"Blood... too much blood..." Lin Tian suddenly woke up from his nightmare, his scream slicing through the night sky.
He had no time to assess his surroundings. A violent cough racked his chest, and the air seemed thick and suffocating. The pounding of his heart forced him to stop moving, and he quickly scanned the area, relieved to find the ruined temple quiet and still, with no sign of pursuing enemies.
A gentle breeze swept past, and Lin Tian's ears twitched slightly. If someone had seen this, they would have been greatly surprised. For him, this was just a basic skill learned many years ago during the old man's unique training.
The old man...
Lin Tian couldn't help but think of the aged figure, a warm smile forming on his lips. The seven years spent with Old Man Li, though brief, had filled most of his youth. Seven years ago, his memory was hazy and fragmented, with only the horrific sea of blood remaining. Each time he recalled it, the intense pain in his head almost drove him to the brink of collapse.
His fingers lightly touched his forehead, where a scar hidden in his hair seemed like a chain leading to his past. He was only seven years old then, until he was adopted by Old Man Li. The lost time from that period still troubled him, unable to be let go.
That nightmare still haunted him, lingering in his heart and refusing to fade. Every time he fell into a dream, he couldn't help but wonder what secret lay behind his origins. The images in his dreams often reminded him of a powerful figure caught in a trap, unable to speak his final words before death. What lay behind all of this—hate, curses, or something more complex? He both longed to know and feared the truth would bring unbearable burdens.
The old man had told him that seven years ago, after a drunken stupor, he had found Lin Tian like a stray kitten or puppy in the ruins. Using some rudimentary medical knowledge, he miraculously saved Lin Tian's life, yet knew nothing about his past.
Looking back on those seven years, though their lives had been poor, and even the old man's name remained unknown, that warm time had become Lin Tian's only source of comfort. The only clue to his identity was the cheap copper longevity lock with the character "Yun" inscribed on it. Without it, he would have remained an orphan with no name.
However, everything changed half a month ago. A group of terrifying assassins in blue had appeared at the inn, and the old man had sacrificed himself to save Lin Tian. In a desperate attempt to cover his escape, the old man had his tendons shattered by the enemy and died, leaving nothing but bones behind. That bloody massacre shattered their peaceful life forever.
Lin Tian clearly remembered that the enemies the old man faced were no ordinary opponents. The middle-aged man leading them had reached a high level of martial arts, almost at the innate peak. If not for the old man's desperate counterattack, Lin Tian would have been powerless to stop even a single blow.
He was just a fourteen-year-old boy, barely learning to read, and never had an interest in the teachings at the academy. He had seen the vague moral theories, finding them utterly meaningless. Only the old man's simple and practical teachings had given him a firm foothold in this world.
The old man's kindness was a debt Lin Tian could never repay. Whether it was saving his life twice or raising him for seven years, Lin Tian was forever grateful and vowed to repay him with his life. But now, all of that was unreachable, and all that remained was a sea of blood and hatred.
That night's slaughter had completely changed Lin Tian. He knew that the assassins in blue must have something to do with the old man's past. Since his life had been saved by the old man, he felt it was his responsibility to avenge him. But facing such a powerful enemy, was revenge really that simple?
Lin Tian knew that with his current strength, facing any one of them alone would be equivalent to courting death. But he had no choice—he could only persist, grow stronger, and keep evolving.
After confirming that no one was near, he finally sighed in relief and began repeating those strange, seemingly meaningless movements, just as the old man had instructed.
There were only about twenty of these movements, but Lin Tian took a full hour to complete them.
In reality, there were 1,440 movements in total, stemming from the "Yuan Ling Numbers" in the Tai Xuan Sutra. The Tai Xuan Sutra was the most profound mathematical and strategic classic in the Tianzhou continent. Many people could find copies, but few could truly understand it. Even the famous Zhou family, known for their studies in mathematics, could only comprehend two or three parts of it.
The "Yuan Ling Numbers" were about understanding the laws of nature through constant mathematical reasoning. Ancient formulas like twenty-four, forty-eight, seventy-two, and so on were added together to finally arrive at the number 1,440. This was not ordinary mathematics but something deeply connected to the operation of the heavens, a manifestation of countless laws and energies.
The old man had passed down this set of movements to Lin Tian, representing the five great realms and twenty small realms of martial arts. Though Lin Tian had never completed all of the movements, he knew that mastering the entire set would grant him almost unimaginable physical strength, even reaching the state of "flesh becoming sacred."
However, Lin Tian had been training for five years and could only complete the first twenty-two movements. Even if he managed to break through to the next stage, it would still require a tremendous amount of time and energy.
Even if he continued to train at this pace, it would take him hundreds of years to complete the entire set. And even then, the pursuit of immortality was futile—after all, the way of heaven was merciless, and no one could escape death.
Despite all this, Lin Tian gritted his teeth and pressed on. He knew that every small improvement, no matter how trivial, could be the key to life and death in the future. The movements the old man taught him were far more than just martial skills; they were connected to the very principles of the universe—a kind of personal "cultivation."
Thus, even though each movement felt as if a thousand pounds of weight were pressing on him, causing pain and struggle, he chose to persevere.