Meng Zhao

Night. Moonlight lay dim and tranquil as water, spilling across the earth.

Great Yong Dynasty, Nan'an Commandery City, Western Residence of the powerful Meng Family.

A youth in a fitted purple martial outfit stood with his feet together in the empty, silent courtyard, the hazy pale-red lantern light casting its glow all around him.

His eyes were lightly closed, his hands held before his chest, fingertips interlaced in an Arhat hand seal.

His expression was solemn and dignified, like a majestic Buddhist statue within a temple.

At the same time, he focused all his attention on the Internal Energy within him, driving his inner force in surging, wave-like torrents.

With every breath, it was as though a bellows were being pulled. Massive currents of air rose and fell with the youth's inhalations and exhalations.

The faint sound of sutra chanting seemed to echo in the air. His organs, sinews, and bones were visibly powerful, as if some savage beast lurked within him.

Under the gentle moonlight, one could see that the youth possessed an extraordinarily striking appearance.

He was around eighteen years old. His glossy black hair, smooth as silk, was neatly combed and tied behind his shoulders with a silver cord.

His sword-like brows slanted upward, black as ink. His nose was finely shaped, his lips thin, and the lines of his face were gentle without losing their heroic edge.

Bathed in the hazy red glow, his skin was pale as jade. He was also remarkably tall and outstanding in build, carrying an air of exceptional martial valor.

Suddenly, the youth's half-closed eyes flew open. In the Dark Night, they were like two flashes of white lightning, their edge sharp as blades, too piercing to meet directly.

The long stream of white breath he exhaled was like an arrow shot from a bow, condensed and unscattered.

The youth withdrew his power and returned to himself. Standing with his hands behind his back, he looked up at the bright moon and thought,

At last, I've barely grasped this Arhat Young Monk Skill bestowed through empowerment.

Though I failed to directly open a sea-like dantian and forge the strongest foundation,

it is still above average. Vast and broad as a still lake—and there is room to improve.

There were three stages in the acquired martial path of this world.

They were Breath Absorption and Essence Condensation, Qi Accumulation into Sea, and Meridian Circulation. They could also be simply called the beginning, minor accomplishment, and major accomplishment stages.

There was no need to speak of Breath Absorption and Essence Condensation. Qi Accumulation into Sea required a martial artist to gather abundant inner force and open a dantian qi sea.

Because this stage was so crucial, it was also called Great Dao Foundation Building.

The dantians opened by martial artists were divided into five grades: pool, stream, lake, river, and sea. Their foundations differed as utterly as heaven and earth.

The most obvious difference was the vast disparity in the depth of their inner force.

A martial artist who could only open a pool-like dantian possessed the lowest-grade foundation.

A martial artist who opened a sea-like dantian was not only stronger, but also held limitless potential.

Thus, at this threshold, martial artists were directly separated by a widening gulf. The strong remained strong, while the weak grew ever weaker.

Many people, especially disciples from prestigious families and sects, would not casually cross this threshold. Instead, they would spend years, or even longer, tempering the foundation of this stage.

To open a Lake-like Dantian at his age was already quite impressive.

As for the youth's origins, he was no ordinary figure either.

His name was Meng Zhao, the sole son of the Meng Family's Second Branch, a powerful clan in Nan'an Commandery City.

Although both his parents had died, he still had relatives, as well as a vast family estate awaiting his inheritance.

Unfortunately, while that identity was real, he himself was an impostor.

More precisely, the youth was a transmigrator.

In his previous life, he had watched several people brawling outside an antique shop and suffered collateral damage. In a moment of carelessness, he had been knocked down.

When he woke up, he had already arrived in this unfamiliar world.

Even more tragically, he had transmigrated into the body of a Beggar afflicted with a terrible illness, without any ability to survive.

Barely clothed, starving and freezing, plagued by sickness—he had been on the verge of either starving to death or dying from disease.

Fortunately, a mysterious man of unknown origin had taken an interest in him and saved him, bringing him to a mysterious place resembling an underground palace, where he underwent more than a year of training.

There had been only one purpose to that training: to disguise himself and play the role of a youth named Meng Zhao.

The reason was that his face and build resembled the real Meng Zhao by ninety percent. They were also similar in age, giving him advantages that the Disguise Technique could not provide.

For this, he had lived a life ten times more diligent and grueling than even the hardest years of study in his previous life.

He learned the real Meng Zhao's accent and habits, mastered every necessary form of knowledge and skill, including writing, history, family genealogies, martial arts...

By studying portraits, he learned about Meng Zhao's interpersonal relationships. Every last detail had been covered with exhaustive thoroughness.

Until three days ago, under that mysterious man's arrangement, he had received an empowerment and transmission of power from a middle-aged monk.

