She watched her child, as he was completely absorbed in his task.
He sat before a little desk on the ground, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as he carefully wrote the intricate characters on his practice sheet.
Fully focused on intently perfecting each line and curve without smearing the ink, his young face reflecting his determination.
His progress in literacy had been remarkable; with each new word he mastered, his reading fluency accelerated, enhancing his ability to construct sentences and articulate his thoughts more clearly.
But while his vocabulary steadily expanded with each reading session, his writing skills lagged behind, requiring further refinement.
It was not a lack of will that hindered him—he was diligent, relentless in his pursuit of mastery. The challenge lay in the physical dexterity required to control the brushstrokes with precision.
Though his writing had improved significantly, his small, slender fingers still struggled to maneuver the brush properly, resulting in strokes that wavered and curved imperfectly—far from the standard her ambitious child aspired to achieve.
As his mother, she wanted nothing more than to see him succeed, to witness his hard work be rewarded.
Yet, she couldn't help but feel charmed by the way he struggled. Especially when he occasionally sought her critique or guidance on the proper writing technique, his eyes filled with both frustration and hope. Making her feel a bout of love and pride in his sincere efforts.
With each practice session, she noticed subtle but steady progress—his wrist loosened making his movements becoming more fluid, his strokes sharper and more deliberate.
The once awkward strokes gradually evolved into elegant, refined characters, a testament to his growth.
Still, the brush remained unwieldy in his small hands, a gentle reminder that despite his intellect and discipline, he was, after all, still a child albeit one with the mind and discipline of someone far older his age.
"Look, Mother! How is it?" Yu'er held up his writing sheet, his voice tinged with rare excitement.
She took the paper from his hands, her gaze scanning the delicate characters he had painstakingly formed.
Her eyes scanned the delicate characters he had painstakingly written. The strokes were no longer hesitant; while still not flawless, they bore clear signs of improvement.
A warm smile spread across her face. "You're getting better every day," she said, her voice filled with gentle encouragement. "Your lines are steadier, and the characters are beginning to take proper shape. You've worked hard, and it shows."
Yu'er's eyes lit up at her praise, though he quickly tried to hide his satisfaction with a small, serious nod. "There's still room to improve," he said, attempting to keep his tone even, though the faint tremor of pride betrayed him.
Watching as he resumed his writing, her thoughts began to drift again.
Though pride swelled in her chest at her son's progress, an underlying thread of worry remained.
Children of cultivators often displayed early intelligence, their minds maturing at a faster rate than those of mortal-born children. But even among the offspring of other sects and cultivators she had known, he stood apart.
His composed demeanor was not unusual—cultivation naturally sharpened a child's awareness—but the way he absorbed knowledge was something else entirely.
He was like a sponge, soaking up every lesson, every piece of wisdom imparted to him. Yet it was not mere memorisation—he grasped concepts with a depth that astonished her, instinctively drawing parallels between teachings, and weaving together new insights.
It was a marvel for her to witness.
The markings of a prodigy were undeniable. She knew every mother believed their child was exceptional, but with him, she knew it was true.
But what truly set him apart was not just his intellect but his detachment.
While other children immersed themselves in the carefree joys of childhood—laughing, playing, and chasing one another without a thought—Yu'er spent his days immersed in practice and learning, always in pursuit of new knowledge. He showed little interest in playing with others, even when the opportunity arose, preferring the quiet solitude of his studies.
It was not shyness nor reluctance but more a disdain that seemed unnatural for a child his age.
His detachment from the simple joys of childhood, his quiet indifference toward others, and his relentless, almost unnerving rationality weighed on her heart.
It was as if he viewed emotions as something to be understood rather than felt.
But even though he held himself aloof, he was not cold, nor was he unkind. When the situation required, he could become someone entirely different, he could present himself as a warm, polite and well-mannered young boy, charming strangers with his calm demeanor and thoughtful responses.
