Innate Bloodline
With a splash, a basin of water poured down from above. Jiang Feng stood by the well, water droplets streaming down his smooth skin and gleaming spiritedly under the moonlight.
The spring night was chilly, and the well water even colder, but it could not extinguish the feverish heat burning in Jiang Feng’s mind.
“Would you like to learn martial arts with me?”
That afternoon, after the young lady uttered these words, Jiang Feng felt as though he had been struck by a pie falling from the sky—stunned and speechless. All he could do was mumble incoherently, but she simply smiled. “Can’t decide yet? That’s fine. Think it over and give me your answer soon.”
Can’t decide?
No, absolutely not!
The moment he heard those words, Jiang Feng instinctively wanted to accept. Yet, just as he was about to speak, hesitation gripped him.
Did pies really fall from the sky? Could there truly be someone in this world who would be kind to another for no reason?
Impossible.
But the more he thought about it, the more he realized he had nothing worth scheming for.
He had heard of this young lady before.
The current head of the Jiang family was named Jiang Tengqing and resided in the main house in Northern Jiang. He once had an elder brother, the legitimate eldest son of the main branch, who—for reasons unknown—died with his wife before ever becoming the family head. They left behind a single daughter: this young lady.
Jiang Tengqing succeeded his brother yet never forgot his roots. He cared for the young lady as his own—no, even better than his own daughter. He indulged her every whim, commanded all to respect her, and often called her the Jiang family’s greatest treasure.
Yet she did not live in the main house, but alone in a small courtyard in Northern Jiang. Jiang Feng had once wondered if this meant Jiang Tengqing was two-faced. But upon entering her courtyard, he found it adorned with rare flowers and elegant furnishings, each detail exuding refined taste.
Why, then, would such a privileged young lady suddenly look upon him with favor?
Jiang Feng dried himself, put on his clothes—though tattered, they were always immaculately clean.
His gaze was clear and steady.
He had made up his mind: whatever the young lady’s intentions, he would never let such an opportunity slip by.
…
The courtyard gate creaked open, and the housekeeper emerged, immediately spotting the youth outside.
He lifted his gaze. His hair was damp with dew, evidence that he had been waiting there for quite some time.
Soon after, he stepped into the courtyard. The young lady was already awake. He bowed deeply and greeted her, “Teacher.”
She broke into laughter. In the morning light, her smile bloomed radiantly. “We are of the same generation. Call me sister.”
She led Jiang Feng into the study. “Your first lesson is calligraphy.”
On the desk was a copybook, with brush and ink prepared as if awaiting him.
“Calligraphy?” Jiang Feng frowned. “I came to learn martial arts!”
She picked up the brush and wrote the character for ‘martial’ on the paper. “Tell me, what is martial skill?”
“Martial skill is the way to use strength,” Jiang Feng replied—repeating her words from the previous day, which he remembered perfectly.
She smiled. “That is martial technique, not the essence of martial arts. Martial arts are strength—great strength allows you to accomplish more.”
She wrote the character for ‘literature’ beside it. “And literature teaches you what should or should not be done, and—how it ought to be done!”
“Martial arts are the exterior, literature the interior; both are essential. Jiang Feng, if you wish to study martial arts, you must first study literature!”
…
Her plan for Jiang Feng was meticulous: calligraphy, reading, martial training, all interwoven.
At first, Jiang Feng was unaccustomed, but his patience prevailed. He knew how rare this opportunity was; whatever she asked, he obeyed.
Gradually, he found that practicing calligraphy calmed his heart, and reading broadened his vision. Slowly, habit became passion.
Most crucially, in rare idle moments, the young lady would sit and discuss the contents of the books with him.
Her study was filled with books, all of which she had read—indeed, mastered. Her breadth of knowledge was astonishing; no matter what Jiang Feng brought up, she responded with insight, often guiding him to new understanding. This became a daily occurrence.
“Are you familiar with bloodlines?” she asked one day, lifting her head as they paused in their reading.
Such conversations were frequent—sometimes to check his progress, sometimes as a teaching method, sometimes simply idle chat.
The book he’d just read touched on the topic. Cautiously, he replied, “I know a little, but dare not claim true understanding.”
She nodded. “Let’s hear what you know.”
Jiang Feng closed his eyes halfway, recalling what he had read. Each word and sentence flowed through his mind and out from his lips: “In ancient times, there were thirty-six great human clans, each possessing the purest and highest bloodlines, and thus, the mightiest power.”
“As time passed, bloodlines mingled, and humanity’s strength waned.”
