Night settled gently over the village, not with drama but with familiarity.

  Chen Mo returned to his hut later than usual, the dust of the county road still clinging to his clothes. There was no scent of fresh blood or resin this time, only the faint metallic tang of coins and the lingering noise of the city echoing in his ears. He unpacked what he had brought back, sorted the purchased grain and necessities, then counted his silver and copper slowly.

  Everything was in order. That, more than abundance, reassured him.

  Only after everything was in its place did he sit and summon the panel.

  Name: Chen Mo

  Age: 14

  Realm: None

  Martial Arts: None

  Skill: Archery 152/400 (Major Achievement)

  The number had not moved today. He had neither hunted nor trained, and the panel reflected that without mercy or consolation.

  The numbers were calm. Honest. No sudden leaps, no deceit. Chen Mo dismissed the panel and leaned back against the wall, his gaze drifting to the darkness beyond the doorway.

  The county lingered in his thoughts like a low, steady tune. The city walls. The armored guards. The characters carved into stone that he could not read.

  Illiteracy.

  It had struck him only for a breath, but the impact had been deep. Strength without understanding was a blade without a hilt. Martial halls, contracts, manuals, rules. None of them would wait for someone who could not recognize even the simplest character.

  Power existed in this world. That much was certain. But it was wrapped in layers, and ignorance was one of the thickest.

  After a short rest, Chen Mo washed, changed, and stepped back outside. The night air carried distant sounds: insects, low voices, the muted rhythm of a flute somewhere deeper in the village. An old melody, unhurried, wavering slightly with age. It followed him as he walked.

  Chief Chen Yong’s words surfaced again, unbidden.

  “Old Mu used to be a scholar,” the chief had said on the road back from the county. “Failed the imperial examination. Came back here years ago. Taught children for a while. Lived off the village’s help.”

  A man who had once aimed for the heavens and landed back on earth.

  Chen Mo adjusted the bundle in his hand and turned toward the eastern end of the village.

  Old Mu’s yard was quiet, lit by a single oil lamp. The old man sat beneath the eaves, a book resting on his knees, fingers tracing characters he no longer needed to memorize but still refused to forget. The flute lay nearby, its music now silent.

  Chen Mo stopped a few steps away and bowed lightly.

  “Elder Mu,” he said, voice even. “May I trouble you for a moment?”

  Old Mu looked up, surprise flickering briefly before settling into something warmer. “Chen Mo. Come in.”

  They sat across from each other, the lamp casting long shadows between them. Chen Mo placed the bundle forward: fresh meat, carefully prepared.

  “I heard you once taught characters,” Chen Mo said. “I wish to learn.”

  No grand speech. No false humility.

  Old Mu studied him for a long moment. “Learning characters is not quick. Nor light work.”

  “I understand,” Chen Mo replied. “I can offer one hundred coins per week. Lessons at night, when your time allows.”

  The old man’s brows rose slightly. Not at the price alone, but at the certainty behind it.

  “Why now?” Old Mu asked.

  Chen Mo met his gaze. “Because strength alone is not enough.”

  That answer drew a thin smile. “You speak like someone who has already learned that lesson.”

  They discussed the terms without stiffness. Nights when weather allowed. Basic characters first. No promises of mastery, only foundation. Old Mu warned him plainly: it would take months, perhaps longer, to become truly literate.

  Chen Mo accepted without hesitation.

  Months were nothing.

  When he rose to leave, the old melody returned, soft and imperfect. As Chen Mo stepped back into the night, he felt no impatience. Only direction.

  Power would come.

  But first, he would learn how to read the world that wielded it.

  As he was walking toward his hut, Chen Mo’s thoughts turned inward, steady and methodical.

  At his current pace, archery advanced by twenty to twenty-five points a day. One hundred and forty out of four hundred. He calculated calmly. Even without pushing himself, the next breakthrough would arrive in about eight days. There was no rush. Progress earned too quickly often came with hidden costs.

  Then there was silver.

  Two taels already saved. By the end of the month, another three would be added, bringing the total to five. With his archery improving and his hunting efficiency rising, reaching twenty taels would take five to six months. When that time came, he would return to the county city.

  Not before.

  During this period, he needed to prepare in other ways. Reading. Writing. Understanding the world beyond the village. He had already tested the panel, attempting to apply it to other skills, but it remained unmoved. It responded only to systematic, combat-related abilities. That realization did not frustrate him. If anything, it reminded him how fortunate he was to have inherited archery from the original Chen Mo at all.

  Lost in thought, Chen Mo reached his hut. He secured the door, lay down, and let his breathing slow.

  Tomorrow, he would hunt again.

  Next day :

  After a full day of hunting, Chen Mo returned to his hut to sort his haul. His archery progress panel now displayed 160/400, a steady climb. Satisfied with his gains, he tidied the arrows, cleaned the blade, and bundled a freshly hunted pheasant carefully. Alongside it, he prepared the 100-coin weekly fee for Old Mu, as agreed.

