Part 1. The melancholy of the humble philosopher.

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Chapter 1, in which the hero overcomes his ailments with wisdom

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Han Nao blinked and stared at the watching crystal in his chubby palm as if he couldn't believe that the next episode of Impetuous Blade Bao was really over. He set the crystal aside, scooped up a handful of nuts from the tray, and crunched them, still impressed by what he had seen.

"After all, crystals are better than scrolls," he said meaningfully into the emptiness of the vast room.

He had always been fascinated by the adventures of powerful warriors and had read thousands of scrolls and looked through mountains of crystals. Although the scrolls had many undeniable advantages, such as revealing the inner essence of the hero, allowing him to open the veil over his thoughts and feelings, only the crystals allowed him to truly immerse himself in the world of adventure, to experience everything as if he, Han Nao, were there at that moment, in the thick of the battle. As if he, and not Bao Xiao, had saved beauties, overthrown tyrants, destroyed brigands, and with his own hands had brought down entire powerful Houses that had deviated from the righteous path in favor of the vices of gluttony, idleness, and lucre.

What could be better than watching crystals? Of course, being a part of the adventure! Most of all, Han Nao wanted to become a mighty warrior, bringing justice and goodness with his blade, able to split mountains, chop the sea, and pierce the very Heavens! Unfortunately, the poor health that fate had bestowed upon him did not allow him to follow the path of a hero. In his past life, he probably had been a mighty warrior who had accomplished so many glorious deeds that the spirits of his ancestors had sent him to rest for a while in this rebirth. So Nao defied fate and the heavens in another equally honorable way - philosophers and scholars were equally honorable men. And he was both - the number of wise sayings he wrote with his impeccable calligraphy would put any philosopher to shame, and the mountain of scrolls he read (for who in his right mind would say that the tales of heroes' deeds did not contain the very essence of wisdom). - of any scholar. But he was not going to give up his hero's path either, for to give up was to surrender to fate.

After scooping up another handful of nuts, Han leaned on the soft pile of the rug and stood up, puffing. He strode to his favorite table with its mirror and scrolls and sat down with a startled sound.

"What a shoddy piece of furniture," he muttered to the groans and creaks of the protesting chair.

Han clapped his hands several times. Unfortunately, it wasn't loud enough, so he grabbed the beater and struck the gong as hard as he could.

''What do you wish, Young Master?" One of the older servants immediately appeared with a low bow.

"Replace the chair. It's in disrepair! They completely forgot how to make decent furniture. The squeaks make it hard for me to concentrate on what's important!"

"Of course, Young Master," the older servant bowed all the way to the carpet. "Immediately everything will be executed."

The pile of carpets muffled the sound of footsteps, but the three servants bringing in replacements were huffing and puffing. Han stood to the side, crunching nuts and trying to distract himself by contemplating his creations. "Be formidable in business and gentle at home," "The weak cherish grudges, the strong change themselves and the world," "Only cowards huddle together," and other wisdom in impeccable calligraphic handwriting. The scrolls hung from the walls like banners of defeated enemies, and Han felt a rush of inspiration.

Once he'd sent the servants away, he dropped into the chair, satisfied that it was perfectly positioned, and didn't even flinch, not like the last time he'd had to order it rearranged three times. Not too close to the table to make it uncomfortable to sit down, and not too far away to avoid having to stretch. Han spread out the scroll with a quick movement of his hand, skillfully, as if he were performing a martial technique, and snatched up the brush, imagining it to be Bao Xiao's deadly and swift blade.

Han dipped his brush into an inkwell of red ink, handmade from special mussels found only at the bottom of the ocean, and thrust his blade into battle. The brush fluttered about, slashing at the enemies, which were hieroglyphics. His movements were sharp, precise, and swift, but at the same time smooth - without the splashing of drops. After all, he was a master of calligraphy, so he could handle a sword just as well as Bao! Yes, thought Han, I already have the technique. I just need to choose a light sword and start practicing. Better yet, invent a sword brush so I can slash my enemies with it and paint at the same time. Yes, that's right, to paint pictures that would come to life, like in the series Invincible Artist in Search of the Perfect Brush!"

"Ugh," he finished drawing out the quote, If you're worthy, you're worthy, and that's enough.

Han smiled sadly as he squirmed again in his chair, feeling its solidity and stability. Alas, the world was falling apart. Modern furniture, like so many other things, was no good. They were able to make things in the past, not like now! Weapons, qi techniques, furniture, clothes, everything! Fortunately, such a plague had not yet affected the Adventure Crystals, but he dreaded the times when this outlet of his life would succumb to the merciless flow of time when, instead of mighty heroes, the crystals would show talentless poseurs whose adventures would become as bland as boiled fish Mun Hu without triple lun-yin sauce.

