Imperial Cultivation Chapter 3 - 3 3 Illusions

The princes and princely heirs are certainly not dim-witted; each one possesses deep worldly experience. Do they not realize that the Jade Lock Gold Barrier Skill serves as a direct conduit to capture the Emperor’s attention and secure imperial favor? Why, then, have they all forsaken this supposed shortcut? Among these royals, there exists no shortage of martial arts prodigies. Since none of them choose to walk this path, it is clear the method is ineffective, which explains its abandonment. However, there is no value in explaining this to Bai Ningshuang, who possesses no understanding of martial arts. For now, it is best to provide verbal agreement and finalize my decision only after personally inspecting the mental method.

Chu Zhiyuan spoke with gravity, “Mother, the fact that no one is visiting is merely a reflection of the current atmosphere. Everyone is watching, waiting for the wind to shift. We must remain composed and steady; rash actions would be unwise.”

Bai Ningshuang let out a sharp huff, “I would prefer to remain calm, but my anger is immense.”

“Then you should visit your Imperial Grandmother more frequently and seek her guidance.”

“...Very well.” Bai Ningshuang conceded with a helpless nod. “Your Imperial Grandmother surely feels the solitude as well. It is a pity; now that the mansion is no longer restricted, we can visit her more often and offer her company.”

Before the sun had even hinted at rising, the Prince Qing Mansion was already humming with activity. Inside the Listening Wave Courtyard—the chambers belonging to the princely heir—candles blazed with the intensity of broad daylight. In the outer parlor, a round table of purple sandalwood, decorated with delicate chi patterns, held a spread of eight dishes and four bowls of soup that shimmered invitingly in the candlelight.

Chu Zhiyuan stood before the table with his arms spread as two maids dressed in red assisted him with his robes. Two other handmaidens in white were busy arranging his meal. All four girls were exceptionally beautiful, possessing a grace that would see them mistaken for noble ladies from prestigious households if they were ever seen outside. The two maids in red meticulously adjusted his bright yellow combat uniform, carefully affixing the crane-shaped belt tag. He wore no other adornments save for this silver accessory.

Chu Zhiyuan stated evenly, “That is sufficient.”

The white-clad maids retrieved the silver chopsticks and spoons, gesturing gracefully for the waiting servants to clear the table. As Chu Zhiyuan lowered his arms, he brushed his fingers against the cheeks of the two maids in red; they pouted playfully and sent him lingering glances as he departed the Listening Wave Courtyard.

Zou Fang, clad in a blue robe with a White Jade Dust Brush tucked at his waist, stood outside holding a lantern. Upon seeing him emerge, he guided the way in silence. Within the brilliantly lit main hall, King Qing Chu Minghou sat while Princess Bai Ningshuang paced the floor. A lovely, graceful young girl sat by the table as well. Chu Minghou, possessing a slender and fragile frame, radiated an ethereal, otherworldly presence. He offered a gentle smile and remarked, “Madam, there is no need for such concern. Yuan’er is capable of handling this. Do sit down and gather your strength.”

Bai Ningshuang came to a halt and shot him a sideways glance. “Master, Yuan’er has never had to deal with these people before!” Having been confined for two decades, Yuan’er had seen nothing of the outside world, whereas the other princes had spent their time sharpening their cunning. How could she not worry about him walking into Mingwu Hall like a lamb tossed to a pack of wolves? “Experience is not the deciding factor; Yuan’er’s natural wisdom far exceeds that of common men. He will not be taken advantage of.”

“Sigh…” Bai Ningshuang exhaled a breath of anxiety before sinking into a chair with a graceful movement. Chu Minghou merely shook his head with a light chuckle.

Just then, Chu Zhiyuan pushed aside the curtain and entered, his bright yellow combat uniform casting a vibrant light across the room. The elegant young girl burst into laughter, hurried forward, and grabbed his arm. “Big Brother!”

Chu Zhiyuan smiled back, “So, you finally decided to step out of Wanqing Courtyard, did you?”

