Sir, take me to rebel (5): 

After sending off the prefect, Si Qi sat down in his chair, and his apprentice, Si Yi, thoughtfully poured him a cup of tea.

While drinking his tea, Si Qi began his daily question: [Any news of Chu Feng?]

More than a year had passed since he arrived here, yet Si Qi still had not found Chu Feng.

He often pondered why Chu Feng had not appeared for so long: perhaps he had encountered difficulties and was trapped somewhere unable to leave; or maybe he was busy saving people, delayed by countless affairs.

With Chu Feng’s abilities, no matter where he was, he would surely carve out a place for himself.

Among those who rose to fame during this chaotic era, perhaps Chu Feng was one of them.

That was why Si Qi chose Liang Province as the starting point of his rebellion, to see if Chu Feng would appear in this land once chosen by the Son of the World.

But still, he had not.

Si Qi even began to suspect that because the world’s force was in chaos, Chu Feng’s consciousness had accidentally slipped into another era, missing him entirely.

Yet in his heart, he always held onto a sliver of hope, believing Chu Feng might suddenly appear one day.

Shaking his head, Si Qi finished his tea. Noticing his apprentice’s worried gaze, he smiled faintly and said, “Go pack our things.”

Si Yi beamed. “At once, Teacher!”

…

In the sweltering heat, Si Qi walked along the mountain paths, and suddenly recalled events from the original timeline.

In that worldline, without Si Qi’s presence, Si Yi was still fleeing for his life. The land here cracked dry, the crops withered under the scorching sun, and people perished in the soil.

Farmers trod the hardened, stone-like earth, staring at the yellowing crops withering in the cracks, while the blazing sun above seemed determined to burn them alive. They wailed in despair.

The prefect of Liang Province looked at the drooping, dying crops and sighed heavily.

In a few months, when autumn came, the imperial soldiers would arrive.

If the people of Liang remained, they would only sit and wait for death. Exploited of their last ounce of value, they would become the living cattle of the capital’s nobles, their final strength spent on the luxury of others.

But how could he bear that?

These were his people, for whom he had worked tirelessly to secure a better life.

So he called together the county magistrates to explain the situation.

Those willing to stay and serve peacefully in such a place were either incompetents abandoned here for offending their superiors, or truly kindhearted officials who loved their people as their own children.

After long deliberation, they reached a final, desperate decision: to abandon Liang Province and seek survival elsewhere.

The world was vast—so long as one lived, there was always hope.

Though it was painful for the people to leave their homeland, with the land in such a state, how could they survive by staying?

Thus, when the officials sent to requisition grain from Liang Province arrived, they found only desolate, deserted streets, emptier than before.

A few ignorant officials, left behind deliberately, stomped and cursed, complaining bitterly to the capital envoys. Enraged, the imperial officials accused the prefect and the people of Liang of unforgivable treachery—abandoning their vital duty of farming for the court, betraying the emperor’s trust, and fleeing like cowards.

This, they claimed, was open defiance of imperial authority!

The emperor, upon reading the memorial, flew into a rage and ordered the capture of Liang’s fugitives. Once caught, they were to be sent across the provinces as sacrificial offerings, then executed on a chosen day.

Already driven to abandon their homes, suffering bitterly along the way, the people of Liang finally snapped.

Stay, and they would die. Leave, and they would also die. What exactly did this dog of an emperor want?

Staring at the imperial troops chasing them with murderous intent, the people wailed and despaired.

At that moment, a strange man appeared—his figure eerie, as though he had crawled out of hell. Leading a band of followers, he blocked the imperial soldiers and protected the weeping, pleading peasants.

Not only that, he guided them to a secluded, fertile land with clear water and rich soil, giving them hope for survival.

Yet once they felt some relief, he warned them: even if they built homes here, as long as the dog emperor ruled, they would one day be found and punished.

If they wished to protect their families, they would have to take up arms and rebel!

The people trembled at the thought—how could their small numbers possibly fight the emperor?

But soon, natural disasters erupted across the land. People suffered unbearably, hating the officials sent to kill them. One by one, they rose up.

Thus, the hesitant lost their hesitation. They joined the rebellion, farming with all their might to supply grain. In that barren, remote province, the first sparks of uprising ignited.

And those sparks, in time, consumed the Qiuchao Dynasty in a raging inferno…

So this drought became the trigger for Qiuchao’s downfall, and the first omen of the coming disasters.

…

Si Qi saw his little apprentice drenched in sweat as they climbed the mountain. He wetted a cloth with fresh water from his flask and handed it to Si Yi.

Blushing, Si Yi took it and wiped his face.

Today was the last day for master and apprentice to check on the mountain herbs, and the villagers had followed to learn how to identify and harvest them.

The seasoned herb gatherers, after a busy morning, looked a little disheveled.

Si Qi, however, remained spotless in his white robes. His steps were light and graceful on the uneven paths, like walking on level ground. Just watching him made people yearn.

Si Yi, half-hiding his face behind the cloth, could not resist stealing glances at his teacher.

Cold and unworldly, his teacher stood out wherever he went.

Truly, his teacher was the most handsome, the strongest, the most perfect person in the world.

As he was thinking this, the group finished their inspection and prepared to descend.

Si Qi told the villagers, “Tomorrow I will be leaving.”

Everyone felt deep reluctance.

“There are many poisonous insects here, and miasma often lingers in the mountains. You must study the medical texts carefully,” Si Qi reminded them.

The villagers, once xenophobic and wary, now looked at him with reverence as if he were a god.

They eagerly invited him to taste their best foods, their gratitude overflowing.

Si Qi smiled and accepted each invitation politely.

Si Yi, with more experience now, often tried to squeeze into the crowd around his teacher, eager for some of his attention.

He asked, “Teacher, where will we go next?”

Si Qi replied, “It is time to return to Liang Province.”

Si Yi calculated the time and guessed, “I wonder how the corn and sweet potatoes you planted are doing.”

“These corn and sweet potatoes are treasures indeed!” The farmers before the fields beamed with joy, as though they wished to scoop up the thriving plants and cradle them with affection.

The prefect, already amazed by the wheat seeds Si Qi had brought before, now stared in disbelief at the towering corn stalks and lush sweet potato leaves. “These are truly the seeds we planted before?”

“Such good crops! Why were they never discovered before?”

“Master Si is truly our great benefactor.”

That year, the summer heat in Liang Province was far more severe than usual. Many peasants, sensing disaster, worried day and night that their crops would not survive, praying fervently for mercy from the heavens.

But just as Liang had been blessed for a hundred years, now it was cursed with suffering.

Each day grew hotter, and the seedlings visibly withered.

Yet to everyone’s astonishment, the wheat seeds distributed by the prefect—said to have come from Master Si—were thriving, strong and unyielding, their green shoots standing tall and vibrant.

It was nothing short of a miracle.

The prefect, upon hearing the news, was immensely relieved.

Had it not been for a trusted friend’s repeated praise of Si Qi’s talents and virtue, he would never have dared take such a risk—using seeds from an outsider. If they had failed to sprout, or yielded poorly, Liang’s people would have been doomed.

But the results proved his choice right. Si Qi lived up to his reputation—an almost godlike figure.

The seeds he brought were hardier and more heat-resistant than those refined over centuries in Liang, and their yields might even surpass expectations.

Having narrowly escaped disaster, the prefect was deeply grateful.

And that was not all. News soon arrived that the corn and sweet potatoes were also thriving, now entering their next stage of growth. Seeing the ears of corn sprouting, the prefect counted the number of kernels per stalk, considered the planting density, and estimated the total farmland planted with corn…

He was utterly stunned.

Could it be that Liang Province was about to turn its fortunes around?

He recalled that Master Si had promised to return by the harvest.

The prefect could hardly wait to see him again.

But before that…

He summoned his subordinates, ordering them to gather the county magistrates while keeping the useless, idle officials in the dark.

When Si Qi returned to Liang with Si Yi—now taller after four months—they noticed that a few officials were missing. Si Qi understood at once.

The people, upon hearing of Si Qi’s return, rushed from all around, lining the roads to welcome him. Each carried baskets of large corn and sweet potatoes as gifts. Children waved golden stalks of wheat, shouting and crying with joy, calling Si Qi’s name with tears in their eyes. The scene was jubilant and overwhelming.

Some officials, moved by the people’s hope-filled faces, discreetly wiped their eyes behind their sleeves.

Smiling, Si Qi greeted everyone and made his way to the courtyard he had stayed in months before, surrounded by the throng.

At the gate, the courtyard was piled high with fruits, vegetables, and pastries—a token of gratitude from the people.

The prefect, smiling, invited Si Qi inside to rest. They talked at length into the evening until the cooks had prepared a sumptuous banquet, where everyone ate their fill.

Before parting, Si Qi presented two things.

One was soft, pure-white cotton, like clouds.

The other was the plump potato, delicious no matter how it was cooked.

The prefect, sensing their importance, carefully wiped his hands and accepted them.

“This is…”

Si Qi smiled. “This is cotton and the potato.”

“Cotton is light yet warm, soft and breathable. Whether made into clothes or stuffed into quilts, it is an excellent choice. Sown in spring, it will spare the people from winter’s cold.”

“Potatoes are high-yield, filling like sweet potatoes, and taste excellent. Rotated with wheat and corn, they are less prone to disease and even help suppress weeds. Most importantly, they can be grown in winter—as long as temperatures don’t fall below freezing, they won’t be harmed.”

The magistrates grew increasingly excited as they listened, crowding closer to examine the crops. The prefect felt the cotton warming his hand, marveling at its lightness, his face breaking into an irrepressible smile. “Wonderful! These are truly wonderful things!”

The people nearby exclaimed in wonder: “It can even be planted in winter!”

“This cotton looks so soft and fluffy, who would have thought it could also protect us from the winter cold!”

“Master Si, did you bring this cloud down from the heavens?”

Everyone gazed at the cotton’s cloudlike whiteness and its feather-light weight, looking at Si Qi as though he truly were an immortal.

If he could even pluck clouds from the sky to make into blankets, what could Master Si not do?

Si Yi was also struck with astonishment, staring at Si Qi with eyes full of disbelief and open admiration.

Si Qi, half amused and half helpless, said, “No, this is a crop I found in lands of extreme heat and extreme cold.”

The crowd looked disappointed, as if they would rather believe Si Qi was a god than a learned man of vast knowledge.

But Si Yi’s expression grew doubtful. He had learned geography from his teacher—he knew those two regions were far apart, one in the south, one in the north, in opposite directions.

Yet his teacher had never been away from him for more than three to five days at a time.

How far could one travel in just a few days? And that was without even counting the return journey.

Where exactly did his teacher obtain these things? Why had the locals never discovered them before? And what about those wheat seeds, whose growth rate and yield were leagues beyond ordinary wheat? Where had those come from?

Why did his teacher, still so young, know so many things…?

The more Si Yi thought, the more doubts he had. But his trust in Si Qi had long surpassed ordinary limits. Suspicious and cautious as he was, not once did he want to imagine Si Qi in a bad light.

That bad possibility was, of course, the one Si Yi least wanted to face.

After all, words like “mystical powers” and “strange methods” were usually used to describe those he wished he could wipe from the world without leaving a single one behind…

The sorcerers.

Si Yi shook his head, forcing himself to push away that thought.

Autumn arrived, and the officials from the capital were about to come.

The prefect had prepared early. Without even needing Si Qi’s reminder, he had arranged everything months in advance.

Restless and corrupt officials were locked away; gossipy mouths were repeatedly threatened into silence; the peasants, fearful that the hard-won harvest would be stolen, obeyed the warnings of their county magistrates and village elders. They harvested their crops and hid their grain, then sprawled miserably in the streets, sighing and lamenting as if on the brink of starvation.

The grain collectors already knew this region had been hotter than usual, and had decided in their hearts that, whether or not the prefects produced food, they would force it out of them—or kill.

They never imagined that on this barren land, crops could not only endure the blazing sun, but even yield an abundant harvest.

Looking at the officials’ ashen faces, hearing the villagers’ pitiful sobs, the imperial officer grew irritable and shouted, “What are these deathly faces—have your families died, or are you putting on a show for me? Don’t think I don’t know your petty tricks. This year’s grain must be delivered, not a single grain less!”

The peasants, glaring at the officer’s hateful face, longed to tear a piece of flesh from him. The more they hated him, the less they dared reveal the harvest—otherwise, all that precious food would surely be taken away.

They cried even louder, as though crushed by despair.

The officer grew even more certain their harvest had failed. Cracking a whip on the ground, he roared, “Silence, all of you wretches!”

The prefect hurried forward to placate him. “Please, calm your anger, my lord. I… I will find a way…”

“You should have found a way long ago!” the officer bellowed. “Every time you need me to press again and again before I can return to the capital with an account! A useless man like you should have his office stripped by His Majesty and be cast down as a commoner!”

The peasants, who loved their prefect, gnashed their teeth in fury at these words. But the prefect showed no shame, bowing low with submissive humility, apologizing again and again: “Please, do not be angry…”

With forced smiles, they escorted the officer into the yamen. Outside, the people remained silent, their hearts burning with anger, desperate to vent it but not knowing how.

The prefect and the other officials wrestled with the officer for over a week, finally scraping together most of the grain along with piles of gold and silver, sending the huffing official on his way.

Not once during this time did anyone tip off the officer or present him with corn, sweet potatoes, or the like.

The officials, dulled by arrogance and blind fortune, never bothered to investigate. Thinking their mission accomplished, they left without a second thought.

They had no desire to linger in such a desolate place.

“Next year won’t be so easy to fool,” the prefect muttered. “News always spreads.”

The peasants wouldn’t betray them to the court, but they would surely write to relatives outside, urging them to come live here, or send out corn and sweet potato seeds for them to plant.

Such things couldn’t—and shouldn’t—be stopped.

After all, Liang was not the only place where people went hungry.

The surrounding provinces also suffered. In the years Liang had failed to pay its grain, it was those neighbors who had tightened their belts to provide food for them.

