In the Shen residence, as the first pale light of dawn appeared on the horizon, Shen Qingzhu opened her eyes.
She pushed open the door, and the cool morning air brushed her face.
In the kitchen, a figure crouched before the stove, clumsily busy at work.
It was the Old Madam Shen.
The lady, who had lived a life of comfort, now had her hair disheveled and her face smudged with soot. She held a fire striker, repeatedly and futilely trying to ignite the slightly damp firewood in the stove.
Flames flickered, then died out.
They flared up again, only to vanish once more.
Thick smoke made her cough, tears streaming down her face, yet she stubbornly persisted, repeating the simple action over and over.
Beside her were Lady Lin and eldest sister Shen Qingyao, both awkwardly trying to wash vegetables.
Hearing the door open, the Old Madam lifted her head and, seeing Shen Qingzhu, gave a slightly embarrassed smile on her soot-darkened face.
“Zhu’er… you’re awake.”
She wiped her face with her sleeve, smudging it even more.
“Grandmother… I wanted to learn to make fire. When we are on the road, you can’t… you can’t do everything yourself.”
Shen Qingzhu quietly watched the scene from the corridor.
She stepped forward, said nothing, and naturally took the fire striker from the Old Madam’s hand.
Then, she pulled out a few of the thickest damp logs from the stove and found some dry tinder from the corner, resetting the fire.
“The flame must start small. Once it’s fully burning, then gradually add more wood.”
The Old Madam watched her skilled movements and the steady orange flame she finally coaxed into life. A layer of moisture glazed her cloudy eyes.
A simple breakfast was completed amid the stumbling chaos and smoke-filled kitchen.
After breakfast, the Old Madam took Shen Qingzhu aside, who was about to check on second sister’s injury.
“Zhu’er, come with me.”
She led Shen Qingzhu around the courtyard to the room storing medicinal herbs.
Pushing open the heavy wooden door, a rich herbal aroma greeted them.
“The gold and silver in the secret storage is the Shen family’s pride for centuries,” the Old Madam said, touching rows of purple sandalwood cabinets, her eyes full of deep nostalgia and sorrow. “But this is for saving lives.”
She trembled as she opened drawer after drawer.
“This three-hundred-year-old ginseng was rescued by your father from a collector in the snowstorm years ago.”
“This piece of He Shou Wu, shaped like a human figure, was obtained by your great-grandfather. He said it could extend life.”
“And these—Tianshan snow lotus, pearls from the East Sea, lingzhi from deep valleys… each a priceless treasure, potent in critical moments to preserve life.”
The Old Madam choked on her voice: “The raiding soldiers could not tell their worth and would treat them as ordinary herbs. But in the hands of those who understand, it could bring death.”
She lifted her head, her cloudy eyes now unusually clear, looking at Shen Qingzhu.
“Zhu’er, since you have divine skill, these should be entrusted to you. It’s the safest place.”
“Take them… all with you.”
Shen Qingzhu did not refuse. She reached out to the rows of cabinets.
Under the Old Madam’s reverent gaze, the rare herbs, along with their wax-paper wrappings, vanished as if by magic.
Shen Qingzhu was meticulous, taking only the most precious and aged items, leaving common herbs behind.
Then she deliberately overturned a few jars, scattering some powders to make it look as if someone had hastily searched the place.
Afterward, the Old Madam seemed to finally release the heaviest burden from her heart.
She led Shen Qingzhu to the back hall of the pharmacy.
There, a fine nanmu coffin rested quietly.
It was her father, Shen Jiru.
Lady Lin and eldest sister Shen Qingyao had silently followed, standing at the doorway, tears streaming as they gazed at the coffin.
“Zhu’er,” the Old Madam wept, “your father… he lived a life of virtue, yet in the end, his remains cannot even rest in peace.”
“As we go to the southern wastelands, three thousand li away, with life uncertain, we cannot… cannot leave him alone here in the devouring capital.”
“If we perish along the way, at least as a family, we will be together in the afterlife.”
Shen Qingzhu approached the coffin, reached out, and drew it into her spatial storage.
“Mother…” Eldest sister Shen Qingyao covered her mouth, tears streaming, overwhelmed with emotion.
Lady Lin’s legs gave way; she knelt, bowing deeply to Shen Qingzhu.
Shen Qingzhu did not turn back, leaving only a calm statement:
“Father, I have taken you. When the time comes, I will find a serene place for you to rest in peace.”