As much as he wanted to rest a little more, the thought that had arisen demanded to be immortalized - he simply had no right to deprive posterity of the results of his thoughts.

Han Nao dipped his brush into the inkwell and spread out a new scroll, and with swift strokes, he wrote a flawless string of characters: The river of time leads to the abyss. After admiring the result of his labors and making sure that both quotations were flawless, Han panted heavily.

Feeling slightly tired and hungry, he clapped his hands, and this time, the older servant appeared without the gong being struck.

"Hang it on the wall and make sure it's even! No, I'll make sure it's even! Yes, hang it over there, above the vases from the Dan era. It'll be perfectly visible from the couch! No, asshole, not that scroll, the other one, the one between the spear and the jian," Han ordered, falling into the couch. "Yeah, no! Not this spear. Next to it! I have to explain everything to you, dullards! And bring the table over here at once. I'm hungry!"

It would be nice to snack on a tender singing duck marinated in plums and leaves from a hundred-year-old oak tree, moderately peppered and browned, with newborn chickens in the juice of island lemons lying around as a garnish. Just thinking about it made Han's mouth fill with saliva, and he even missed the moment when his priceless scrolls with fresh, barely dried sayings almost hung at various heights. He didn't have time to resent this or the fact that the food hadn't arrived yet; a servant appeared at the door.

"I humbly beg your pardon, Young Master," he bowed all the way to the carpet, "but Mr. Guang requires you to attend the family dinner!"

"To reprimand me again," Han's lips curved unhappily. "I won't!"

"Young Master," the servant fell back into the carpet, "Mrs. Lihua asks you to condescend to the request of Mr. Guang, your father, and attend the family dinner, for Mr. Guang is leaving for the capital!"

"All right, all right," Han grumbled, "just for Mother's sake. I keep my eyes on you! If you hang it wrong, I'll punish you! How can I train and lead a decent life when I am always distracted by something?"

He remembered his mother's request not to walk around the house half-dressed, and he pressed his lips together in frustration. Why go out at all, when he had everything in his chambers, and what he didn't have, the servants would bring anyway? It was no fun listening to his father's grumbling, either. One could sit and wait for his father to leave, and everything would be as before: calm and measured, without demands, reproaches, and cries about the family's disgrace.

"Young Master, the latest issue of the Hero's Almanac has arrived," another servant appeared.

An Almanac with a list of heroes and their deeds for the good of the whole Empire, with descriptions of techniques and circumstances of their deeds, colorful pictures, and each of them was accompanied by a contemplative crystal with a battle scene, a real one! Han's hands and lips shook as if by themselves, and he felt the desire not to go anywhere, but to lie down and enjoy reading, imagining himself on the pages.... No, not on the pages, but right on the cover!

Like Bao Xiao, but better!

But how can you be a hero here, when cruel reality distracts you every now and then? The thought was beautiful and worthy of a new saying, but alas, there was no time to immortalize it in a scroll because of the rush. He had already created two quotations today, but to write down a third would have been a rush unworthy of a philosopher.

"Put it on the table and don't get it dirty," he ordered condescendingly, and yet he left the room.

The contentment of his power of will and spirit did not last long, not until he reached the door. He remembered his mother's request again, sighed heavily, turned, and went to dress. Just an unbearable life, full of torment every minute! But it's nothing, Han thought as the servants dressed him, it would soon get easier. When his father was gone, he could practice without anyone pushing him around and spoiling his mood. Yes, tomorrow! But no, there's still the Almanac and the crystal with the Mighty Juba, the Lord of Stones. Then the day after tomorrow, that's when the new half-dozen days begin. Yeah, that's right, that's the best way.

"What is it?" He asked unhappily, feeling a heaviness in his chest and shoulders. "Oh, you rascals, did they wash my robe badly again?! It has shrunk again, and it's pressing hard!"

It's a disappointment all around! But this time, at least the servants had the sense not to deny their guilt. Han still left the room, thinking that all of this was worthy of a separate quote on the wall. Something about that a noble and patient man changes circumstances to suit himself and never denies guilt.

Satisfied with himself, he walked down the long corridor, enjoying the sight of the paintings on the walls and the servants bending before him. The old fragile vases had not been removed from the corridor, so one of them fell and broke again, but Han didn't stop as he smelled the aromas of dinner.