And not just tribute grain, but also seed for the next year, and the rations that kept the peasants alive—a true lifeline.

This had to be repaid.

The county magistrates, long simmering with anger, grumbled, “And what if they do find out? I’ll never compromise, not in this lifetime!”

Those who held office here were all stubborn men, unwilling to join the corrupt.

They would rather starve with their people than exploit them for comfort. They were truly men who would rather die than betray the people.

One even said bluntly, “If not for Master Si giving us hope, I’d have rebelled long ago!”

“Hey.”

“Mind your words.”

The others frowned and warned him.

But none looked alarmed, which showed they had thought the same. They just lacked certainty.

“Have you spoken to Master about this? What does he think? Will he help us?” asked the one who had spoken of rebellion, looking expectantly at the prefect.

The prefect was silent a moment, then, to their delight, nodded. “Master has already made plans.”

“Then—”

“He gave me some things, told us to live in peace and store more grain,” the prefect said.

“He said that with enough food, only then would we have the confidence to act.”

The officials’ faces lit up, all agreeing: “That is true.”

…

One morning, Si Yi rose early to prepare breakfast for himself and his teacher. Then he went to wake him.

The bed curtains shut out all sunlight. Si Yi opened them, letting the light spill across the young man lying there.

Hearing the sound and sensing the change of light, the youth lazily turned over.

His jet-black hair cascaded like a waterfall across the white sheets, revealing a perfect side profile. Beneath the thin blanket, his slender, flexible figure showed faintly.

Si Yi approached, gazing at his teacher’s sleeping face with a small smile. Softly, he called, “Teacher, it’s time to wake up.”

Si Qi mumbled incoherently.

Si Yi leaned closer, speaking warmly: “Breakfast is ready—it’s all your favorites.”

Those familiar words stirred Si Qi from his dream. His eyes opened a slit.

Half-dreaming, he saw a familiar figure. His voice escaped before his mind caught up, aggrieved and plaintive: “Why… did you only just come…”

Si Yi froze at his expression, his heart skipping. He called more loudly, “Teacher.”

Si Qi recognized the voice, saw the face before him, and instantly came fully awake.

The sadness on his face vanished in a heartbeat. He sat up, all traces of drowsiness gone, his manner cool and composed once more. “Mm. I’m up.”

Si Yi noticed the change, and found himself strangely reluctant to lose the glimpse of that other side of his teacher.

Seeing him bow his head in silence, Si Yi sensed his teacher’s low spirits and grew somber as well.

Lately, his teacher was often melancholic, and just now he had spoken such words, shown such an expression.

Carefully, Si Yi asked, “Teacher… are you waiting for someone?”

Si Qi hadn’t expected his apprentice to have heard so clearly. Lifting the blanket, he sat up and answered faintly, “Yes.”

“Who is it?” Si Yi asked. “Let me help you find them.”

Still troubled, Si Qi sighed silently. He had spent the whole night dreaming of searching for Chu Feng along endless roads.

Sir, take me to rebel (6): 

The master of ceremonies had extraordinary luck, so it was naturally a great thing that he was willing to help.

“His name is Chu Feng.”

Si Qi stood up and wrote two characters on the desk with brush and paper.

The master of ceremonies carefully noted down the two characters, then asked, “May I ask this person’s age and background? That way I can help you search.”

“I don’t know his age, nor his background.”

After thinking for a while, Si Qi pulled out from a drawer many portraits he had idly drawn during this period.

He used sketching techniques, portraying Chu Feng so vividly it seemed he would leap from the paper.

The portraits covered ages from teenage years to forty or fifty. In each picture, Chu Feng wore a smile, looking handsome and imposing.

The master of ceremonies’ gaze landed on the drawings, his pupils slightly contracting.

He was Si Qi’s disciple, and had heard his teacher say many times that when painting one must capture the subject’s emotions, while also blending in one’s own feelings.

So, with one glance he could tell the artist’s deep affection and tender longing for the person depicted, so soft and almost tangible it poured from the paper.

Especially since the one in the portraits seemed to return that same feeling toward the artist…

The master of ceremonies’ fingers unconsciously tightened, his eyes fixed on the man in the drawing.

His teacher had secretly drawn so many portraits of this man. Who was he? And why?

“Teacher, is he your friend? He looks very close to you.” The master of ceremonies asked deliberately.

Si Qi chose a portrait of Chu Feng around twenty years old and handed it over, shaking his head. “No, he is family.”

The master of ceremonies recalled the few drawings showing a man at least forty or fifty, and couldn’t help but feel a flicker of expectation. “Is he your elder?”

Si Qi glanced at him, faintly catching something odd in his tone.

He explained seriously: “He is my beloved.”

The hand holding the drawing trembled slightly; the master of ceremonies quickly lowered his head to hide his emotions, softly murmuring, “Teacher, when did you…? I never knew.”

Si Qi’s brows furrowed, his voice becoming lighter. “We have been together for many years. It’s normal that you don’t know.”

The master of ceremonies was angry at himself for being born too late, his heart aching in waves. “Then… how did you become separated?”

Si Qi sighed helplessly. “He lost his memory. He doesn’t remember me, nor can he take the initiative to seek me out. Moreover, I don’t know his current identity or where he is.”

The master of ceremonies was stunned.

Lost memory, whereabouts unknown, missing for years…

These words echoed in his mind until he suddenly asked, “Then all those times you went out every so often, was it to search for Mister Chu?”

Si Qi paused slightly and carefully observed his expression.

The young boy, under his teacher’s gaze, had nowhere to hide, his cheeks reddening.

His childhood of abuse and the villagers’ fear and rejection—throwing stones at him—had left deep psychological scars.

He was wary of people, proud yet self-abasing, unable to accept closeness from others, yet he lacked love, yearned for warmth, and longed for salvation.

That was why, after being saved by Si Yu, he ran away that very night. And why, after achieving success and becoming emperor, he still remembered that kindness from years ago, relying on hazy memories to find Si Yu and repay him.

Si Qi was the only one who knew his true identity, who was willing to oppose the entire court for his sake, never minding his deformed, terrifying appearance, and always treating him with gentleness.

He had given him the respect every human deserved, and granted him power most people could only dream of, recognizing his quest for vengeance and standing behind him always.

It was hard for the master of ceremonies not to regard Si Qi as the most important person in his life, more important even than life itself.

Over time, that yearning slowly turned into possessiveness. He could not bear the thought of anyone being more important to his teacher than himself.

For a fleeting moment, Si Qi even suspected that the reason he could not find Chu Feng all this time might have been due to tricks by the world’s favored son.

But he quickly dismissed the thought.

He had known his disciple for years and knew his character. He was not the type to disregard his teacher’s feelings for selfish reasons.

He might be domineering, but he was never selfish.

If something Si Qi wanted pained him deeply, in the end he would still endure the pain and respect his teacher’s will.

So Si Qi rubbed the boy’s head and told him, “Yes, I have searched for him when traveling, but most of the time, I was looking for useful plants to save the people of Autumn Dynasty, fulfilling your wish.”

The boy’s tearful eyes gazed at him, his voice hoarse. “Then, Teacher, if I grow up and you still haven’t found him, may I…”

“No.” Si Qi smiled gently, but his words were cruel. “You must be obedient, understand?”

The boy lowered his head like a defeated little beast, unable to say another word for a long time.

Xiu Xiu peeked at the scene before him.

After so many years together, his soft heart had made him view the world’s favored son far more kindly than before.

Xiu Xiu liked everyone who treated his master well, so he did not dislike the master of ceremonies.

Seeing him like this, Xiu Xiu muttered half-seriously: [Another poor soul rejected by Master.]

Si Qi let out a helpless laugh: [What, do you pity him?]

[Of course not,] Xiu Xiu grumbled. [I just think, the world’s favored son isn’t actually that unpleasant.]

[Hmm,] Si Qi said no more.

[And have you noticed,] Xiu Xiu added, [perhaps because you love Lord Main God, the world’s favored son has subconsciously grown in the direction of what you like.]

Sometimes, if not for the face, Xiu Xiu nearly thought he was speaking with Lord Main God instead.

Hearing this reminder, Si Qi recalled carefully, surprised: [You’re right.]

At first he admired the world’s favored son for those qualities.

But why did he admire those qualities? Wasn’t it because he loved such traits in a person? And the one who most embodied them was Chu Feng.

In fact, whether he first fell in love with Chu Feng and then favored those qualities, or loved those qualities and thus loved Chu Feng, even Si Qi could not say.

Realizing this, Si Qi laughed and sighed: [No wonder I always go soft on this boy, giving him medicines, showing flaws in front of him… It was because he reminded me of Chu Feng.]

Thinking further, why was it that when the boy came to his bedside, he didn’t awaken fully? Why did he, half-asleep, mistake him for Chu Feng?

Wasn’t it precisely because of this?

Si Qi held his forehead with one hand: [Truly…]

It hadn’t even been that long since he last found Chu Feng, and already he had subconsciously found himself a “stand-in.”

It seemed he needed to keep his distance from this boy.

As a result of exposing his feelings, the boy was sent by Si Qi to follow the prefect’s men, delivering emergency grain to famine-stricken counties and instructing them in planting corn and sweet potatoes.

These counties had been the ones that helped Liang Province when it could not produce grain, and they had written letters praising Si Qi’s deeds.

They shared the prefect’s ideals, so when he decided to oppose the Great Autumn Dynasty, the first step was to rally allies and repay those past favors, helping them through worsening hardship.

Sending the master of ceremonies was necessary.

To start a rebellion, there had to be a leader.

For both public and private reasons, he was the perfect choice.

First, he was the disciple of Teacher Si, bringing forth many valuable things, with rightful authority. Second, he was the heaven-chosen son, naturally skilled in rebellion, adept at winning hearts and grasping crucial information. Third… he was a prince of the Autumn Dynasty, legitimate by birth. In rebellion, the resistance he faced would be less than others. Many officials, hearing of his royal lineage, would feel less conflicted and more justified in pledging allegiance.

And so, carrying a sense of grievance at being abandoned by his teacher, he unwillingly stepped into the spotlight.

He was indeed well-suited for these tasks.

In the original timeline, despite his terrifying appearance that made others fear and shun him, he managed to learn and achieve everything on his own, still winning people’s loyalty.

Now, with the many auras surrounding him, his impact was magnified a hundredfold.

By the time he next met Si Qi, sitting face-to-face to share tea, it was already early spring of the next year.

He had grown taller, his figure more mature, his aura transformed from modest restraint to effortless confidence. His rapid growth truly amazed Si Qi.

And, admittedly, made him a little uneasy.

For though his looks, body, and voice were unlike, his aura and speech were so similar that…

The moment he walked in, Si Qi nearly thought he saw Chu Feng.

Had he accidentally molded his disciple into the image of his beloved? Hopefully, Chu Feng would not be too upset when they finally reunited.

Upon seeing Si Qi, the master of ceremonies bowed respectfully, exchanged greetings, and inquired after him with perfect courtesy, showing no overstep.

Even Si Qi could not read his true intentions at first glance.

Such was the astonishing speed of his growth.

It was finally the master of ceremonies who first spoke of Chu Feng.

Not even half a word of complaint about being sent away—he merely smiled and said, “I searched everywhere for Mister Chu, but unfortunately found no trace.”

Si Qi replied, “Is that so.”

The master of ceremonies closely observed him. “Teacher, you don’t seem very anxious?”

Si Qi blew gently on his tea. “I am.”

But since he had Xiu Xiu following him, watching over him and reporting back, he already knew whether his disciple was truly searching for Chu Feng or not.

So, hearing him say it again now, stirred little feeling.

The master of ceremonies noticed that although Si Qi said he was anxious, he did not seem to care much in truth, and he felt relieved.

With the greatest worry in his heart eased, this time when he returned from his travels, he brought many things he thought new and interesting for Si Qi. They were not precious, but carried his thoughtfulness. Si Qi, after listening to his disciple’s explanations, looked through them one by one and indeed found many of them delightful, playing with them in his hands.

The master of ceremonies smiled brightly at his teacher; all the sorrow and hardship of the journey vanished in that moment.

Everything had been worth it.

The teacher and disciple chatted in a house warmed by underfloor heating, drinking tea and eating pastries, showing no trace of estrangement from their days apart.

The master of ceremonies slowly recounted his experiences of this period: “…We mixed wheat bran with fodder to feed the cattle and sheep. I passed on what Teacher had taught me, and they said next year they would hatch more chickens and ducks.”

“This winter has been colder than previous years. Fortunately, after receiving supplies, the people coped well, and few elderly or children froze to death.”

“The situation everywhere is worse than in past years. Many nearly could not survive. Luckily, we had Teacher…”

“Everyone is grateful to you.”

Si Qi shook his head. “It was you who went out and did all these things. Don’t shift all the credit onto me.”

Xiu Xiu had said it many times: whenever this child went out and accomplished something, he always spoke of “Teacher this, Teacher that,” so that in some places, people were more grateful to Si Qi, who never appeared, than to the one who had actually done the work.

Si Qi did not dislike being thanked, but in the future it would be the master of ceremonies who raised troops and became emperor, and it was he who needed prestige.

The master of ceremonies gazed tenderly at him. “But all that I have today is because of Teacher.”

Si Qi: “…”

No, even without him, this person could still have achieved great things. It would only have been far harder, and the people would have suffered more.

Seeing his disciple’s determined gaze, refusing to change his mind no matter how he repeated himself, Si Qi gave up trying to persuade him.

“This time I called you here because I noticed the water levels of rivers from the north are higher than usual,” Si Qi said. “When spring comes, the ice will melt, and with more rainfall, I fear heavy floods. Preparations must be made in advance.”

In this era of declining fortune, the slightest disturbance could cause disaster. Warmer temperatures meant drought, more rain meant flooding, and the faintest epidemic meant inevitable plague.

Si Qi could not use divination in this world. All he could do was observe and prevent early. If anything seemed wrong, he would send food, supplies, and techniques—saving lives first.