Returning from the pharmacy, the Old Madam led the way in gathering all remaining rice, flour, dried meat, and beans in the residence.
In the courtyard, several stoves were set up.
This time, without Shen Qingzhu’s guidance, the Old Madam, Lady Lin, and Shen Qingyao began learning—washing rice, kneading dough, baking flatbreads, and drying food.
They were preparing enough provisions for the upcoming three-thousand-li exile.
Shen Qingzhu did not participate.
She opened second sister Shen Qingdai’s room.
After a night of rest, Shen Qingdai could now sit partially upright. Her complexion was still pale, but her eyes were clear.
“Zhu’er,” Shen Qingdai smiled warmly upon seeing her.
Shen Qingzhu went over, naturally taking her wrist to feel her pulse.
The pulse was steady; she was out of danger.
“Second sister, you once served as a palace physician and have seen much. I want to ask—how far can martial arts truly reach?”
Shen Qingdai thought for a moment, organizing her thoughts before speaking slowly.
“The world only knows study and exams, but the path of martial arts is also a road to the heavens.”
“Martial cultivation progresses from external to internal, divided into nine stages. One to three are body refinement—hardening bones and muscles, strength surpassing ordinary people. Four to six are energy refinement—internal force develops, enabling feats like wall-running. Seven to nine are ‘Masters,’ whose internal force is immense, able to injure with a flick of a leaf or a flying flower.”
“Our Shen family’s head of guardians is a fifth-stage martial artist.”
Shen Qingzhu listened quietly.
“And above the ninth stage?” she asked.
“Above the ninth…” Shen Qingdai’s eyes reflected awe and longing, “are the ‘Grand Masters.’”
“Beyond ordinary humans. Legends say Grand Masters have perpetual internal force, can reverse aging, and live up to two hundred years. They are almost like immortals on earth; ordinary blades cannot harm them, a single palm can split stone. The Imperial Tutor Deqing reached this level twenty years ago.”
Two hundred years of life… Shen Qingzhu’s heart sank slightly.
Shen Qingdai shifted her tone, her eyes soft with reminiscence.
“Zhu’er, do you remember when you were sickly as a child, constantly needing doctors?”
Shen Qingzhu nodded.
“At that time, father spent half the family fortune to hire a wandering seventh-stage Grand Master.”
“That master said your bones were extraordinary—a rare martial talent—and performed the ‘hair-cutting marrow cleansing,’ forcibly opening your Ren and Du meridians with internal force.”
Shen Qingdai’s gaze burned on her.
“The master said that after this, even if you did not practice martial arts, you would rarely fall ill. But if you trained, you could advance a thousand li a day, surpassing ordinary people.”
“Unfortunately, you later immersed yourself in medical texts, uninterested in fighting, so father let it go. But the meridians opened remain a solid foundation.”
Shen Qingzhu was utterly stunned.
Hair-cutting marrow cleansing… opening the Ren and Du meridians…
To someone who had only seen these words in novels in her previous life, it was fantastical.
Now, it was the only power she could grasp in this perilous world.
Shen Qingdai seemed to see through her thoughts. She propped herself up, retrieving several thread-bound, yellowed manuscripts and a small sandalwood box from under the pillow.
She solemnly placed them in Shen Qingzhu’s hands.
“These are father’s martial arts manuals, not peerless techniques, but one, Qing Nang Skill, is the root of our Shen family’s combined medicine-and-martial arts system. It can turn internal force into needle strikes, to heal or to harm.”
“In this box are matching formulas—some strengthen bones and muscles, some awaken potential. Father said medicine and martial arts are inseparable: used wisely, one is divine; misused, one becomes demonic.”
Shen Qingzhu looked down at Qing Nang Skill, feeling the rough texture of the ancient pages.
She looked up to thank her second sister.
But Shen Qingdai’s gaze was complex, unreadable.
She reached out, lightly touching Shen Qingzhu’s cheek. Her fingertips were cool.
Her voice was as soft as a sigh.
“Father said bamboo is straight outside, hollow inside, segmented yet resilient.”
She withdrew her hand, her clear eyes quietly fixing on Shen Qingzhu, speaking each word clearly:
“Zhu’er, no matter… what you have experienced, or who you have become.”
“Just remember, you are my brother, the pillar of the Shen family.”
“That is enough.”