“For example, the Jiang family descends from the ancient tribe of Herbfolk, but now the blood is very diluted.”
She sat by the window, sipping her tea, and asked, “Do you know of the Heartseed?”
Jiang Feng straightened his back. “Of course! The Heartseed is the seed of martial cultivation. Only by obtaining it can one practice martial arts!”
She nodded. “And do you know how to acquire it?”
“On the sixteenth birthday, one sits beneath the Heart-Illuminating Tree; the seed chooses the heart and fuses naturally with the person.”
He responded fluently, eyes shining with longing. Not only him, but every youth his age dreamed of obtaining the Heartseed and embarking on the martial path.
She smiled faintly. “The phrase ‘the seed chooses the heart’ is just a pleasant saying. In truth, the Heartseed chooses not the heart, but the bloodline.”
“The purer the bloodline, the higher the chance of gaining a superior Heartseed. Bloodlines too mixed are deemed inferior, for they are distant from the Heartseed.”
Her gaze drifted out the window, misty and enigmatic. “The Jiang clan was founded on the bloodline of the ancient Herbfolk. Those of pure Herbfolk descent can heal themselves and others, possessing rare powers. But as generations pass, the blood grows ever more diluted; such abilities are now scarce among the descendants.”
“Every Jiang child is tested for bloodline at birth. Those of slightly purer blood are sent to Northern Jiang; those with diluted, useless blood to Southern Jiang. Children of the North are allowed to learn martial skills because their basic techniques are the prelude to the Heartseed’s cultivation.”
Jiang Feng had never heard this before. Unconsciously, he clenched his fists. “I am of Southern Jiang. Does that mean my bloodline is too weak to obtain the Heartseed?”
He stared nervously at the young lady, his gaze almost fierce—for this mattered more than anything to him.
His greatest dream was to cultivate martial arts, to gain strength and change his fate. But as he had said, only those with the Heartseed could tread the martial path. Without it, one was useless—barred even from the starting line.
Did that mean his dream was doomed from birth?
Her clear gaze met his, and she asked seriously, “What if I said yes? What if you truly cannot obtain the Heartseed?”
Jiang Feng slammed his book shut and sprang to his feet.
His chest heaved; flames seemed to burn in his eyes.
After a long moment, he lowered his gaze, carefully smoothing the creases on the page. His breathing calmed, his expression composed.
He replied with even greater seriousness, “Then I will continue on. I will study, and create my own martial technique—one that allows me to grow strong, even without the Heartseed!”
She smiled, and asked, “Do you recall your innate ability?”
He was startled. “You mean… how I heal more quickly than others?”
She nodded. “Regeneration is a principal trait of the Herbfolk. If you heal quickly, your bloodline should not be weak. As for why you failed the blood test as a child and were sent to Southern Jiang…” She frowned in thought, then shook her head. “In any case, with your bloodline, you will surely receive the Heartseed when the time comes.”
Her certainty eased Jiang Feng’s unease, and excitement welled within him.
She gazed at him intently. “I must ask one thing of you.”
He replied without hesitation, “You saved me. I will agree to anything.”
She said, “I want you to keep your innate ability hidden from everyone.”
She had just told him that bloodline determined one’s status in the family. If he revealed his natural gift, he would immediately be treated differently—at the very least, allowed to train openly in martial arts, without accusation of theft.
Yet she now wanted him to conceal it?
Such an unreasonable request, and Jiang Feng agreed without pause. “Alright, I’ll never tell anyone.”
She nodded gently. “The Heartseed is rooted in bloodline, and bloodline in your body. This is why foundational martial training is necessary—only a stronger body can bear the Heartseed. So, before you receive it, you must reach the level where strength flows at your will.”
…
Seasons passed; summer faded into autumn, ice and snow melted away. In the blink of an eye, a year had gone by.
On the western edge of the Jiang lands lay the Taiwu Mountains. In an unnamed valley on its outskirts, the sound of fists and feet cutting through air echoed faintly.
Spring leaves sprouted anew, dead leaves from winter drifting down. Amidst them, a figure moved—without disturbing a single leaf.
Suddenly, a fierce roar erupted. The force of a punch swept up the leaves, swirling them chaotically through the air.
Moments later, calm returned and the leaves settled, revealing Jiang Feng.
He had grown taller, and the stubbornness once etched on his face was replaced by a gentle scholarly air. Yet below the shoulders, his body was covered in hard, sleek muscle—not the result of mere days of training, but of tireless, unceasing effort.
Now, compared to a year ago, he was almost unrecognizable.