While studying the life trajectory of the world’s favored son, Si Qi noted several major events: one, the people of Liang Province were forced into desperation and rose in rebellion with him; two, in northern Jiang Province, torrential rains flooded every city along the river, drowning countless people.

When the waters receded a month later, corpses floated everywhere, rotting and breeding bacteria. With no clean water to drink, immunity collapsed, leading to plague. Infected people and bodies carrying disease flowed downstream, bypassing the capital, as refugees were driven away from prosperous provinces. Eventually, they entered other regions, spreading disaster…

Si Qi did not continue recalling. He only told his disciple: “Go ahead of me. Warn the officials there to prepare as soon as possible.”

The master of ceremonies recalled Jiang Province’s location. It was far from Liang Province; even riding hard, it would take more than half a month to reach.

He agreed immediately. “I will prepare people and supplies at once.”

Seeing this reaction, Si Qi felt gratified. “Good, go.”

Then, after some thought, he added: “I will follow shortly after.”

The master of ceremonies’ face lit with a genuine smile. “I will do my utmost to resolve the matter, so Teacher need not worry.”

…

When he finally arrived in Jiang Province after traveling night and day, heavy rains were indeed falling, and the surging river had already broken its banks, flooding the city.

Spring rains were normal for the locals, so at first no one paid them much mind.

Later, a passing sorcerer kindly warned them this place would soon become a land of death, and advised them to leave early.

But the people had lived here for generations. How could they leave just because of a stranger’s words? Except for the prefect, who felt some unease, no one took it to heart—or perhaps they dared not.

When rain poured for seven or eight days straight, falling harder and faster, farmers began to worry over their seedlings. People grew irritated with the endless downpour, praying only for it to stop.

But the rain continued like an unshakable nightmare. Clothes would not dry, houses filled with dampness, the roar of the river pounded like thunder in their ears. Waking one morning, they found their floors wet.

At last, people realized the danger and rushed to the banks, only to see the water several times higher than usual, waves tall enough to drown a person whole.

County magistrates urged people to drop everything. Some rode to the capital for help, others ordered stones piled along the riverbanks.

Yet in the face of natural disaster, the people were powerless, clinging to a sliver of false hope.

They watched as water rose from their feet to their ankles, then to their knees, still refusing to flee, begging heaven for mercy.

The sick, the elderly, and children collapsed first. The endless rain chilled the air, filling homes with dampness, while the sunless sky deepened their unease.

Magistrates urged them to leave, but none obeyed. If they left, where would they eat, where would they sleep, where would they live, who would give them land? Unless there was no choice, no one wanted to abandon home.

This was the situation when the master of ceremonies arrived.

The water nearly reached people’s thighs, yet they stubbornly endured. Were they brave, or simply too miserable to bear change?

He reined in his frightened horse before the yamen steps, presented the prefect of Liang Province’s letter of introduction, and was brought before Jiang Province’s prefect and officials.

Some had heard of Si Qi and his disciple, and strongly recommended the master of ceremonies. The prefect of Jiang Province, setting aside his youth, hurriedly thanked him for coming in such peril, and immediately asked what should be done.

The master of ceremonies did not stand on ceremony. He said seriously: “The most important thing first is to establish teams for flood control.”

“Please organize the following: First, a logistics team, to prepare food and medicine, ensuring they are not washed away or spoiled. Second, a rescue team, to save those who fall into the water or are trapped, and to treat the sick and wounded. Third, a communication team, appointing one person at every level—province, city, county, village, down to the streets—to record headcounts daily, deliver orders, and report disasters, so no place is suddenly flooded without anyone knowing. Fourth, a security team. In disaster, some will act recklessly, looting and robbing. To prevent such acts from escalating into riots, they must be stopped at once. Fifth, a warning and relief team, to notify all river counties in advance, and to prepare evacuation routes. If aid can be secured from other provinces, all the better…”

The youth stood among officials twice his age, his clear and steady voice calm and powerful, quickly soothing their panic.

They listened carefully, nodding as they realized his words were solid and practical.

“Please also give me a map of the area, marking the river’s course and the high and low terrain. We must plan escape routes as early as possible.”

Before anyone else could act, one official rushed himself to fetch a map.

Meanwhile, the rest began dividing responsibilities as he had outlined.

Restoring calm among the people was crucial. The prefect and magistrates promised to personally go out and persuade the people to evacuate, or some might truly prefer death at home to survival elsewhere.

Soon, the map was brought. Geography was tested in the imperial exams, and most of the officials here, lacking powerful family connections, had earned their posts through merit.

Though limited by the times, their minds were sharp. Studying the terrain and soil, and remembering that water flows downhill, they quickly identified flood-prone areas and safe routes.

After rounds of discussion, they reached a conclusion.

As everyone was about to depart to their duties, the master of ceremonies bowed. “Natural disasters are not to be feared. Human effort can overcome heaven. I must trouble you all.”

They drew deep breaths and bowed back, saying solemnly, “Young Master, you are too polite.”

Everyone dispersed. And in their hearts they all felt the same: this had gone so smoothly, so swiftly, and with such order.

No wonder he was said to be the disciple of that almost godlike Teacher Si. Truly, he was extraordinary.

Sir, take me to rebel (3): 

After reading the description of the world line, Si Qi felt that this time’s Child of the World didn’t seem to have any major problems.

Since he didn’t plan to deal with this world’s Child of the World, Si Qi directly asked the world consciousness for information about him.

This time, less than a month after the Child of the World was born, he was despised by the emperor in the eyes of outsiders, taken away by a palace maid, and separated from his mother. From then on, he was locked in a small courtyard that no one could freely enter or leave, guarded by mute eunuchs and maids with their tongues cut out, and subjected to sorcerers’ repeated rituals of altering fate. His days were worse than those of the original host.

The original host had only been in the general’s residence for three years, not long enough for too much to be taken from him. At most, due to years of bloodletting, his body was somewhat thin and his height not very tall.

But the Child of the World had lived for twelve years as a vessel for others’ organs. Aside from a few internal organs not yet fully replaced, most of his body parts had been taken and exchanged for those of an old man in his fifties or sixties, leaving him deformed and hideous.

Just from looking at the boy’s skeletal frame, Si Qi could imagine how every step he took would bring excruciating pain, with bones and muscles mismatched, and twisted ribs pressing against his lungs making even breathing feel like torture.

How had such a person endured over a decade of hell, step by step leading troops back to the capital, and in a ravaged land still managed to defend a fragile nation?

Normally, after taking revenge, most people would lose the will to live, let alone the desire to protect the country. After all, life for him was nothing but unbearable suffering.

Yet he had not done that. He hadn’t even considered asking those hateful sorcerers to replace his deformed bones. Instead, he endured until the dynasty stabilized and power was safely passed to the next heir.

The more Si Qi thought about it, the more intrigued he became with this Child of the World. After weighing the pros and cons, he followed his heart, took several spirit stones from the World Tree’s leaves, set up a teleportation array, and in the next moment arrived directly in the child’s quarters—or rather, his prison.

The vast courtyard was completely silent. No voices, no traces of movement.

Si Qi intended to simply push the door open, but when his small palm touched the old wooden door, he paused.

He looked down at his own attire, then up at the door, which was more than twice his height.

Hmm…

The next second, the door swung open without a sound and then closed again.

A young man in white robes, long hair flowing, stepped into the room and met the eyes of a boy huddled in the corner.

Si Qi’s expression was calm as he examined the boy at close range.

The boy sat quietly in the corner, motionless, his breathing faint.

His exposed features had long since been replaced, twisted and indescribably ugly. Only a pair of black, bright eyes proved that he was still alive.

Si Qi thought the boy would at least cry out, show a trace of fear or wariness at his sudden appearance.

But the boy only stared silently at him, eyes widening slightly, showing he had indeed noticed the newcomer.

“…”

So this was the Child of the World who was supposed to be resilient, domineering, and strong-willed? That was his reaction?

Could he be playing the pig to eat the tiger?

Si Qi stretched out a hand, signaling for the boy to use it to stand up.

But the boy only looked back indifferently, showing no intention of responding.

Seeing this, Si Qi wasn’t impatient. He simply said, “Pardon me,” bent down, and lifted the boy into his arms.

The child’s body instantly tensed, muscles trembling uncontrollably.

Si Qi thought he was afraid, but his eyes said otherwise. He was numb to being taken away at others’ whim.

So, was it pain then?

Thinking for a moment, Si Qi took a candy from his sleeve (the World Tree’s leaf fragment) and placed it at the boy’s lips.

The boy instinctively clenched his teeth, trying to resist, but Si Qi was quicker, gently pushing the candy inside with his fingertip.

As the sweetness touched his tongue, the boy instinctively licked it, then shut his lips tight. This time, unlike before, he didn’t try to spit it out.

—After all, the medicine always ended up being forced down in the end. Better to just swallow it.

Si Qi made a “shh” gesture, then carried the boy out of the room with ease.

With Xiu Xiu’s cooperation, he walked openly without encountering a single palace servant.

Occasionally, when he leapt lightly onto rooftops, soaring two or three meters high with the boy in his arms, the child’s eyes widened in astonishment. Clearly, he had never felt anything like flying before.

He thought Si Qi was taking him away for bloodletting and bone replacement, but that wasn’t the case. Si Qi brought him somewhere entirely different from the places he had been countless times before. No mute slaves accompanied them, and this time, he was being carried straight out of the palace.

When the walls suddenly disappeared around him, the boy’s body stiffened and he jerked in fright, clutching Si Qi’s robe tightly.

Si Qi didn’t stop him, only patted his back gently in reassurance. With Xiu Xiu’s surveillance guiding him, he avoided crowds swiftly and skillfully, and before dusk, carried the boy out of the imperial city.

The boy was completely stunned.

In his ten-odd years of life, this was the first time he had been so far from that room, the first time he had seen so many living people. Everything amazed and unsettled him.

Facing the open fields without walls, his body trembled slightly, face flushing red.

Si Qi set him down. The boy wobbled, standing lopsided with uneven shoulders.

Eyes rimmed red, he breathed deeply despite the stabbing pain in his lungs.

This was the first time he had tasted freedom.

Si Qi said, “You’re safe now.”

The boy raised his head at the voice and let out two soft “ah ah” sounds.

Si Qi lifted a brow, tilted the boy’s chin up, looked inside his mouth and throat, and said, “There’s nothing wrong with your voice.”

The boy couldn’t avoid his touch. “Ah ah.”

“…So you can’t speak.”

No one had ever dared to teach him before.

The boy didn’t understand what Si Qi was saying. He only regretted that Si Qi couldn’t understand what he wanted to express.

The open sky without walls seemed unbelievable. Even the sound of chirping insects felt magical. He didn’t know why this man had brought him here, but if it was to bleed him and carve his bones, doing so in this place almost seemed… pleasant.

Of course, he still had to try to escape—

Si Qi grabbed the back of his collar, half smiling. “Enough. Don’t move around. Your body isn’t fit for running yet.”

Then he placed the child on his back and added, whether understood or not, “From now on, you’re my child. You must listen to me, alright?”

The boy couldn’t make sense of the words, but he sensed the gentleness in Si Qi’s tone. Somehow, he suddenly wanted to lean against the man’s neck, to feel the warmth of another human being.

Summoning courage, he stretched out a twisted, spider-like finger and lightly touched the man’s skin.

Warm, smooth, alive, harmless.

Such a strange feeling.

Lying on Si Qi’s back, his eyes hungrily took in everything around him. Perhaps overwhelmed by emotion, at some point he fell asleep, two uneven hands dangling at his sides, a faint blush on his face.

Sensing the child had drifted off, Si Qi flicked his wrist, scattering a few spirit stones. With one step, he crossed thousands of kilometers.

Under the starry sky, he set the boy down beside a large tree. Looking toward a small village at the foot of the mountain, he bent down to gather firewood.

The night air was cool—he couldn’t let the boy catch a cold.

…

By morning, the fire on the open ground had burned down to faint wisps of smoke. When the boy awoke, he saw a tall figure in white.

Remembering all that had happened yesterday, realizing he had left that prison, he stared warily at Si Qi’s back and slowly edged away.

Si Qi said, “Awake?”

The boy bolted!

Expression unchanged, Si Qi tapped the ground with his toes, leapt behind him, and caught him in one move.

“Where do you want to go? With this body of yours and survival ability close to zero, you’ll suffer a lot before you can live on your own.” Si Qi gently patted the boy’s head and stuffed a steamed bun into his hand. “Eat. After you finish, we still need to build a house.”

That morning, before dawn, the villagers had already risen early for farm work.

When Si Qi walked out from the mountains, he startled everyone, who nearly thought they’d seen the legendary mountain god.

Hearing Si Qi’s questions, the villagers spoke politely, answering whatever he asked as best they could, and even invited him to the village chief’s house.

Si Qi gave the excuse that his younger brother had been weak since childhood and disliked meeting people, so he had brought him out to relax for a while.

Seeing the silver Si Qi placed before him, the village chief agreed to let the two brothers stay temporarily. He promised that in the morning he would send villagers to the mountain to build a house for them and also gave Si Qi some breakfast.

The bun Si Qi handed the boy came from there.

Made from rice flour and carefully steamed, the bun was soft and delicate, with a hint of sweetness. For this small village, it was already a very refined food.

After eating the bun, the boy still held suspicion toward Si Qi and tried to run away whenever he had the chance.

Si Qi let him run. In the end, at mealtimes, he would always find him, bring him back, and make him sit down to eat.

Si Qi had no high demands for the house. The villagers built him a wooden cabin, and with everyone working together, it was finished within a few days.

During these days, Si Qi absorbed several spirit-gathering pills, his strength already sufficient for self-defense.

He extended his divine sense across half a mountain and found the boy trudging step by step through the forest with great difficulty.

The boy hadn’t gotten far. He had never exercised, and his body was in terrible condition. His forehead was dripping with sweat, his breathing labored, his face twisted with strain.

Every few steps, he would turn back to glance in the direction he had come from.

Si Qi followed unhurriedly and soon stood before him.

The boy froze, stumbling backward a few steps.