"Three-layer plum pie," he whispered, licking his lips, "and pulled pork on ribs.'

His favorite rib pork! He quickened his step, almost falling down the stairs. He was out of breath with excitement and worried they would eat it without him. The sculptures trembled as he approached, and the mocking glances of the guards in lacquered armor slid past him, but Han ignored them graciously and, driven by the sweet aromas and the anticipation of his prey, rushed inside like a conqueror into a besieged city.

"Good day to you too, Son!" came his Father's voice.

Han stumbled and slammed his hip onto the edge of the table, howling quietly in pain at the sight of the pie falling apart. His father, still gray-haired and stern, with hard, merciless eyes, stared at Han as if he wanted to burn him with his gaze.

"My dear, there is no need to shout at poor Haonyu," said his mother, sitting beside his father. "You can see that the poor boy is out of breath. He was in such a hurry to come at your command. Haonyu has a weak heart!"

"You have a weak heart here!" His father pounded his fist on the table, and Han nearly burst into tears.

Dishes were flying away, the pie was falling apart, such cruelty!

"When he smelled food, he rushed over like a boar-- No, like a fat pig full of lard!"

"How can you say that, dear," said Mother softly, "he's just broad-boned, for he grew into you."

"The eldest, Zhiqiang, is the one who took after me, he is already leading the fortress on the border and beating the barbarians! The middle one, Xiulan, is famous throughout the Empire for her medicines, and she became the wife of Renshu Toubao himself! And the youngest only lies there and dishonors me, the General of the Empire! And people whisper behind my back that how can I lead my troops into battle if I can't even command my youngest son?"

"Now, look what you've done to our poor, gentle boy," Mother Lihua groaned, fussing over the settled Han.

The scent of smelling salts gave Han a burst of strength.

"Son!" proclaimed the father. "The Emperor is calling me to subdue the vile Hunghuns, and it will take a long time. I may not even come back here, and it will be up to you to become a man and the protector of our house! For years, I have turned a blind eye to your laziness and unwillingness to study!"

"He has no aptitude for qi," objected his mother, "but he draws beautifully!"

Han was about to nod when he heard his mother's encouraging words, but when he saw his father's angry look, he held back. Even the mighty General Nao could not help but recognize that Han had a physique unsuitable for martial arts. It was his father's fault for not giving his descendant the Ninefold Divine Demon Body or the Qi of a Thousand Blades.

"Who needs these scrolls when there are printing presses all around?!"

The aromas were tantalizing, the food was calling to Han, and the desire to get up and save all these treasures from rotting away made tears well up in his eyes. But it was as if his father were mocking him: he called him, only to shout, reproach him, and prevent him from eating. This torture was particularly unbearable, and even the blatant insult to Han's talents and undeserved praise of the vulgar and lowly device paled into insignificance.

"Well, look, you've upset our Haonyu again!"

"How long have you been calling him by his baby name? Full cycle, it's been a dozen years since he was given an adult name and you're still calling him a baby name!"

"Because he's weak and sick, and your yelling only makes him worse.'

His father growled menacingly and stomped away, accompanied by the guards ringing his lats. The qi he emitted in anger enveloped his body in a dark purple halo. As soon as the parent was out of sight, Mother immediately helped Han up, sat him down in a soft chair, and brought out the best dishes.

"Eat, eat, sonny, you need to eat a lot to grow up healthy and strong. Now..."

"Tomorrow," Han interrupted her.

"Tomorrow, Dr. Ping will examine you and prescribe a new medication. You'll be fine. Dad will make some noise and calm down. He's always like that, but deep down, he still loves you."

"I'm going to start training tomorrow," Han shared his plans. "A little bit at a time, of course, because the main thing in training is to not harm!"

"There, you're my good boy!" rejoiced Mother Lihua. "And when Father comes back, you'll already be completely healthy! Can you imagine how happy he'll be?"

Han didn't listen, and under his mother's approving gaze, he pounced on the food. What do you mean, pounced? He ate his food in a measured and calm manner, as befitted a member of an ancient and glorious family. And even if some foolish detractor accused him of being a bit hasty, so what? As Dr. Ping and Dr. Zhao had repeatedly said, a healthy body requires a healthy appetite. Besides, Han had done so many important things today, and his father's ridiculous lectures had delayed his lunch for an inordinately long time. Now Han had to eat like a pathetic commoner - many of the dishes were already cold, the pie had fallen apart, and the contents of the Rainbow Drink glass were mixed into a dull green-blue liquid instead of the eight distinct layers of the Empire's finest wines.