His marrow and essence were cleansed, and he underwent Rebirth and Transformation, replenishing his previously depleted body.

He had also gained more than twenty years of pure Internal Cultivation from nothing, opening a Lake-like Dantian.

In terms of cultivation alone, he was superior even to the real Meng Zhao.

This was actually very important.

After all, similarities in appearance could be fashioned with ease, but a disparity in martial arts could easily expose him.

How could a weakling who had trained in martial arts for one year, with feeble inner force, possibly be Meng Zhao, who had cultivated for ten years and possessed a solid foundation?

Afterward, the mysterious man had completed a scheme of swapping the civet cat for the crown prince, exchanging him with the real Meng Zhao.

One had to know that the real Meng Zhao had left home ten years ago and lived all that time in Great Compassion Temple in Jade Capital, the imperial capital.

When he returned to the family this time, he had been escorted by a large number of Meng Family experts.

Yet even under such tight guard, they had still fallen for the trap, allowing him to successfully take Meng Zhao's place and return to the Meng Family. This showed just how unfathomable the mysterious man's methods were.

Moreover, from the understanding and control the mysterious man had displayed regarding Meng Zhao, it could be inferred that he absolutely possessed an exceedingly powerful intelligence network.

What slightly reassured Meng Zhao, however, was that the mysterious man had not drained the pond to catch every fish, immediately sending him on some dangerous mission.

He had merely told him to settle into the Meng Family and properly play the role of Meng Zhao.

He was roughly like a covert agent lying dormant, perhaps not to be activated for years.

That reduced the risk of exposure, which was some consolation.

Suddenly, a burst of hurried footsteps came from beyond the bluestone archway on the western side of the courtyard.

They drew closer from afar without any deliberate attempt at concealment, pulling Meng Zhao's thoughts back to reality.

He straightened his clothes. His originally gloomy expression and tightly furrowed brows swiftly relaxed, becoming bright, warm, and gentle.

At a glance, one would take him for a refined gentleman, utterly different from the person he had been moments ago.

What entered Meng Zhao's sight was a youth in a yellow shirt, walking with the force of a tiger and the wind beneath his steps.

The youth was not very old, only eighteen or nineteen. He had a round face, large eyes, dark skin, and an ordinary build.

He could not be called handsome, but he looked somewhat cheerful and clever.

Information about the youth instinctively surfaced in Meng Zhao's mind:

Lü Yue, an orphan. In his early years, because his bones were exceptionally suited to martial arts, he had been adopted by Lü Zhong, a third-generation old servant of Meng Zhao's household and the chief steward of the Meng Family's Second Branch, becoming Lü Zhong's adopted son.

After Meng Zhao returned to the family, Lü Yue had naturally become his trusted confidant, attendant, and servant.

Moreover, so long as Meng Zhao's identity remained undiscovered, this man's loyalty was beyond question.

Lü Yue hurried before Meng Zhao, dropped to one knee, lowered his head, and respectfully raised both hands, presenting a gilt invitation with a red background and black lettering. "Young Master, this is an invitation sent by the Second Young Master's servants. He said he wishes to invite you to Elegant Orchid Pavilion to drink wine and admire the moon."

Lü Yue's voice carried an unusually cool quality for someone his age, and it was pleasant to hear.

Meng Zhao did not take the invitation. Instead, he wore a gentle smile as he stepped before Lü Yue, grasped the youth by both arms, and pulled him directly to his feet. His gaze was soft as he reproached him, "A-Yue, I already told you before that there is no kneeling before me.

"You are Uncle Zhong's adopted son, which makes you my brother as well. Since when do brothers kneel at every turn?"

Lü Yue was unaccustomed to Meng Zhao's approachability and replied in fearful sincerity, "Young Master, you must not say such things. There is an order between high and low, a distinction between master and servant. You are the master, and I am the servant. It is only natural that I serve you. I dare not disrupt the rules.

"But if Young Master dislikes it, this servant will no longer kneel in the future. I will merely bow with clasped hands, so that you may feel at ease."

Meng Zhao shook his head, took the invitation from Lü Yue's hand, and opened it for a look.

Its contents were simple. His second elder brother from the main branch had prepared a table of fine wine and dishes, inviting him to enjoy them and speak of the affection of family members long separated.

After reading it, Meng Zhao casually tossed the invitation back into Lü Yue's arms and said, "A-Yue, what do you think my second elder brother's purpose is in inviting me over? Should I attend this banquet?"

Though he was an impostor, compared with the real Meng Zhao, who had left home for ten years without returning even once, he likely understood the Meng Family better.

He knew that his second elder brother, Meng Wen, was not hosting a good banquet, and that his invitation was far from simple.