“Still running?” Si Qi’s tone was especially calm.

The boy: “…”

Si Qi wasn’t in a rush. From the basket at his side, he took out a delicacy that was highly regarded in other small worlds. The aroma filled the air, and the beautifully presented dish whetted the appetite.

The Child of the World had always been abused, but in terms of food and clothing he was never neglected. He felt no wariness toward such things. Stepping forward, he took the plate from Si Qi and reached out with his hand to grab food directly.

Si Qi stopped him and firmly placed a spoon in his palm. Patiently and gently, he showed him how to scoop rice and bring it to his mouth.

Awkward and reluctant, the boy was forced to learn. By the third repetition, he finally grasped how to eat with the spoon, quickly finishing the food and even licking his lips with longing.

Si Qi pointed toward the house. “Come back with me?”

The boy backed away, his body language showing resistance.

Si Qi didn’t force him. He handed him a cup of water and a simple bedding set, then left.

The boy: “…”

He didn’t know much, but at this moment he was truly confused.

Why wasn’t this person following the usual script?

Was he really going to let him go?

He touched the soft, light quilt in his hands, realizing it wasn’t heavy at all and felt especially comfortable.

Lowering his head, he took a sip of the water. It was cool, with a faint sweetness. As it went down, the constant ache in his body suddenly eased a little.

His eyes lit up. He gulped it down, then stared blankly at the empty cup when not a drop remained.

As he stared, he recalled the man’s face.

For the first time in his life, he felt a desire to see someone again.

Though the thought was faint—so faint it could vanish with a breeze.

Once more, he firmly set out on the path of escape.

Si Qi let him run. Apart from delivering food and supplies three times a day, he did not entangle him further.

This process, like taming a hawk, lasted eight days.

On the eighth afternoon, the boy finally made it out of the not-so-tall mountain. Covered in dust, he was struck with stones by frightened villagers shouting in alarm. Helpless, he stood frozen.

Realizing something was wrong, Si Qi rushed over. The moment the boy saw him, his eyes welled red.

He hid behind Si Qi. Si Qi shielded him carefully and scolded the villagers in displeasure. None dared provoke him, and they scattered quickly.

That night, the village chief came with gifts to apologize. Trembling, he sneaked a glance at the young master who had supposedly never shown his face, nearly retching at the sight.

For the first time, the boy felt something harder to bear than malice.

Suddenly, he no longer wanted to run.

If the whole world hated him, then he would rather face the one who appeared at the house, gave him food and sweets.

Even if that man cut open his body like the others, he didn’t want to endure those eyes filled with disgust and fear anymore.

He moved into the little wooden cabin he had resisted so fiercely.

The sense of being enclosed by walls again made his body tense, his eyes turning red as though lost in fearful imaginings.

Si Qi held his wrist and led him to a nearby bathhouse.

Head lowered, the boy followed step by step, his body filled with resistance.

At Si Qi’s signal, he removed his clothes and sat in a large tub that looked like it was meant for holding blood. Water quickly filled the tub.

Startled, he thought Si Qi meant to drown him and struggled to escape.

But the water stopped at his chest, and fragrant white foam appeared above his head.

He sat blankly, his body suddenly light, a special comfort washing over him.

Si Qi massaged his scalp, washing the dirt from his hair.

The boy sat in a daze, glancing at the reflection of the young man’s face on the water. Seeing the gentle brows and eyes, he faintly realized—perhaps this man hadn’t come to hurt him.

He had taken him away from the place he had longed to escape countless times, freed him from torment, even let him run freely outside…

Could it be that he was here to save him? Like that stranger woman who once tried to take him away?

Clinging to this almost unbelievable thought, the boy carefully observed Si Qi.

Even after dinner, when Si Qi spoke words he couldn’t fully understand, and when he lay on a soft bed without Si Qi doing anything to harm him, he still felt bewildered.

He curled up under the quilt, recalling Si Qi’s face. His palm touched his chest—where his original heart still remained, the one part of him not yet replaced.

Proof that he was still himself. The one place in his body that didn’t hurt.

Now, it felt so warm.

From that day on, Si Qi and the boy began living together.

Aside from three meals a day and morning and evening washes, the boy attended daily lessons.

At first, he pretended not to understand, staring at Si Qi, watching his pale lips move, as if trying to decipher the meaning of his clear voice.

Later, Si Qi realized the boy was learning quickly. Thinking of how he had once led people back into the capital after escaping the palace, he knew the boy’s intelligence was exceptional, far above average.

This act of playing dumb was surely just a test.

Si Qi didn’t indulge him. He never repeated things endlessly nor gave demonstrations.

Sensing the change in Si Qi’s attitude, the boy stopped pretending and earnestly followed the lessons, trying to engage in normal interaction.

Gradually, he transformed from a little beast living in his own world into someone who, apart from his appearance, wasn’t much different from others.

At last, he understood how terrible his past life had been, and what Si Qi’s rescue truly meant to him.

His vigilance dissolved entirely into gratitude.

His bright black eyes, round like pearls, often fixed on Si Qi, fearful that he might suddenly vanish.

In the blink of an eye, two months passed. The Child of the World had already learned enough vocabulary for a first-grade student, able to converse simply with Si Qi.

The first thing Si Qi explained was his past and why he had become like this.

“Sorcerers?”

“Yes.”

“They often did that? I mean… they hurt me, like that?” The boy stammered with his limited words, fists clenched tight.

“That’s right.”

“Kill them!!” The boy suddenly raised his head, scarlet blood vessels spreading in his eyes, looking deranged. “Kill them all! Not one left!!”

No one could doubt the truth of his words.

“If you still think this way after you’ve grown up, then we’ll discuss the matter again.” Si Qi took a sip of tea, speaking calmly, “First, you need to know that right now you don’t have that kind of ability.”

The boy answered with all his strength, “I know, I will learn, I will become strong!”

“Good, then you’ll need to listen carefully in the future.” Si Qi smiled. “But before that…”

He pointed lightly at the boy’s body. “You need to get your health in order first.”

“Your body has always been in pain, hasn’t it?”

The boy looked at him in surprise. “How did you know…”

He had never complained of his discomfort to Si Qi.

In the past, he had used actions and cries to express his suffering too many times, yet no one cared about his feelings. He thought speaking of it was useless. By now he was long accustomed to the pain, never showing even the slightest sign of it.

Si Qi said, “I could tell.”

The boy looked at him with admiration.

“Do you want to recover your health?” Si Qi asked.

The boy’s voice was full of hope. “Can I?”

Si Qi replied, “Yes.”

Feeling Si Qi’s kindness, the boy pressed his lips together, not knowing how to respond.

“It will just hurt a bit,” Si Qi observed the alignment of the boy’s bones carefully, then said, “I’ll have to break your bones and let them grow back the right way.”

The boy waited for more, but when no further words came, he sighed in relief. “Just that? Then it’s fine.”

Si Qi fell silent.

He didn’t speak, but suddenly felt the urge to ruffle the boy’s hair, and did so.

When the boy saw Si Qi’s hand reach for his head, panic flickered in his eyes, unbidden memories of being hurt by adults flooding back.

But he didn’t dodge. The young man’s palm rested gently on his head with warmth, bringing a soothing, pleasant caress that made him narrow his eyes in enjoyment.

When the hand left, he even felt a little reluctant.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you feel pain,” Si Qi said.

His tone was softer than ever. “Just sleep, and it’ll be fine.”

The boy said nothing, but the look in his eyes was full of trust. It was as if even if Si Qi pressed a hand against his throat, he would only lift his head obediently and look up at him, tame as a young deer.

Si Qi’s heart felt as though a feather brushed against it.

After feeding the boy the potion, he lay unconscious in the chair.

Si Qi moved away the table in the center of the room and took out a healing pod from another world, then carried the boy inside.

With a press of his fingertips at different points, he cleanly broke several joints that had been crudely forced together by a warlock.

The boy only twitched reflexively, without waking.

Si Qi adjusted his bones with instruments, then immersed him in the finest spring of life.

Xiu Xiu watched in amazement. [Master rarely uses such things for people of the small worlds.]

Especially since this one was the Son of the World. If he turned ungrateful and coveted Si Qi’s treasures, with the vast fortune on him, he might even bring Si Qi trouble.

Si Qi himself didn’t know why. Just hearing one sentence from the boy had softened his heart.

Originally, his plan was to break the boy’s bones one by one and slowly nurse him back to health with herbs of this world.

But when he looked into those eyes…

For some reason, Si Qi simply couldn’t bear to let him suffer. There was no other reason—he just couldn’t.

Si Qi sighed helplessly. [Maybe he just suits my eyes.]

Xiu Xiu was speechless. […Suits your eyes?]

Honestly, with the Son of the World’s looks, he was a bit too much of an eyesore.

Even evil spirits were more pleasing to look at.

…

When the boy woke, he found himself lying on the familiar bed.

Not seeing that familiar figure, he got up and stepped into slippers that were obviously a size too small.

Boy: ?

After standing, the strange feeling only grew stronger. He noticed the things around him seemed shorter, and also…

He wasn’t in pain anymore?!

Some part of his brain still habitually endured the stabs of pain that should have been there, but his body felt undeniably light.

For the first time, he truly understood what it felt like to be healthy. More relaxing than fainting, more unbelievable than dreaming, so… hard to calm down.

He lowered his head and carefully examined his smooth hands, not much different from Si Qi’s, then felt each of his joints.

No strange protrusions, no crooked bends, both arms and legs were the same length, and even breathing didn’t bring the stabbing pain.

Everything was so astonishing. Wearing slippers a few sizes too small, he rushed out of the room.

Outside, seeing Si Qi admiring the scenery in the courtyard, the boy’s eyes grew red, his emotions breaking loose.

He ran faster and faster, his body so light it felt as though he could fly.

For the first time in his life, he threw himself into someone else’s arms.

Sir, take me to rebel (4): 

The young boy in front of him was trembling slightly, his body temperature a little high, and he had grown five or six centimeters taller than before.

Si Qi gently patted his back. The boy slowly regained some composure, raised his head, and looked at Si Qi, his face flushing red.

“I…” he murmured softly.

Si Qi asked, “How do you feel?”

The boy broke into a radiant smile, nodding vigorously. “Very good! Extremely, extremely good!!”

He didn’t dare ask about Si Qi’s methods of treatment, afraid it would make him recall those cruel scenes of his limbs being violently cut off and crudely reattached.

It seemed that as long as he didn’t ask, Si Qi would not become one of those sorcerers he hated the most. They could still remain on friendly, harmonious terms.

His gaze toward Si Qi was filled with admiration, which pleased Si Qi. He did not like ungrateful wolf cubs.

Reaching out to stroke the boy’s head, Si Qi said, “Simply setting your bones is not enough. Your foundation is too weak. You need proper nourishment and conditioning.”

“I will,” the boy answered earnestly.

“From now on, follow me in learning martial arts and training your body,” Si Qi said. “You’re still young, there’s a lot you need to learn.”

Seeing the boy agree without any resistance, Si Qi continued, “It’s been so many days, and you’ve already learned some characters. Have you decided on your name yet?”

Always calling him “you, you, you” felt strange to Si Qi.

Suddenly, a name cried out by a dying woman flashed in the boy’s mind. He hesitated, shook his head, and said to Si Qi, “Please choose one for me.”

He knew that naming was something only close people could do. Even if someone picked up a stray kitten and gave it a name, that cat would no longer be just any cat in their eyes.

Si Qi thought the same way.

Giving someone a name meant taking responsibility for them—their existence would henceforth be linked to one’s own.

Xiu Xiu spoke with a hint of jealousy: [Master, you’ve only ever named me before!]

Si Qi: [You really do like to get jealous, don’t you?]

Xiu Xiu muttered: [Even Lord Main God would get jealous if he knew.]

Si Qi snorted: [He still hasn’t shown up even though I’ve been looking for so long. I haven’t even blamed him yet.]

Turning to the boy, Si Qi said, “Then you’ll take my surname. You’ll be called Si Yi.”

The boy’s heart leapt with joy, and he humbly asked, “Is there any special meaning behind it?”

Meaning? Si Qi carelessly replied, “No, isn’t Si Yi just smooth and easy to say?”

Both numbers in the sequence—one and seven. Easy to remember.

The boy immediately caught on to his teacher’s line of thought: “……”

Right, it was indeed easy to remember. Clearly from the same family.

Filling in the blanks himself, Si Yi quickly accepted the name, cheerfully saying, “From now on, I am Si Yi.”

At first, Si Qi felt that something was a little off. Then, thinking it over, he suddenly recalled that “Si Yi” was also the title of an official position.

“Wait a moment…”

But as soon as he opened his mouth, he saw the child joyfully repeating his new name over and over. Si Qi coughed lightly and pretended not to notice.

Fine. Just let it be.

“From now on you are my student. You may call me teacher,” he said.

The little one quickly grew close to Si Qi.

Most likely because he had never felt kindness from anyone before, anything Si Qi did for him—even handing him a glass of juice—would leave him delighted for a long time.

One day, as Si Qi guided Si Yi in learning new moves, he stood by watching the child earnestly practice, occasionally stepping forward to correct some improper stances.

The child was obedient and hardworking. Even when the movements pushed his body to its limits and his meridians screamed in pain, he never once cried out in suffering or fatigue.

Sometimes Si Qi thought that if he didn’t actively tell him to rest, the boy might train himself into ruin without realizing it.

No doubt he had suffered enough from those powerless days when he could only be trampled on by others. He was desperate to grow strong as quickly as possible.

Every time Si Qi saw the boy so exhausted that he collapsed and fell asleep instantly, he would quietly administer a potion and place him into a professional therapeutic device for massage.

This helped his body recover quickly, while also stimulating cellular vitality, greatly enhancing the results of each training session.

Scientific, systematic training, rare martial arts manuals, unmatched medical support, and Si Yi’s own tireless diligence—put together, his progress was like advancing a thousand miles a day in this backward ancient society.