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  The sun was beginning its descent when he approached the modest yard of Old Mu. The old scholar greeted him warmly, eyes immediately drawn to the fresh pheasant. There was a certain charm in the man’s gaze, yet Chen Mo could not help noticing how poor the scholar truly was, living off the small kindnesses of villagers despite his learned background.

  “Ah, Chen Mo,” Old Mu said, voice gentle, “and what a gift you’ve brought. A fine bird, indeed. Come, come in.”

  Chen Mo bowed slightly, presenting both the pheasant and the coin pouch.

  Old Mu waved a hand. “No need for such formality. You’ve honored me. Now, about your lessons. We will start small, two or three characters a day, focusing on reading first, then writing. Slow and steady. Memorization, stroke order, pronunciation. You must practice diligently at home after each session.”

  Chen Mo nodded, calm and attentive. “Understood. I will follow your guidance and review what you teach every day. I want to learn as quickly as possible, but I will not rush recklessly.”

  Old Mu’s eyes twinkled with satisfaction. “Good. Knowledge is like planting a tree. Water it too quickly or too late, and it dies. We will build this foundation carefully. Every day, a little progress. Soon, you will see the branches grow.”

  Chen Mo’s mind already began planning how to fit these lessons alongside his hunting and training, calculating the pace at which he could master the characters without losing focus on his archery and other pursuits.

  From that day forward, Chen Mo structured his routine carefully. Each morning and throughout the day, he focused on hunting, pushing his archery and tracking skills, steadily increasing his points. Only after completing his day’s hunt did he visit Old Mu’s yard for lessons.

  After each lesson, he returned to his hut with the same discipline he applied to his arrows and gear. Before going to sleep, he reviewed what he had learned, tracing characters with a practiced hand and committing each stroke to memory. This nightly ritual, combined with his daily hunting, allowed him to steadily grow in both combat skill and literacy, each discipline reinforcing the other without conflict.

  Eight days passed in a flash. Chen Mo returned to his hut just after a long day of hunting, eyes immediately drawn to the panel. 399/400. A thrill ran through him. He could almost taste the breakthrough. Tonight, he would not visit Old Mu. Instead, he headed straight for the old tree outside the village, bow in hand, ready to train.

  He drew a few arrows, feeling the familiar weight, and then suddenly… everything shifted. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself training for countless years, each shot refining his form, every muscle honed to perfection. The breakthrough struck like a wave: his hands steadied, his breathing fell into perfect rhythm, his senses sharpened. He could almost feel the arrows finding multiple moving targets simultaneously, each shot clear and precise from three hundred meters away. The power, the clarity—it was as if the world itself had slowed for him, revealing every subtle movement.

  When he lowered the bow, the panel glowed faintly. Archery 1/500 – perfect. Every point added now felt like a refinement of instinct itself. Chen Mo flexed his fingers, noticing the subtle strength in his wrists, the balance in his stance, the precision in his breath. It was as if his body had memorized the perfect shot long before his mind even decided to release.

  He let out a slow breath, eyes scanning the training area. Every arrow he released from that moment hit exactly where he intended, effortlessly adjusting to subtle shifts in wind and target movement. Yet, even in this moment of triumph, a question stirred in his mind: Is there something beyond perfection? Each new point seemed to polish his skill further, honing his reflexes and focus beyond what he had imagined possible.

  Just after the breakthrough, Chen Mo returned to his hut and lay down to sleep, letting the day’s exertion settle into his muscles and mind. The panel now read Archery 1/500, a quiet but profound milestone. He felt the calm satisfaction of mastery settling in.

  Two months passed in this rhythm. Chen Mo’s lessons with Old Mu progressed steadily; his character recognition and writing advanced far beyond the initial attempts. He remained generous with the old scholar, often bringing fresh meat and small gifts as a sign of respect and gratitude. Yet, his main concern remained his archery. Day by day, his focus and practice honed the skill further, until it reached Archery 500/500 – Perfection. A subtle note appeared beside it, indicating no further upgrades were possible with this skill for now.

  Chen Mo realized he had likely hit the maximum potential of his current ability. It did not trouble him; he had achieved mastery. With his refined hunting skills, he could now steadily save three silver per month, along with a surplus of meat and grains. Villagers had begun to notice his success; some looked on with envy, and a few even dared to request his help. He offered it occasionally, but only when it did not interfere with his own progress.

  Over the past months, his silver savings had reached 11 taels, an extraordinary sum by ordinary standards. Yet for Chen Mo, it was still not enough. He would continue grinding, hunting, and learning for another three months, all the while hoping that life would remain peaceful and steady, allowing him to build toward the future he envisioned.