The contrast was striking: withdrawn and distant one moment, polite and composed the next. It was as though he instinctively knew when to step forward and when to fade into the background.
His future was bright; she did not deny this fact but the disparity between him and his peers weighed heavily on her heart. She worried that his brilliance, so dazzling to her, might also isolate him in ways he wouldn't fully understand until much later.
Pride and love warred within her, but above all else the guilt lingered, heavy and unrelenting.
Was this her doing? Had the constant travel and the lack of a stable home forced him to grow up too quickly? Or was it something deeper, something tied to the choices she had made before he was born?
She wondered if the weight of her own mistakes, the decisions she could never take back, had somehow shaped him into the boy he had become—brilliant yet detached, polite yet distant.
As she watched him, her heart ached with questions she couldn't answer.
Mother!' Yu'er's voice rang out, breaking through her thoughts. His small hand held up his writing sheet, anticipation shining in his silver mirror-like eyes.
She blinked, startled out of her reverie, and focused on him.
Her eyes already softened again as she took in his proper straight posture, the way he mimicked her and the adults around him, even in something as mundane as how he sat.
Rising from her seat, she walked over to the small table where Yu'er was diligently writing. Kneeling beside him, she gently patted his head.
"You've done very well, Yu'er," she praised, her voice warm with affection. "But here, and here," she pointed to the spots where his strokes wavered, "you've made a few small mistakes."
Yu'er's face grew serious as he examined the sheet, his determination returning. "I'll fix them, Mother," he said with quiet resolve, already reaching for the brush again.
She knew that he would spend hours, if necessary, perfecting each stroke until it met his own exacting standards.
Watching him now, she couldn't help see the resemblance. His white-blond hair, alabaster skin, and those striking silver eyes were a mirror image of someone else and a stark contrast to her own features.
In the early days, it had been almost unbearable to look at him, the resemblance too painful.
But her love for her son had always outweighed the pain. Over time, the sharp edges of that pain had dulled, softened by the depth of her affection for the boy before her. Now, as she gazed at him, her heart swelled with a deep, abiding love that made all other emotions fade into the background.
He was her world, her most precious treasure, and she would protect him with everything she had.
She could only hope that as he grew, his personality and temperament would follow a softer path rather than that of his ancestors.
So far, even with a certain coldness in his demeanor, he was not cruel. Beneath his composed exterior, he remained kind-hearted, even toward strangers.
There was a softness in him, a pure innocence that she cherished. But the world of cultivators was anything but soft. It was a harsh, unforgiving place that demanded strength, ruthlessness, and cunning.
She knew that this world would eventually strip away some of his gentleness, hardening him in ways she wished she could shield him from.
For now, however, she was grateful that he remained so obedient, so different from the unruly, emotionally driven children she had encountered. At times like this, she was happy he was already so mature.
She had seen how indulgence spoiled children, how they threw tantrums and treated servants with disdain, their behaviour left unchecked by their parents or guardians—sometimes even encouraged.
Compared to them, Yu'er was a blessing.
Sure, there were times when even Yu'er was unhappy, but he never expressed his displeasure through loud screams or tantrums. His frustrations were quiet—rather than lashing out, he would withdraw, refusing to speak to her or even pointedly ignoring her.
„Yu'er," she began, her tone softening, "tomorrow, we'll move again.I've found someone who can guide us through the Lugana Mountain Range."
They had already stayed at this inn for thirteen days, and she needed to expedite their journey if she wanted to reach her chosen destination on schedule.
It was an ideal location to advance her son's cultivation, though one could only access it in brief intervals.
Yu'er looked up at her, his red eyes wide and trusting. He didn't ask why they moved so much, didn't even complain. He simply accepted it, as he always did.
"Yes, Mother," he replied, his voice steady and calm.
Her heart ached with love for him. He was so wise beyond his years, so understanding.
Ah… her fortune was indeed not bad.