Xiu Xiu, however, carried a prejudice toward the so-called Children of the World. Each time he saw Si Qi breaking the rules again and again, bringing things from other worlds to aid Si Yi, he couldn’t help muttering: [Si Lin helps Master manage the company, Yuan Lang helps Master research medicines against the insect race, and this brat? All he does is take advantage of you.]

Si Qi flicked Xiu Xiu on the head with his finger: [Watch your mouth.]

[Ouch…] Xiu Xiu yelped dramatically, short little dragon claws unable to reach the top of his head, covering his cheeks instead with a tearful expression: [Master, you can’t abandon your old love just because you’ve found a new one.]

Si Qi could only laugh helplessly: [Then tell me, old love, have you managed to find any trace of Chu Feng yet?]

[No…] Xiu Xiu drooped, dejected: [Xiu Xiu has been trying really hard, but only found some information from the palace and the general’s mansion.]

Without the internet in this ancient world, Xiu Xiu’s search speed dropped drastically, and even he felt embarrassed.

Worse still, the flow of fate in this world had been utterly disrupted. Even when Si Qi tried to use divination to locate Chu Feng, all he saw was vague and unclear.

It was better to let Xiu Xiu slowly search with his machines.

Xiu Xiu reported his recent findings: [The dog emperor in the palace has been searching high and low for the Child of the World, turning the capital upside down, but hasn’t found a single clue.]

[As for the general’s mansion, because the servants scattered and fled, rumors began to spread. Many people said that Si Yu was not the general’s real son—you were. The general flew into several rages outside, while the general’s wife denied it repeatedly during gatherings with other ladies. Since both of them doted on Si Yu so much, people were convinced he could not possibly be an outsider’s child. And as for sacrificing their own son for another’s child, that was even less believable—normal people simply wouldn’t do that. So people reluctantly accepted their explanation.]

Xiu Xiu continued with some schadenfreude: [But because of their denial, the backlash Si Yu suffers still hasn’t been resolved. A month after you left, the general’s wife couldn’t bear it anymore. She called in Si Yu’s older brother to draw blood for him.]

[The brother agreed. For over a month, every week he gave a bowl of blood. Unlike the original you, he didn’t have time to rest every day—he had to train with his father in the afternoons. Over time, his body couldn’t keep up. A doctor said his health was failing and advised the mother not to take his blood anymore, otherwise it would ruin his future as a warrior.]

[The general’s wife grew furious, accusing her son of caring only about his own future and not his younger brother’s life. She slapped him, causing quite a conflict between them.]

[Later, when the general found out, he bled himself for Si Yu. Seeing their pillar of the household do such a thing made them deeply uncomfortable, and only then did the quarrels stop.]

[After that, the bloodletting was shared among several of the Si family elders, instead of falling on Si Yu’s brother alone.]

Hearing this, Si Qi curiously asked: [So Si Yu just pretended not to know, and kept taking his medicine every day?]

Xiu Xiu curled his lip: [At first, of course, he refused. He said he would rather die than eat pills made from his family’s blood. His mother knelt down and begged him, and he cried and ate it. Later, after it happened many times, he didn’t even bother pretending anymore. At most he’d sigh dramatically once in a while to show how unwilling he was.]

Si Qi chuckled: [That’s just both sides willing. Otherwise, with a child so young, who wouldn’t see through his acting?]

Besides, all the misfortune fell only on those who had once harmed the original host. It didn’t affect anyone else. Si Qi couldn’t be bothered about whether they would reap what they had sown. He only half-listened and then asked: [Have you checked every household with the surname Chu in the capital?]

Xiu Xiu answered seriously: [Yes, all of them. Not a single one had anyone named Chu Feng.]

Si Qi frowned: [Strange. Could Chu Feng have been from the town where the original host once begged?]

Xiu Xiu: [Then I’ll go search other cities too.]

Si Qi agreed. The method was slow, but harmless.

[Go ahead.]

Xiu Xiu happily went off to do so.

Seeing that Chu Feng couldn’t be found in the short term, Si Qi wasn’t in a hurry to leave the plains. He settled down to carefully train Si Yi.

By his usual principle, as long as the Child of the World wasn’t a selfish, cruel villain, he didn’t mind borrowing their destiny to help advance the world together.

Since Si Yi was destined to one day become the king of this nation, teaching him how to govern, how to let the people live in peace, was undoubtedly the best choice.

That day, Si Qi lectured Si Yi on the subject of this world’s fortune.

“People have fortune, and so do families and nations,” Si Qi said unhurriedly, his voice compelling the listener to want to hear more. “A person’s fortune can be transferred to another. Likewise, fortune can gather upon a family or a nation.”

Si Yi sat opposite him, taking notes seriously.

“A prosperous clan that produces several scholars, or officials in the court, will flourish because of it. Even after the person dies, their influence will still protect their descendants.”

In other worlds, this might be only intangible influence, unseen and untouchable, but known to exist.

But in this world, where the power of the world had already been unearthed, fortune could truly protect each member of a clan, ensuring their safety, official success, and freedom from disasters or disease.

“After centuries of exploration, sorcerers mastered a method to sacrifice the lives of some and gather all their fortune for the dynasty. That is why, for the past hundred years, the Qiu Dynasty has enjoyed favorable weather and abundant harvests. Even if the officials and emperor did nothing, the common people still lived well.”

At this, Si Yi frowned deeply.

Because of his own experiences, he found it hard to accept that sorcerers could do something so beneficial for the sake of the world.

In his mind, most sorcerers were evil, selfish, and inhuman.

Si Yi asked, “Just like how my sacrifice gave my father health and prosperity—those sorcerers killed some commoners to grant comfort to the rest? Is that really right?”

Were those people meant to be sacrificed? Were they fated to die?

“Of course not,” Si Qi replied firmly. “Even setting aside whether it’s reasonable to force the few to die for the many, such complacency and stagnation is already a disaster.”

Si Yi didn’t quite understand, so Si Qi explained in detail: “You know the story of boiling a frog in warm water, don’t you?”

Si Yi nodded thoughtfully.

“The Qiu Dynasty, just like its name, looks like an autumn full of harvests, yet it is about to enter winter without realizing it. For nearly a century, its officials only needed to enjoy the ancestors’ blessings. Even with no ability, they could sit secure in their positions. The previous emperor, intoxicated by fortune’s power, even chose his successor based on the amount of fortune they carried. That is how your father became the current ruler. After ascending the throne, though he knew nothing of governance, as long as he relied on sorcerers and used blood sacrifices to solve every problem, things would still work out.”

Si Qi shook his head. “However, if a piece of land is farmed without pause, with no time to rest, even the best farmland will eventually dry up and lie in waste—the same is true for fortune.”

“If the upper ranks of Qiu Dynasty realized the problem early and made amends, there would still be room to turn things around. But the royal family happens to be the ones most dependent on fortune. The officials who agree with this notion copy the emperor’s actions, constantly drawing fortune, and so their careers prosper much more than those who don’t. In such a cycle, the ones in power are those who have tasted the benefits and cannot stop. As for those who oppose, they are either pushed out of the mainstream or go on their own to famine-stricken lands where fortune is already exhausted, trying their best to save people, but unable to truly influence the dynasty’s course.”

“So those nobles who think themselves safe and sound are like spectators sitting atop a tottering high tower, unaware. When the wind blows, the tower collapses.”

After hearing this, Si Yi did not mock those people’s self-delusions, but instead cared more about something else. “Then what about the common people?”

The boy’s response made Si Qi feel gratified. “The fortune on the commoners has all been taken away by those nobles. By the time officials of the Qiu Dynasty start to feel things are troublesome, the people will already be unable to survive.”

Si Yi pressed his lips together. “But in the knowledge you’ve taught me, those in power are not supposed to be like this.”

As rulers, since they enjoy the best treatment provided by the people, they should shoulder responsibility, and when trouble comes, be the first to stand out and solve it for the people.

How could it be reversed, that when disaster strikes, the people are pushed out as a shield to protect themselves?

Si Qi nodded. “Of course, they are all wrong.”

Hearing his thoughts affirmed, Si Yi couldn’t help but feel happy.

“Then, if you stood in their position, what would you do?” Si Qi asked.

Without hesitation, Si Yi said, “I would rely on my own strength to do things, never on crooked or evil ways.”

“Very good.” Si Qi smiled and continued to guide him. “Then, what kind of strength do you think you need?”

Si Yi froze, thought carefully, and said, “I don’t yet understand. But I know whatever you teach me will definitely be useful.”

Si Qi chuckled, half-scolding, “Smooth talker.” Then said, “In the future, whatever you want to learn, I will teach you. You can rest assured and boldly do what you want to do.”

Hearing this, Si Yi’s heart warmed with indescribable emotion.

He gazed at Si Qi without blinking, especially wanting to know, “Why are you so good to me?”

He was no longer the ignorant boy of half a year ago. He now understood what those sorcerers had done to him, what they wanted from him, and he knew the truth of “a man’s treasure invites trouble.”

During this time, his teacher had taught him literacy, reason, even healed his old wounds, doing many things for him, which he deeply appreciated.

He clearly knew that with Si Qi’s abilities, even without taking any so-called fortune from him, he could live more freely than anyone.

So he very much wanted to know why Si Qi chose him and did so much for him.

Si Qi thought carefully about this question.

At first, it was naturally because of the fortune on Si Yi that he noticed him.

But fortune, though important, wasn’t that important to Si Qi.

The reason he treated Si Yi so well was, after all, the boy’s qualities.

Resilience, courage, diligence, strength.

These were things Si Qi found beautiful, things he liked.

Even if Si Yi weren’t the child of destiny, Si Qi would still have been willing to lend a hand and teach him.

So he answered, “Because you’re worth it.”

Si Yi suddenly fell silent.

His eyes brimmed with nervousness and excitement, his face reddened as if roasted, almost steaming.

He lowered his head shyly for a long while, then finally, ears burning, eyes shining, he said to Si Qi, “Teacher, I will repay you. I’ll let you live a good life, let you never regret taking me as your disciple. I’ll treat you even better than I treat myself.”

Si Qi smiled gently. “Good. Then I’ll wait for you to grow up and show your filial piety.”

Under Si Qi’s care, the boy’s health quickly recovered.

Once his strength was enough to handle basic troubles, Si Qi took him away from that village, traveling across the Qiu Dynasty, observing its customs and teaching him more principles along the way. They read books, traveled far, and helped many people solve their problems.

The farther they got from the capital, the more desolate the people’s homes became.

A year later, Si Yi bent down to grab a handful of soil. The earth was dry and pale, crumbling like sand.

Even if one wanted to farm such land, the crops would never yield abundance.

Yet this was a province long famed for farming for hundreds of years, producing at least half of the dynasty’s grain surplus.

Farmers working in the fields were thin and sallow, their backs hunched deep, blending into the barren scenery.

Not far away, a local official in uniform walked over. Seeing the soil in Si Yi’s hand, he sighed. “Who would have thought this place was once fertile for a thousand miles, with bountiful harvests year after year? Now, it can hardly feed itself.”

Si Yi observed the farmland and estimated the yield, then asked, “Liang Province has vast farmland but not a large population. To be self-sufficient should be possible. Why is it like this?”

The official snorted coldly and explained angrily, “A hundred years ago, eight-tenths of Liang Province’s harvest went to the court, and two-tenths stayed for seed and the people’s food. But in recent years, as the land grew barren, the court found eight-tenths too little. They set fixed quotas instead, hypocritically calling it ‘concern for the people.’ The people toil day and night, yet the food never reaches their mouths. They can only open up new land elsewhere…”

Si Yi caught his meaning and probed, “But the court forbids people from reclaiming wasteland privately…”

“When they can’t even eat, who cares about laws? Should they really starve to death?” the official retorted.

By now, in the Qiu Dynasty, promotions no longer depended on ability but on fortune from one’s backers. The fact that this official had been sent to such a poor place already showed his views clashed with the capital’s nobles.

His actions could have gotten him killed many times over, so if he dared to act, why wouldn’t he dare to speak?

Besides, he had sought out the teacher and disciple to find a way to save his people.

“I’ve heard your master is learned and has solved disasters elsewhere. I ask for nothing else, only that my people may eat their fill and not be crushed by these heavy taxes.”

Seeing Si Yi’s thoughtful expression, the official felt hope rise. “Have you found something?”

After analyzing the situation, Si Yi said, “The main problem is the soil.”

“I know. But in Liang Province, even untouched land is like this.” The official gave a bitter smile. “Generations of harvests have drained the land’s strength. What was sown then must be repaid now. How could there be a way to take endlessly without paying a price?”

But why should the price fall only on the people of Liang Province? Their ancestors had farmed this land diligently for generations, never enjoying the benefits of abundance, yet now they bore the consequence of famine. He cursed the fools in power, blind and greedy, still sucking the last breath out of Liang Province…

The more he thought, the more angered he became.

But however much he hated, what was taken could not be returned. The land was dead, though he was unwilling to accept it.

He remembered letters from like-minded friends telling of miraculous events—the protagonist of those events now stood before him.

So in the end, he clung to hope, like grasping at the last straw.

Si Yi said, “My teacher told me of several solutions, but they will need your cooperation.”

The official’s face lit up. “Please, tell me!”

Si Yi and the official toured the farmlands of Liang Province, and many peasants saw them.

Under the blazing sun, farmers sat in the fields eating noodle soup their families had brought, muttering: “Who is that young man with the mask? Why is the official accompanying him?”

“They say he’s a master the official invited to solve our farming problems.”

“Heh, we’ve been farmers for generations. Who in the dynasty knows farming better than Liang Province people? But with land this poor, even a god couldn’t help!”

The speaker gnashed his teeth, resentment thick in his voice.

Two years ago, when taxes rose, their harvest wasn’t even enough to cover the levy. The inspector sent to collect grain ate lavishly while mocking the local official as incompetent.

Once, drunk at a tavern, he harassed women, and seeing the people so emaciated, complained there wasn’t even a pretty girl to his taste. In public, he insulted the local official and the people, saying their lives were worthless. Why not sacrifice the old, weak, women, and children to the gods? At least they wouldn’t waste food and could instead feed the nobles in the capital.