“Big Brother, you can finally attend Mingwu Hall!” the girl, Chu Yi, chirped with glee. She showed no sense of worry, only pure delight. In her eyes, her big brother was invincible and all-knowing, and the youths inhabiting Mingwu Hall were hardly worth a second thought.

“Yuan’er,” Bai Ningshuang stepped forward to smooth his attire, “when you arrive, do not be timid. Do not seek out conflict, but do not allow yourself to be intimidated either!” Chu Zhiyuan smiled and offered his assurance. In truth, his heart felt the complete opposite: he was burning with anticipation and longing.

“Exactly, Big Brother! Don’t hold back against them. Give them a beating until they run home crying to their parents!” Chu Yi cheered, clapping her hands. Chu Zhiyuan chuckled, “Little sister, you shouldn’t spend all your time tending to those flowers and plants. You should venture out more, explore the world, and engage with people.” His vibrant sister was something of a hermit, accustomed to life within the walls and refusing to step foot outside even after the confinement was lifted. She vastly preferred the companionship of flora over people, claiming they were more interesting.

“I am too lazy for that. It is all so drab and filthy,” Chu Yi pouted. Chu Minghou stroked his three strands of beard with his left hand and spoke with measured pace, “Yuan’er, you are the Emperor’s grandson, no different from any of them. Simply act with confidence and resolve!”

“Father, I understand,” Chu Zhiyuan nodded. He held immense respect for his father. Despite his frail health and inability to practice martial arts, Chu Minghou had never succumbed to despair during his confinement. Instead, he channeled his energy into calligraphy and painting, achieving a mastery that earned him the title of an expert in both disciplines. Bai Ningshuang added quickly, “Yuan’er, always show proper deference to the princely heirs, but be sure to offer special reverence to your Thirteenth Imperial Uncle…”

“Mother, I understand. It is late; I must depart.”

When Chu Zhiyuan crossed the threshold of the Prince Qing Mansion, the first light of dawn was just beginning to break. Prince Qing Street was blanketed in a thin mist and a biting chill, with lanterns swaying in the wind that cast dappled, eerie shadows against the walls. Guards cloaked in dark robes moved in units of five, radiating a subtle, menacing intensity. Guo Chi and eight Innate Masters escorted him for a hundred meters until they reached the South Palace Gate, the primary entrance to the Imperial Palace. A line of court officials dressed in crimson robes and wide belts stood in two distinct queues—some displaying bird motifs, others beast motifs—forming two rows of ten meters each. Twelve Forbidden Palace Guards maintained a solemn stance, checking every waist tag with unwavering sternness.

Chu Zhiyuan did not join the back of the queue; instead, he walked directly to the front. With his crane-shaped waist tag and Zou Fang beside him, he passed through the gate without interference. Guo Chi and the escort remained behind, unable to enter the palace grounds. Beyond the gate lay a massive square where a dense, solemn crowd of officials waited for the morning audience. Clad in his bright yellow uniform, Chu Zhiyuan was instantly recognized as Imperial kin, and the officials shifted to give him room, their gazes lingering on him. Chu Zhiyuan continued to walk as if he were alone, his expression tranquil.

In his mind, he focused on the two individuals shadowing him. They did well to conceal their presence, their auras dimmed—a sophisticated stealth technique that left even Guo Chi and Zou Fang oblivious. The only uncertainty was whether Feng Xi, hiding in the shadows, would be able to uncover them and discern their origins. As the head of the mansion, Feng Xi practiced the Forbidden Palace’s most elite mental methods; he was a silent, ghostly master in the Grandmaster Realm. Two grandmasters were positioned among the Imperial guards, and above each, three-foot-tall spectral imprints were visible: one represented a crane standing on one leg with its head tucked, and the other was a white tiger resting in the void.

The Grandmaster Realm comprises nine heavens; Guo Chi and Zou Fang were at the third, while Feng Xi stood at the fifth. Only his Super Sense could perceive these phantom projections. By analyzing their structure, he concluded that each foot of the phantom corresponded exactly to one heaven. Crossing the square and passing through several more palace gates—each guarded by grandmaster-level sentries—he finally arrived at a expansive martial arts training ground. He gestured for Zou Fang to stop. Zou Fang bowed deeply, “Princely Heir, this servant will wait outside.”

