing his aunt’s tears, Xia Chen couldn’t refuse…

Warmth bloomed at the thought—his birth parents mightn’t care, but his uncle and aunt treated him like their own, no outsider in their eyes.

“What do you think of this place?”

Xia Chen asked Bi Zhu, her eyes shy, dodging his gaze. Her mistress had sent her to the third young master as a maid—officially, but really to warm his bed.

In great houses, lads of age got bedmaids who’d stay till marriage.

Post-wedding, they’d rise to concubines.

From now, she was truly his.

“I’ve got over two thousand taels left—household affairs are yours now. Take some hands to West Market tomorrow or the day after—buy maids and servants. Young’s fine, but their backgrounds must be clean!”

Xia Chen handed over a fat stack of silver notes, but Bi Zhu hesitated, flustered.

“Young Master, I’m just a maid—how can I run the house? That’s for the mistress—the princess—to handle.”

“No clue when we’ll wed—wait for her forever? We’re fresh out here; everything’s from scratch. Wait for her, and the rice’ll rot!”

Xia Chen grabbed Bi Zhu’s soft hand, stuffing the notes into it.

“You’re the only girl here now—not you, then Xia Qian? It’s settled—house stuff’s yours. I’ve got no mind for it!”

Xia Chen grinned—Bi Zhu dipped her head, avoiding his eyes. His warm grip sent her reeling, eyes dazed like a spring bud shy to bloom.

A peek up, starry gaze brimming with bash—red crept up her snowy cheeks.

“Young Master’s so kind…”

Nightfall!

Moon high!

Xia Chen stood in the courtyard, practicing his blade!

His moves were bare—simple chops, sweeps, thrusts, wipes, slashes!

Over and over.

Plain to the eye—but a keen watcher would gasp.

Every slash from Xia Chen honed his qi to a pinpoint, threading through the void like a fine wire, cleaving the air—pure finesse, lost on lesser eyes.

Focus burned in his stare—no matter the day’s grind, back home, he slashed ten thousand times nightly!

Such relentless grit paid off big.

In his sight, the system panel ticked up:

【Proficiency +10】

【Proficiency +10】

【Proficiency +10】

…

【Blade Skill XP: 9830/10000】

As time drifted by, a lone youth in the courtyard repeated his motions, unrelenting.

Before long, Xia Chen heard a soft ding.

【Your Blade Skill has reached Mastery—First-Tier Blade Intent imminent. Claim it?】

“Claim!”

【You’ve grasped Pure Yang Blade Intent—First-Tier!】

【Second-Tier Blade Intent XP Required: 30000!】

【First-Tier Blade Intent: 0/30000】

Xia Chen paid no heed to the panel’s fine print, his whole being seemingly dragged into a bizarre world.

He became a five-year-old child, training under a master with a blade—sun rising east, setting west, spring fading to autumn. Through scorching heat or bitter cold, Xia Chen stood daily atop a cliff’s great stone, enduring wind, rain, and sun—by eight,

his blade skills budding; by eleven, flourishing; by eighteen, perfected.

Blade perfected, Xia Chen parted from his master, descending to roam the mortal dust—heading east, sparring with blade masters. Bandits ambushed, rebel troops clashed—he carved his way through. At twenty, he enlisted, climbing from foot

soldier amid mountains of corpses and seas of blood, tempering his blade intent.

At twenty-two, a spark struck—he left, pressing east until he saw the sea.

Eastward to Jieshi’s cliffs, gazing upon the vast sea!

Perched on coastal rocks—like childhood cliffs—he repeated basic slashes.

That year, he fished for life—tides ebbed and flowed, sun climbed and sank. He tempered his sharpness—the murderous aura forged in the army’s corpse-strewn bloodbaths faded, as if scoured away by the sea’s tides, until he wholly became an

ordinary fisherman。

Later, he set his blade aside—no more drills, flowing free.

A true fisherman!

But this fisherman loved one thing—sitting on rocks, watching the sun, all day…

On an ordinary afternoon, the sun sank west, fully dropping below the horizon, engulfed by the sea.

Xia Chen, atop the rock after a day’s stillness, broke into a smile—divine light flared in his eyes, like a red sun slowly ascending.

Breaking the dark!

He grabbed his fish spear, slashing the sea casual-like!

“This blade’s Dawnbreaker!”

His voice whispered, soft yet pure and fierce—shaking souls like a god’s decree to the world.

Instantly, the darkening sea blazed—fishermen on late boats gaped—what?

A second sun rose steadily, its radiance bathing the world—the sea’s smooth surface parted, revealing the ocean floor’s chasms.

Five, six breaths it held—then vast waters crashed back, leaving a pure yang scar on the surface!

One slash—terror unbound!