The people had been furious but too afraid to speak. In their hearts, they hated that parasitic leech.

In the end, the local official had shouldered the burden, smiling and bowing while borrowing grain from neighboring provinces to scrape together the quota, finally sending the inspector away.

But once he left, the hardship remained.

The people of Liang Province had farmed all year and not only failed to keep any food but were left in debt. They saw no hope. To work was death, not to work was death. Their hearts were full of grievance.

As complaints spread and elders began preparing to drown themselves, the local official gave them a path—allowing them to secretly farm beyond official lands. This way, after taxes, they might at least keep a few meals’ worth.

The people of Liang Province were tough. Given the slightest hope, they would work hard, barely hanging on till now.

But the land kept worsening. Even if they planted seeds, sprouts would not grow. Could they really survive?

Rumor spread that the official had found aid. But everyone knew the true cause—the sorcerers had drained the land’s life force. Unless there was a blood sacrifice, what else could be done?

An old man stared at the freshly turned soil and muttered, “If the court really means for us to die this time, then so be it.”

Beside him, his son turned sharply, shouting, “Father!”

The old man lowered his head wearily, caressing his lifelong companion, the hoe. He slung it over his shoulder. “If my life can fill your belly and that of your wife and children, then even in death, it’s worth it.”

“I just don’t know whether, after my death, the grain will go into your stomachs or feed those high nobles. Ha…”

The man’s heart ached. He followed behind his father, face full of sorrow. “Don’t say such despairing things. At worst, I’ll clear more land this year. There will be a way.”

“What way could there be?”

The taste of hunger was unbearable.

Si Yi rubbed his aching stomach, biting down hard on the stale flatbread, washing it down with thin bean soup.

Agriculture depended on four things: weather, land, seed, and labor.

Weather could not be controlled. The rest, however, could.

After finishing his meal, Si Yi dusted the crumbs from his hands, picked up a charcoal stick, and began sketching on a wooden board.

The eager official tried to bring him brush and ink, but Si Yi refused. “The board lasts longer and is easier to draw on.”

The official watched as Si Yi wrapped the charcoal in cloth and drew upon the board, soon bringing forth the image of a tool so vivid it seemed real!

The officials stared wide-eyed at Shan-Yu Sanxi, momentarily forgetting to ask what this thing was. They watched as the master of ceremonies finished one drawing, then took another wooden board and continued sketching. Carefully touching the shadows on the surface of the picture, they discovered that the shapes stayed flat on the board—it wasn’t something leaping out of the paper. Breathing a sigh of relief, they exclaimed, “Young master’s artistry is truly extraordinary, as if crafted by spirits and gods.”

“This is called sketching, my teacher taught me,” said the master of ceremonies. “If you, my lord, wish to learn, once the students are free, we can discuss it further.”

“Young master is thoughtful.” The official was very grateful.

After finishing several drawings, the master of ceremonies introduced them one by one. “This is called a curved-shaft plow.”

The official recalled the straight-shaft plows currently used by common folk. In an instant, he understood the general purpose of the curved-shaft plow and humbly asked for details.

The master of ceremonies explained, “The straight-shaft plow is not agile when turning back, it is laborious in breaking the soil, and efficiency is low. The improved curved-shaft plow allows the plow body to swing, making it easier to adjust depth and width, and it is light and flexible, better suited for maneuvering in small fields.”

With the curved plow, not only could the soil be broken more effectively, but ridges could be raised, rows sown, and field management improved—greatly increasing efficiency.

The official’s eyes grew brighter as he listened. He quickly picked up another board. “And this one?”

“This is a seed drill cart,” explained the master of ceremonies. “Previously, people planted either by dibbling or broadcasting, which wasted seeds and made thinning difficult. Later, for row cultivation, they had to manually space plants apart, which increased yield but consumed great amounts of labor.”

The official could not help but remark, “Of course farming is tiring.”

“If it tires you, it means it’s being done wrong,” the master of ceremonies shook his head. “My teacher said, if a task makes people exhausted, then there must be a better way. To blindly toil on one path without change is not the answer.”

The official felt struck by the words—they mirrored their present predicament.

Pointing at the three furrow openers beneath the seed drill, the master of ceremonies said, “This is a sowing device. Do you see the outlets here? While sowing, a farmer can pull the cart forward. The drill feet will automatically open furrows, sow seeds, cover them, and press the soil down, all at once. Multiple tasks are accomplished at the same time. It saves both time and effort, and can sow as much as one qing in a single day.”

The official sat up straight in shock. “What did you say? One qing?!”

“Yes,” nodded the master of ceremonies. “My teacher tested this with nearby villages on his journey. It not only increases efficiency but also ensures uniform spacing between crops.”

“Incredible…” the official murmured, staring at the lifelike drawings as if they were real tools. His face was filled with shock and hope.

With these miraculous tools, how could they not plant more fields next year?

“Don’t be anxious, this is just the beginning,” said the master of ceremonies with a smile. “My teacher also said, if the soil is unsuitable for planting, one can solve the problem both from within and without.”

The official’s body trembled.

“What is this?”

That very morning, the village head had gathered the villagers to his field, where his son was fiddling with a strange new device.

The village head announced loudly, “A few days ago, the county magistrate invited two teachers to help us solve our farming problems!”

“These teachers are kind and generous. They have taught us much about farming. Today, on their behalf and the magistrate’s, I will tell you how to ensure abundant harvests!”

The villagers murmured among themselves. “Invited by the magistrate?”

“Could they be those damned sorcerers?”

“I think I’ve heard of these two teachers. My relatives in Li Province mentioned them…”

Ignoring the chatter, the village head signaled his son.

Though not skilled at farming and weaker than most villagers, under everyone’s watch, the young man easily turned the soil with the curved plow, effortlessly changing direction and adjusting depth as he worked.

The crowd, who had spent their lives toiling on the land, were stunned. Some even rushed forward, eager to examine the plow closely.

Even without explanation, they could see its advantages. Their hearts burned with excitement.

“What a marvelous thing!”

“This will save so much labor!”

“Don’t rush,” the village head stepped forward, calming the crowd. He then had his son bring out another tool. “This is for sowing.”

He sprinkled a handful of seeds into the drill cart, and before the eyes of the villagers, his son walked forward. As he moved, the cart opened furrows, sowed seeds, covered them, and pressed the soil—all at once. Tasks that usually required repeated effort were now completed in one pass, and with astonishing speed.

The crowd erupted, not just amazed but overjoyed to the point of frenzy.

“Wonderful! The craftsman who made this tool is a blessing to the world!”

“They say these were brought by the two teachers? Truly they are good men!”

“This year farming won’t be so exhausting! With the extra time, we can reclaim new land and never go hungry again!”

“I see many more tools here—are they just as miraculous?”

Overjoyed, they watched the young man demonstrate each tool in turn, their excitement overflowing.

The village head said, “Later, all carpenters skilled in woodcraft should come to me. I’ll teach you how to make these tools.”

Everyone was thrilled. “What? You’ll directly teach us how to make them? I thought we’d have to rent them from the government office!”

“The two teachers are generous. They shared these tools without the slightest reservation!” the village head said happily. “And not only that—they also taught us how to make the land fertile again!”

The villagers instantly stopped speaking, their eyes all fixed on him, so intense that it was almost frightening.

But the village head only laughed even more. “The teachers gave us many methods, but you must follow them carefully.”

After witnessing the tools’ miracles, the villagers already admired the teachers beyond measure. Without hesitation, they urged, “Village head, just tell us! We’ll do exactly as you say!”

The village head said, “First, we must change our old habits and adopt the method of alternating fields, while restoring the former system of crop rotation.”

Crop rotation meant sequentially planting different crops in the same field over seasons or years, combining usage with soil nourishment—a highly scientific and effective method.

In the past, the people of Qiuchao had long discovered and practiced it. But with the rise of sorcerers, the land had been irrationally blessed by fate, so people no longer bothered to care for the soil. They planted crops that consumed fertility yet yielded little, continuing this reckless practice for seven or eight generations, nearly forgetting what crop rotation even meant.

The village head explained its importance and also told them the meaning of alternating fields.

“The alternating field method requires opening three furrows, each one foot wide and one foot deep, in a strip of land one mu in size. The position of the furrows rotates each year, hence the name alternating field. Crops are planted in the furrows, and after the seedlings sprout and grow leaves, when we till and weed, we rake the ridge soil from both sides of the furrow and bury it at the roots of the crops. This provides protection against wind and lodging, conserves moisture and resists drought. Since the ridges and furrows change position year by year, the land is not overly exhausted and gains sufficient time to recover.”

Everyone present was an expert in farming. Hearing the village head’s explanation, they needed only a little imagination to see the benefits—it was just as he said, the advantages were many.

The village head added one last point that greatly boosted everyone’s confidence: “The teacher said that in past years, villages that used his methods saw much higher yields than before, so you can plant with peace of mind.”

“In addition, the teacher also taught us how to use fertilizer. This fertilizer is…”

This kind of teaching by the village head was happening throughout Liang Province.

The people’s reaction was extremely enthusiastic. The most obvious change was that the corpses that once appeared on the lake every few days were no longer there. People saw hope, thought only of farming diligently, and longed for a better life.

Officials collected reports from all over, and they were so excited they could hardly contain themselves.

The official felt immense gratitude toward the young-looking master of ceremonies who had offered so many solutions, yet at the same time felt a tinge of regret—it was only a boy.

Embarrassed, he asked, “May I know when your teacher will visit, so I can prepare properly?”

The master of ceremonies understood his meaning and smiled. “My teacher said he has found new seeds suitable for farming, with very high yields, and he is bringing them now.”

“What?”

Seeing the official’s disbelief, the master of ceremonies smiled gently. “When the seeds are introduced, you’ll have reason to rejoice.”

In the original timeline, the original master would die a year later. Si Yu, who stole everything from him, would go out and save the fleeing Child of the World, who would then lead a desperate escape far from the capital into the poorest, most barren lands of Qiu Dynasty.

At that time, all the hidden problems accumulated by the dynasty erupted. Fortune turned against the court, and the first to suffer were the regions already drained of vitality.

Disasters struck everywhere, people were displaced, and the court did nothing. The nobles above not only failed to help but exploited the people even more, treating them as expendable, slaughtering them to seize their fortune for themselves.

Driven to despair, the people finally rose in rebellion. The Child of the World mingled among them, leading soldiers to march on the court, plunging an already crumbling state into deeper chaos.

This was what was meant by destruction before renewal.

Unless the court was completely toppled, the people of Qiu Dynasty had no path to survival.

The nobles would kill until none were left before reflecting on whether they had fished the pond dry, ruining themselves from the start.

Si Qi would never allow his disciple’s future people to face such a desperate fate.

This past year, the master of ceremonies had studied diligently, exercised daily, and kept in contact with the people; meanwhile, Xiu Xiu searched for Chu Feng while investigating local conditions and gathering data.

Si Qi traveled frequently through teleportation arrays, scouring the planet for food sources, bringing them back, and using advanced technology to improve seeds. He adapted plants to local soil, made them resistant to cold, drought, and pests, and increased their yield.

These things could not be revealed openly to the master of ceremonies, so Si Qi arranged for him to reach Liang Province before planting began, to pass on the methods to the governor. Si Qi himself pretended to fetch food elsewhere, while in truth he accelerated the breeding of improved seeds until there was enough for the whole province.

When he arrived and met the governor of Liang Province, the plowing, fertilizing, and tool-making were already complete. Planting was all that remained.

Si Qi placed several carts of seeds before the governor, opened the sacks, and said with a smile, “These are corn and sweet potatoes, varieties I found in Yi Province. They are easy to grow, yield greatly per mu, and suit the soil conditions here without overburdening it.”

The governor held a large, plump sweet potato in his hand, too overjoyed to know where to put his hands and feet.

But…

Ashamed, he said to Si Qi, “The court requires us to deliver wheat. These crops may…”

Si Qi smiled. “I also brought wheat seeds. You can plant some in selected fields. As for the corn and sweet potatoes, they are for your people to eat.”

The governor breathed a sigh of relief. He had feared his words might offend Si Qi. Luckily, the man was indeed as generous and kind as rumored.

He summoned the agricultural officials and told them to listen carefully.

Questions poured forth: “How should we plant sweet potatoes and corn?”

Si Qi explained in detail: “Corn can be planted in the mountains, without taking up good farmland; sweet potatoes love sunlight, resist drought, and absorb nutrients strongly. First, you must raise strong seedlings…”

As they listened, they wrote frantically, a habit they had developed when meeting with the master of ceremonies—there was too much knowledge to remember. A fortunate burden indeed.

Many people surrounded Si Qi, leaving the master of ceremonies unconsciously pushed outside the circle, separated from his teacher.

He longed to speak to him, to say he had fulfilled his instructions, teaching the people well.

He longed to tell him how much he had missed him during this time.

But he stayed outside, restraining himself, waiting for everything to end, for his teacher to remember him.

Perhaps it was fate. Just as he thought this, his teacher turned his head, smiled warmly at him.

It was like a breeze clearing his heart, sweeping away all gloom.

His mood lifted, and without thinking, he darted into the crowd and claimed a place by his teacher’s side.

No one thought he was out of place. No one minded if he blocked the way. Instead, they smiled kindly at him.

Si Qi reached out to ruffle his hair, the affectionate gesture making the master of ceremonies feel proud.

He realized how foolish it had been to hesitate earlier.

This was his teacher, the most important person to him.

His teacher had told him—if you want something, go for it, don’t hesitate.

After that, both Si Qi and the master of ceremonies were busy. They had to teach the new planting methods, inspect farmlands to ensure they were prepared correctly, and correct problems on the spot, sometimes even guiding with their own hands. Many finally saw the famed “teacher” with their own eyes, and admired his noble bearing and gentle manner.

The people, already grateful for Si Qi’s efforts, respected him all the more after meeting him in person.