If Han had been as pampered and fastidious as his father accused him of being, he would have immediately ordered that all the dishes be replaced and the table be set anew. But he was never one to shy away from a challenge, so he ate the meal as it was, peasant style. Strangely enough, the spoiled dishes perfectly offset the disgusting mood of his conversation with his father, so after he had satisfied his first hunger, Han began to eat thoroughly. As a thinker and philosopher, he found positive aspects even in the spoiled dishes. As he clutched a pork rib with his chopsticks, Han thought of a new quote he would write after dinner. Or better yet, after a light afternoon nap.

Han was snapped out of his deep thoughts by the servant's inappropriate and untimely voice.

"General Guang Nao!" He proclaimed from the entrance of the hall.

"Mom! He came back too soon!" Han was outraged at such injustice.

Han hadn't even finished eating yet!

"Because heaven and the family spirits have sent us good fortune this day!" The general's voice rang out, and he pushed the confused servant unceremoniously away from the door. "Get up, son, and rejoice, for I have found you a teacher! A true mentor like you have never had before!"

Han had always realized that his father calling him a lazy pig was extremely unfair. In fact, Han had always wanted to learn! To master the most powerful techniques and martial arts, to smash mountains, to rescue beauties, and to soar high into the sky on a sword that exuded qi. Hearing that his father had found him a teacher, Han was immediately overjoyed. He had seen this in the crystals many times: meeting a wise mentor was an essential step in the development of a hero, from trash and disgrace to a great warrior and alchemist. Given that Han had been called a disgrace of the family many times, not only by detractors from other families but even by his own father, the appearance of the teacher was a logical manifestation of the harmony of Heaven and Earth.

Han had always suspected, even if he didn't admit it even to himself, that his weak body was for a reason. He must have the rare constitution of the Unbreakable Blade, or the meridian configuration of the Immortal Purple Phoenix, or even the blood of the Jasper Dragon Ancestor and the Sapphire Divine Qilin, the original enemies whose endless battle was the cause of Han's poor health.

It was not surprising the doctors Mother had brought in only stated his heart was weak. Yes, they were fine, respected specialists, but it took a real expert to see not only the surface but also to look deep inside into the cause of the disease itself. Even the Emperor himself would not have been able to meet such an expert - they led a reclusive life, comprehending the secrets of the world. Therefore, even the mighty and illustrious General Guang Nao could only hope for luck. His, Han Nao's, luck, which would be the reason for the fateful meeting.

Han had a good idea of what would happen next. The gray-bearded old man with long hair, dressed in snow-white robes, would give him a piercing gaze, and then with a few swift movements of his fingers, he would pierce the acupuncture points, opening the correct qi flow in Han's meridians. He would teach him a special secret breathing technique that would cause the blood of the divine ancestral beasts in his body to cease its eternal conflict and start flowing in a steady harmony, making him not weaker, but many times stronger.

Han knew that he would have to make great sacrifices to gain power. He was not going to give up; for the sake of power and his future, he was willing to take baths with even the most stinking alchemical concoctions, swallow bitter pills (which he would have to eat with something tasty), and lay motionless on the couch for a long time, circulating qi.

"I'm ready, Father!" Han said, standing up with a courageous belly. For the first time in a long time, the general's eyes flashed something like approval.

"You'd better be if you weren't ready," the general said without rancor. "You should be glad. Your teacher is the youngest Qi practitioner in the Empire to receive the Grandmaster's mark!"

Han frowned. The word 'young' didn't fit well with the image of the mysterious mentor. On the other hand, however, for a qi master - much less a grandmaster, a master of masters! - the age of a hundred years was the very prime of youth. Instances where the hero's teacher looked like a young man were also found in scrolls and crystals, albeit much rarer. With his long hair, bound at the top of his head with a jade hairpin, his wise piercing eyes, and his fluttering silk robes, the image of his future mentor seemed to appear before his eyes. Han would have preferred an old man willing to impart all his secret knowledge and techniques to him, but a young man was fine.

"Father, tell me, how good is my teacher? I saw in the crystals as Bao Xiao was able to cut with his sword....."

"Better!" Dad instantly interrupted him. "This Bao Xiao is pathetic and inept compared to your future mentor!"

Han bowed his head respectfully. He knew exactly what Bao Xiao was capable of, surpassing him was an incredible achievement. However, he smiled, hiding his smile, it would be foolish to expect Guang Nao, a renowned general and great warrior, to appoint a country bumpkin as his son's teacher!

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