“Understood.” Zou Fang retreated past the gate to maintain his post.

To the north of the training ground sat a grand hall with a golden plaque inscribed with “Mingwu Hall,” which shimmered faintly in the early light. Flanked by annexes, the three halls resembled giant beasts hunched in the dawn, casting an undeniable weight on the atmosphere. The ground was composed of a dark, resilient soil that felt soft yet firm, much like the tracks of his past life. Twelve young men dressed in bright yellow were frozen in strange postures, clearly absorbed in the practice of the Little Purple Sun Skill. As his footsteps echoed, the twelve turned in unison. He could vividly sense their collective emotion: curiosity. He checked again, and then a third time—it was indeed nothing but curiosity. He found this bizarre; he had braced himself for coldness, disdain, or even mockery, but there was no trace of malice. Could the children of the imperial line truly be so kind-hearted? That seemed impossible. Their friendliness likely stemmed from the influence of their parents, proving that his father’s reputation among the princes was held in high regard. It was logical; despite his physical limitations, his father’s gentle and righteous nature had clearly made him a beloved brother.

He approached the elderly man with a frail, short build who was sitting at the edge of the field and clasped his fists. “Junior Chu Zhiyuan offers his respects to the Thirteenth Great Uncle.” The hairs on the back of his neck rose, a primal warning to maintain his distance. Before him sat an old man with hair like a white crane and a face like a child; he appeared so small and frail that a single strike might knock him over. As he extended his Super Sense, his vision suddenly blurred. In that moment, he felt as though he were standing atop a peak among massive mountains. Amidst swirling, dark clouds, two mountains parted to reveal a wide river flowing into the horizon. At the end of the river, a rising sun pierced the skyline, casting golden light through the thick clouds—the rays turning the clouds violet, the river into a golden dragon, and the surrounding mountains into shimmering gold. He snapped back to his senses, retracting his Super Sense, and returned to reality.

It was as if the vision had been a mere illusion. Standing before him was still the frail, short old man who looked like he could be blown away by a breeze. This was a Great Grandmaster! If the Grandmaster Realm showed external manifestations of internal power, what was this Great Grandmaster? “The son of Old Third Minghou, Chu Zhiyuan?” The old man’s eyes were sharp and vibrant, devoid of any aging. “Yes, it is I, my grandnephew,” Chu Zhiyuan answered. He was pale-faced and trembling slightly, forcing a polite smile. “Father sent me to convey his greetings to the Thirteenth Great Uncle.”

“How fares Minghou?”

“Father says he wishes to avoid creating trouble for others or for the mansion, so he finds it best to remain within the grounds so that all may fare better.”

“…This child—” Chu Qingfeng paused, then shook his head with a soft, mournful sigh. He reached out to grasp Chu Zhiyuan’s wrist, and a thin stream of energy surged through his meridians with lightning speed. Chu Zhiyuan found himself gripped and rendered immobile before he could even consider moving. Releasing the wrist, Chu Qingfeng nodded in approval: “Good, very good!”

The other princes were now buzzing with curiosity, itching to get closer. As their teacher, Chu Qingfeng was notorious for his stern temperament, often dispensing harsh reprimands and biting remarks rather than praise. Could it be that he felt love for the father extending to the son? A stout youth with a round face shouted, “Thirteenth Uncle, what is Old Fourth’s realm?” Chu Zhiyuan was fourth in the hierarchy of his generation. “Focus on your training! His Postnatal state is already flawless, far superior to your Uncle Eighteenth’s!” The stout youth grinned: “Postnatal perfection isn’t so rare; Uncle Ninth and Uncle Tenth have reached that as well.”

“Eighteenth Prince, you are an uncle, yet your cultivation lags behind that of your own nephew. Do you honestly have the nerve to boast?” Chu Qingfeng glared at him. “Silence!” The Eighteenth Prince, Chu Mingxuan, snorted in defeat, clamped his mouth shut, and shut his eyes to feign deep concentration. To speak again would only invite further humiliation. “Come over here so we may speak.”

“Yes.” The two walked away from the training field and entered the main hall.