They had never seen someone with such presence, such beauty, who spoke so gently, teaching them how to live better lives.

He was even more wonderful than the rumors, a figure as kind and merciful as an immortal.

…

After the planting season ended, the governor asked Si Qi about his future plans.

Si Qi replied that he and his disciple would continue their travels, but in autumn, when the harvest came, they would return.

Hearing this, the governor was delighted and promised to host them well.

“At that time, the court officials will also come,” Si Qi said meaningfully. “Governor, by then you too must make a decision.”

The governor understood, his expression changing slightly.

But he gave no answer on the spot, only bowed and withdrew.

Afterward, one of his men brought him to the fields they had prepared. In one, only a few sparse sprouts showed; in another, a thick carpet of green shoots burst from the soil.

The governor had not expected such a huge difference. He carefully dug up seedlings from both plots. The local grain looked no different from before, but the seeds brought by Si Qi grew into robust shoots with thick stems, full of vitality. Even an official who had never farmed could see the difference.

Thinking of Si Qi’s words “improved seeds,” and his promises of “high-yield corn and sweet potatoes,” the governor’s heart raced.

The court demanded fixed quotas of grain as tax, but not a share of everything grown.

So if the harvest was truly as abundant as promised, as long as they delivered enough wheat, they could keep the corn and sweet potatoes for themselves.

But… what about afterward?

When the court discovered corn and sweet potatoes, how would it react?

Would it change the rules again, seize their hard-earned harvests, and bleed them dry for life, leaving them only as sacrifices to feed the ruling class?

The court was already rotten beyond saving. The people’s efforts, their sweat and toil, brought only exploitation, never reward. However much they gave, it only clothed and fed others.

But if the corn and sweet potatoes really were as Si Qi had said…

The governor gazed into the distance, looking over the vast lands of Liang Province.

Sir, take me to rebel (1): 

“Good child Yu’er, don’t take that little matter to heart. You know you are the one we love most.”

“Your body is weak. How can you treat yourself so carelessly? Wouldn’t that break our hearts?”

“Mother has made your favorite cakes. Go back to your room, sit down, rest well, and stop letting your mind wander.”

The gentle, doting voices followed one after another. Si Qi stood at the corner of the courtyard, watching the warm scene of the family in front of him, harmonious and happy.

As if plunged into an ice cave, his hands and feet turned cold and numb, his heart seized in pain—unspeakably agonizing.

Of course, this pain did not come from Si Qi himself, but from the body’s original owner.

Having roughly guessed the truth, Si Qi closed his eyes and accepted the memories that Xiu Xiu had given him.

That youth, carefully protected in the center of everyone’s attention, his tear-streaked face pitiful to behold, was the legitimate son of the General’s household in name—the General and his wife’s youngest son.

Usually, he appeared rosy-lipped, white-toothed, well-behaved, and endearing, yet he had always been frail and sickly, unable to withstand even a gust of wind or a bit of rain. Despite being given countless precious medicines, his condition showed no improvement over the years.

The General’s wife shed tears day and night for this, while the General spared no expense, inviting famous physicians from all over to diagnose and treat him.

Several physicians came, yet none could give a definite conclusion. They eventually suggested the General consult a mystic, to see if the problem lay in the child’s fate.

The General then requested the Emperor send a court mystic. After carefully examining the child, the mystic declared: this child is not of the General’s bloodline. He even revealed that when the General’s wife gave birth years ago, a servant with evil intent had maliciously switched the baby, and their true son was now wandering outside.

The words shocked everyone present. But before they could recover from the blow, the mystic added: “Yet this child’s fortune is extraordinary, blessed with endless opportunities, and he naturally draws the affection of those around him. His uniqueness will one day bring boundless glory to your household. You might as well treat him well.”

Everyone’s hearts loosened, and smiles of pride spread across their faces.

By reason, the family should have asked where their real bloodline child was at that moment. But instead, the General’s wife cared only for the boy in her arms, anxiously asking: “Then why is my son’s body so weak?”

The mystic paused, glanced at the wife.

Recalling what he had just divined—that this child’s fate was special, and anyone near him would instinctively protect and support him—the mystic adjusted his words and patiently explained: “This child was born lowly, yet has taken the place of the General’s true heir. He suffers the backlash of the General’s household’s fortune, and thus his body is frail.”

The people grew anxious. “What should we do, then?”

The mystic spoke bluntly: “Announce his true identity, separate him from the General’s household, and the problem will be resolved.”

The General’s wife’s face immediately changed. “How could we do that! How will others view my son then? Won’t they mock him for having such filthy, low-born parents?”

The General gently patted her back, soothing her, then asked the mystic: “Aside from that, is there another way?”

The mystic, unwilling to offend the child blessed with such fortune, decided to go along with their will and offer a “favor.” “Since you clearly do not care about your real son who is out there, why not exchange the fates of the two children, and make this boy truly yours?”

At that, everyone suddenly realized—they had never even thought of the other child, nor cared about how he had been living outside.

The General’s wife urgently asked: “How do we exchange them?”

“Replace this child’s blood, bones, and heart with those of your true son. Then, he will become your real child, flowing with your blood.” The mystic spoke cruel words with calm indifference, clearly long accustomed to such matters. “After that, this child will truly be yours.”

Everyone present understood the meaning hidden in those words, and fell into silence.

Finally, the General gritted his teeth and decided: “Where is that child now?”

The mystic looked southeast. “Travel three thousand li from here—you will find him in Luoxia Town.”

Seven days later, the General found a thin, small child begging on the streets, and brought him back to the household.

The General’s wife cast a sideways glance at the child. Seeing his emaciated figure, hair like dry straw, trembling timidly in the bright, splendid courtyard, she couldn’t help but recall her other precious son’s charming, lively, and adorable appearance.

Indeed, this unrefined little wretch was nothing fit to be seen.

Holding back her temper, she glanced again. Whether illusion or not, she seemed to smell a filthy stench of beggar on him. Covering her mouth and nose with a handkerchief in disgust, she ordered: “Take him away, wash him several times, and put him in clean clothes.”

The other members of the General’s bloodline, standing by her side, looked at the boy shrinking timidly before them, forcing a weak, ingratiating smile as though he would beg for coins at any moment. They could not help but frown tightly.

Comparing him with the pampered young master raised within the household since birth, they felt the two were worlds apart.

—How could this wretch possibly look like someone from the dignified General’s household? The thought alone was shameful.

And yet, despite their distaste, they had no choice but to feed and clothe him well, instructing servants to serve him carefully, not daring to let any harm befall him. They even ordered special meals and a room prepared for him.

The original child, having grown up begging on the streets, accustomed to cold glares and curses, was overwhelmed by being brought into such a wealthy residence, served by finely dressed servants, and given good food and drink every day. His heart overflowed with gratitude toward the General’s family.

When nobles came to see him, he instinctively smiled to please them.

But instead of winning favor, that humble smile only made them despise him more, scolding him for being unpresentable.

Fearful, unsure what wrong he had committed, he shrank back and apologized repeatedly.

This timid reaction only emboldened the household, who abandoned any thought of telling him his true identity, fearing he might one day use it against them or try to escape to preserve his life.

In secret, they decided never to reveal the truth to him, treating him simply as a beggar they had brought in. After all, they would eventually strip everything from him for the sake of the other child. Once he no longer had the General’s blood, he would no longer have life. Why bother caring too much?

The original boy, unaware of the truth, carefully obeyed the adults’ commands: stay inside the courtyard, never run about, never offend the nobles, or he would have no food. He remembered their warnings and dared not step out of line.

A month later, when he looked a bit healthier, the General, following the mystic’s instructions, ordered his wrist cut open weekly. A bowl of fresh blood was taken, refined into special medicine, and fed to the other child.

This continued for years.

Living in the General’s mansion, the boy slowly adapted to this life of ease, food and clothing provided. Surrounded by watchful servants who brainwashed him daily, saying how enviable his life was—doing nothing, being waited on like a young master, and how kindhearted the General’s family was. They told him he must repay them for enjoying so many benefits.

Hearing such words repeatedly, comparing his past life of begging and beatings with his present comfort, he truly came to believe his life now was wonderful. He never wanted to leave—he loved everything here.

From others’ words, he gradually learned the truth of his situation: the General’s family adored their youngest son, and he was merely that boy’s “medicine man.” Only his blood could keep the boy healthy, which was why he had the fortune to remain here.

To him, giving some blood in exchange for such a good life was infinitely better than starving and being beaten on the streets. In fact, if he stayed without doing anything, he felt uneasy, afraid they would cast him out. As long as his blood was useful, he could remain with peace of mind.

Thus, he was deeply grateful to the General’s family—and to the young master.

Had things continued this way, perhaps he could have lived happily each day.

But one time, during a clan ritual, only true descendants were allowed into the ancestral hall.

Because the fake young master was rejected by the household’s fortune and could not enter without provoking their ancestors’ wrath, the General had no choice but to bring in the original boy to take his place.

The bewildered child was led into the hall, ordered through the entire set of rituals. He had no idea what he was doing, nor where he was. He simply obeyed everything the nobles instructed, not daring to disobey.

When he came out, he was suddenly confronted by the shocked young master, who cried and questioned him. The boy was completely confused, unable to understand what the young master was saying, or why he reacted so strongly.

The adults all showed alarm, rushing to comfort the little master, whose eyes brimmed with tears.

The matter caused a huge uproar. That very night, the young master cried himself sick, collapsing with illness, driving the household into panic.

The original boy was inexplicably implicated, locked away in his room, then harshly slapped several times by the furious General’s wife. She twisted his ear, forcing him to face her, demanding if he had deliberately let the young master see him.

Terrified and lost, he begged for forgiveness, trembling, carefully asking if the young master was alright. He even offered his blood willingly, saying no matter how much was needed, he would give it. In desperation, he reached for scissors, cutting his arm until blood poured down, pleading not to be cast out.

The General’s wife ignored the blood dripping onto the floor, jabbing his forehead with her finger, scolding him with vicious words. In her rage, she accidentally let something slip, which he remembered.

“You think you can steal my son’s place and take everything from him? Dream on!”

Growing up on the streets without parents, surviving on his own wits, he was quick-minded. Though he didn’t understand the phrase “steal the magpie’s nest,” he memorized its sound carefully and later pried its meaning from servants. He also learned what entering the ancestral hall meant—that only true descendants had the right. His heart pounded furiously, and at last, he realized something.

But realization meant nothing. The General’s family would not acknowledge him. Even if, based on his placement in the hall, he vaguely guessed the General was his real father, he dared not say it aloud.

He only felt wronged whenever he recalled how the young master was cherished.

Worse still, the young master refused to let go of the incident. Having overheard hints from his elders, he grew more sorrowful, often weeping, bedridden day after day, leaving everyone distressed. The whole household was thrown into turmoil.

One day, the young master even burst into his courtyard, grasped his hand, and said: “You are my brother, aren’t you? Otherwise why would Father and Mother treat you so well?”

The adults rushed in, faces darkening at the words. They shoved aside the stunned boy, embracing the little master. “He is not your brother. How could you think such a thing?”

Tears streamed down the young master’s face. “But Father and Mother let him enter the ancestral hall, and not me…”

“We were only worried for your health…” The adults shot the boy warning glares, fierce enough to confirm his suspicions—he was this family’s child, and they all knew it.

They knew, yet still treated him this way…

Watching everyone crowd around the young master, his body grew cold.

His mind spun in chaos. Why had he been abandoned outside? Why, after being brought back, was he only made to bleed for another child? Was that their true purpose in finding him?

Seeing how no one cared for him, their hearts fixed only on the young master, grief and frustration welled up in him until he blurted: “If that’s the case, then I’ll leave!”

The little young master’s crying softened. He looked timidly at the original boy, as if waiting for him to keep his word.

But to the little young master’s surprise, the surrounding adults grew especially anxious. Instead of driving the boy away, they shouted angrily and pulled at him, forbidding him to leave.

The little young master froze for a moment, then his shoulders trembled as he cried even harder. “I understand now, I understand. So that’s what Father and Mother meant… Brother, don’t go. Let me go instead. I’m always sick, I can’t do anything for Father and Mother. It would be better if I left.”

Hearing his sobs, everyone’s attention shifted from the original boy back to him. They hurried to comfort him while carelessly speaking words that stabbed the other boy’s heart: “How can you say such a thing? How could he ever compare to you? You are a pearl, he is but a pebble. He’s not even worth a single strand of your hair.”

The little young master shook his head repeatedly, murmuring softly, “No, that’s not true, it isn’t,” his pitiful and wronged appearance stirring boundless pity.

The General caught sight of the original boy standing nearby, read the discontent and hatred in his eyes, and slapped him across the face. The blow knocked him to the ground, his head spinning so much that he could not even crawl up.

The little young master seemed frightened, crying: “Father, why did you hit brother? Did Yu’er do something wrong?”

Even as he spoke, he clung tightly to his mother’s sleeve, his body trembling.

“Yu’er, be good, don’t be afraid,” the General’s wife comforted him gently, holding him in her arms. “He is not your brother.”

The General’s elder son even shouted, “That beast deserved the beating!”

Not wanting the little one to be upset further, they carefully escorted him away, not sparing a single glance for the boy who had been struck down on the cold ground.

The boy slowly pushed himself up, clutching his swollen cheek. He felt his teeth loosen, then spat out a mouthful of blood.

Perhaps his words about leaving had scared the adults. From that day on, he was locked in his room, never allowed out. The weekly bloodletting continued, along with endless rich food and tonics, making him grow more and more suspicious.

Later, they grew dissatisfied with mere bloodletting and began cutting flesh and replacing bones. He was pinned to the bed, screaming as they butchered him like an animal. Afterwards, looking at his mangled leg wrapped in cloth, he finally realized this place was not a paradise at all—it was hell.

He thought of escaping, but how could a child break free from the tight guard of such a vast household?

After many failed attempts, his mind turned to the seemingly innocent little young master. He tried to approach him, hoping he would help him escape.

Yet that rosy-lipped child with an angelic face only gave him a meaningful look and said with a puzzled expression: “Why would you want to leave? Haven’t Father and Mother treated you well enough? Look how nice my home is—so spacious, with so many good treats. How could you not like it?”

Then he carelessly let slip the matter.

The furious General’s wife summoned servants afterward, beating him savagely with bamboo rods until he was covered in wounds. She chained one of his legs, threatening that if he dared harbor such thoughts again, next time it would not just be chains—it would be cut off entirely…

The things that followed grew more and more outrageous. Si Qi no longer wanted to look. He only knew that in the end, every bone in the boy’s body had been replaced, his heart forcibly removed, and the false young master’s fate had been completely transferred. The boy lost his blood, his flesh, his identity, even his life.

Now, Si Qi stood in the courtyard, watching the weeping child surrounded by adults. Filled with resentment, he said he should leave, so as not to disturb their family reunion.

The crying child looked up at Si Qi with innocent eyes, as if waiting for his response.

The General noticed Si Qi’s expression and struck out with a slap.

Naturally, Si Qi would not let him land the blow. He tilted his body slightly and dodged with ease.

The General, missing his target, flew into a rage and raised his hand again.

Si Qi swiftly grabbed the scissors once used by the original boy to prove his loyalty, pressed the sharp tip against his own neck, and drawled lazily: “Since you hate me so much, why don’t I just end it here and spare you the trouble?”

The child’s sobbing halted. His tear-filled eyes stared at Si Qi, but he said nothing.

The adults, however, cried out in shock and anger: “Stop it at once!!”

“Don’t you dare!!”

A flicker of astonishment crossed the little young master’s face, then he cried even harder.

Si Qi pressed the scissors closer to his neck, smirking at the General, who wanted to act but dared not move. “What’s wrong? Don’t you hate me? Don’t you think I’m filthy and detestable? Then why won’t you let me die? Haven’t you always wanted me dead?”

At his words—”Haven’t you always wanted me dead”—a flicker of guilt flashed across their faces.

Yet outwardly, they showed no sign of it. Instead, they sneered with disdain and ordered the servants to take the scissors from him.

The servants looked at each other, but none dared approach the blade pressed to Si Qi’s throat.

Si Qi said with interest: “Seems you don’t dare let me die. Why? Because you have a reason to keep me alive?”

They stayed silent. Si Qi didn’t need their answer. Smiling faintly, he said: “I suppose the little young master must be very curious right now. Do you plan to ask your parents afterward? They won’t tell you the truth. Better I say it—because they need me to keep you alive.”

The boy, clever as he was, recalled bits of overheard talk. His gaze flickered as he lowered his head into his mother’s embrace, whispering: “Brother, what are you saying? I don’t understand.”

The adults sensed disaster, shouting at Si Qi to stop, wishing they could rip his tongue out.

But Si Qi looked indifferent. “Why shouldn’t I say it? You’re already set on taking my life. I can’t just sit and wait to die, can I?”

Their hearts jolted—none expected him to be so sharp.

Si Qi continued: “In truth, I am the real young master of this household. You are the cuckoo in the magpie’s nest.”

He deliberately used the phrase once spoken by the General’s wife.

The boy froze, his expression sorrowful, as tears slipped down his face. Hiding in his mother’s arms, he whispered: “Mother… is it true?”

The General’s wife nearly went mad, shrieking: “You little beast, shut your mouth!!”

“If I’m a little beast, then what does that make you? The old beast who birthed me? Ha.”

Si Qi saw the servants around them, their faces showing shock or dawning realization. Trembling, they seemed ready to cover their ears and vanish. He sneered: “You lost your own child and instead of finding him and making it up to him, you raised your enemy’s son as if he were a treasure. And seeing your child weakly, you even went so far as to kill your own flesh and blood to nourish your enemy’s son! What noble self-sacrifice—truly eye-opening!”

“Stop spouting nonsense!”

“How do you know this? Who told you!!”

Two very different outbursts came from the household’s leaders. At this, the little young master’s heart raced wildly, no longer able to dismiss Si Qi’s words as nonsense.

“You’re just jealous,” the elder son snapped coldly, “thinking Yu’er stole your place, and now you want to force us to admit you. Stop dreaming. What belongs to the General’s household is given to you only if we allow it. If we don’t, you have no right to touch it! For me, I have only Yu’er as my brother. You are nothing!”

“My heart unbalanced? You really think too highly of your household.” Si Qi sneered. “I’ve long known my origins, known who my father is. But did I ever try to reveal myself to you? These past years, did I once announce my identity? Did I ask to enter the ancestral hall? No—it was you who put me there. It was your precious child who came to me. And did you not hear me say I wanted to leave? Who was it that stopped me? Certainly not myself.”

“If you despise us so much, you shouldn’t have begged to live here in the first place, shamelessly enjoying what we provide!” The General’s wife, eyes red, shouted. “Truly an ungrateful wolf!”

Si Qi laughed aloud and shot back: “Was it I who begged to live here? Wasn’t it you who dragged me from afar? And did I enjoy all this for nothing? Did you not take my blood, not slice my flesh? Or do you claim your son’s life-saving medicine is worth less than the food I eat? It was you who begged me to stay, too afraid to let me go. And now you twist it as if I were the one begging to remain?!”

Sir, take me to rebel (2): 

The crowd was stifled by Si Qi’s relentless questioning, their chests tight, their faces shifting between blue and white.

The general took a deep breath, forcing down his anger: “Exactly who did you hear these things from?”

“No need to hear it from anyone,” Si Qi shrugged. “I’ve survived on my own outside. How could I really be some fool?”

The faces of the few present grew unpleasant.

They normally had little interaction with Si Qi, so they didn’t know much about his personality. Their impression was only that he was a cowardly, useless good-for-nothing…

But looking at him now—fearless, sharp-tongued, and articulate—he looked nothing like the person they remembered.

Was it because they had pushed him to the brink? Was that why he was now lashing out recklessly?

But his current composure didn’t look like the desperation of someone cornered. His words were coherent, he clearly knew the truth long ago, and no matter how you looked at it, he didn’t resemble the timid, easily manipulated figure they once thought he was.

Could it be… he had been pretending all these years?

Pretending so well that everyone had believed his act? That level of calculation was terrifying!

Someone forced themselves to appear calm and asked, “If you knew what we intended to do to you, then why did you come back? Why did you stay here all these years without complaint? It makes no sense!”

Si Qi shrugged again: “Because I was young and hot-blooded, fond of fantasies. I thought maybe one day you would change your minds, and I could have some family… But since the mask is off, let’s stop pretending. With family like you who want me dead, I don’t dare want you at all.”

As he spoke, he rolled up his sleeves, revealing both arms covered in knife scars.

His arms were as thin as lotus roots, fragile as if they would snap with the slightest bend, yet they were densely covered with cuts.

The ugly scars—raised and sunken—made anyone’s scalp crawl just by looking.

Whoever saw those arms could easily imagine what this body had endured.

“Three years, one hundred and fifty cuts, one hundred and fifty bowls of blood.” Si Qi’s tone was cold, as if recounting someone else’s story, his voice devoid of warmth. “More than one hundred and fifty times, and not once did you regret your decision. Even a tiger won’t eat its cubs, yet you treated your own flesh and blood like livestock—slaughtering, butchering, cooking, devouring—without a shred of guilt. Worse than beasts.”

The servants all looked crazed—after hearing this today, how could they possibly survive?!

They didn’t regret watching their masters treat this boy so cruelly over the years. Even if some vaguely realized from the master’s words that the boy, as a living medicine vessel, was destined to die for the young master, none of them felt pity. How could another’s life outweigh their own livelihood?

But now that they thought they might die because of him, even pay with their own lives, they hated Si Qi to the bone. Why did he have to speak such things? Couldn’t he just shut up and obediently wait to die?!

Not one person felt guilty because of Si Qi’s words, including the general’s family blocking his way.

Everyone in this residence was mad. Or perhaps, in this era, powerful households were simply places where people were devoured whole. Those without power or influence died at the whim of the mighty—it was nothing unusual.

The general’s wife ignored Si Qi’s mockery, but she caught the rejection and resistance in his words, even his intention to leave. Her expression twisted grotesquely as she roared, “What are you trying to do? Leave? You’re not allowed to leave! You are my flesh and blood, you owe me your life! You must die for me! You beast, do you even know what filial piety is? Even if I killed you here and now, the authorities would not blame me—because I gave birth to you!”

Si Qi looked at the woman with an odd expression. “Is your brain alright? To say something like that… You think I’ll willingly die for you just because you birthed me? I’m not as muddle-headed as you, so biased you can’t tell right from wrong. Even if you dropped dead before me right now, I wouldn’t blink an eye.”

The general’s wife had never been spoken to so rudely. Her face flushed crimson, she clutched her precious son tightly and kept repeating, “No, I forbid it! You must save Yu’er, you must save him!!!”

Si Qi glanced at the little boy in her arms, crying pitifully like a kitten, and with a mocking smile said, “How should I save him? With my life? Don’t you always say this child is innocent and pure, unworldly? Well, I’ve told you already: every pill he eats each week is refined from my blood. For him to live, I must die. Do you think your so-called pure and innocent child would agree to that?”

The crowd jolted, turning their eyes toward the boy in the woman’s arms.

The child looked fragile, his face pale as though he might faint at any moment—if he fainted, he wouldn’t have to answer this difficult question.

Seeing his pitiful, wavering state, the crowd grew furious and shouted in unison at Si Qi: “Shut your mouth! How could you be so cruel to force him like this? You truly have a venomous heart!”

Si Qi found it hilarious and actually burst out laughing. The scissors in his hand trembled, making the others too afraid to act rashly, terrified he would threaten them with his own life again.

After laughing enough, he straightened and said, “Actually, you don’t need my blood. You have other options. As long as the blood is from the general’s direct descendants, it can make the pills. So why not use your own blood? Or kill this elder brother who dotes on his little brother so much—wouldn’t that work just as well?”

The young man who had been glaring at Si Qi stiffened. Noticing the sudden silence, his face turned uneasy. He looked incredulously at Si Qi, then at his parents.

The general and his wife also glanced at their son, a flash of complicated emotion crossing their faces.

Seeing this, the young man grew flustered and blurted, “Then why don’t you just have another child?”

The room fell so silent a pin could drop.

Even Si Qi was stunned by the absurd suggestion. He lowered his scissors and clapped. “Brilliant, brilliant—you really are a loving family! If one doesn’t work, just make another. Treat your womb like a furnace, your newborn children like edible tonics. Madam General, your womb is truly useful!”

The general’s wife reeled, dizzy with rage, and nearly slapped her eldest son. How could he say such a thing!

The eldest son also felt wronged. Wasn’t that exactly what his mother was doing now? And if Si Qi died, did they really expect him to die for Yu’er instead?

Si Qi ignored their inner grievances, flicked his wrist, and hurled the scissors like a dagger toward the general.

He moved so quickly the general almost couldn’t dodge. In haste, he raised his hand to block. His palm wasn’t pierced, but it was cut deeply. Blood gushed out, pain searing. “You… you wretch!”

Si Qi grinned. “Oh my, why are you covering the wound? That’s direct bloodline blood—don’t waste it. Quick, grab a bowl!”

His words stung like poison. As the masters barked at the servants to seize him, Si Qi dodged and shouted, “If you restrain me, the first thing your masters will do is kill you to silence you! Why not use this chance, while I’m distracting them, to run? Instead, you’re rushing to catch me—what are you thinking?”

At his words, many servants unconsciously slowed down.

Some exchanged glances with familiar companions, then stopped in their tracks and bolted!

“Stop!”

“Don’t you dare run!”

“Catch them!!”

The panic of the generals’ family only confirmed the servants’ suspicions. They knew these people feared them spreading the truth and would surely kill them all. If they didn’t run… were they really going to stay and wait for death?!

“You—!”

“What about me?” Si Qi lunged forward, kicking back the general and his family as they tried to stop the fleeing servants. While they gaped in disbelief, he exchanged several blows with them, knocking them down again and again.

—When had this brat learned such martial skills?!

Clutching their wounds, eyes bloodshot, they were both shocked and enraged.

Si Qi planted a foot on his elder brother’s chest, pressing until the man nearly coughed blood, and said leisurely, “For a general’s household, your martial arts are pathetic. Aren’t you afraid of shaming your ancestors? Then again, given how you torment your descendants, your ancestors must have died of fury already. If they could rise from the grave, you’d be the first they’d punish!”

In this era, people took ancestors and filial piety very seriously. At his words, everyone froze, suddenly imagining facing their ancestors in the afterlife, enduring their wrath…

The more they thought about it, the more uneasy they became, slowly climbing to their feet. Looking around the small courtyard, they realized all the servants had fled. Once outside, to protect themselves, they would certainly reveal everything they had seen and heard, leaving the general’s household overwhelmed and powerless to pursue them.

And Yu’er’s identity would be exposed…

The general’s wife held her child tightly, glaring at Si Qi while retreating, terrified he would harm her precious boy.

Meanwhile, the eldest son writhed underfoot, trying again and again to rise. Though trained in martial arts since youth, muscular and strong, he was powerless against this scrawny boy not even a meter tall. Rage and humiliation burned in him.

He turned his head, hoping his family would help, only to see his mother cradling his younger brother far away, watching warily without the slightest concern for him. A sharp pain stabbed his heart.

He too was her son. He had been dutiful and filial all these years. Yet when he was humiliated and beaten, she only cared that Yu’er remained unscathed…

While he thought this, Si Qi suddenly spoke above him: “There is a kind of fate called ‘the cuckoo’s brood.’”

Ignoring whether they wanted to listen, he continued, “The cuckoo is peculiar—it doesn’t hatch its own eggs. Instead, during breeding season, it finds a host and lays its eggs in the host’s nest. When the cuckoo chick hatches, if it finds other chicks in the nest, it pushes them out to die, taking over the nest for itself. The foster parents then tirelessly raise the killer of their own children, even when it grows larger than themselves, feeding it until it finally flies away.”

Not once did Si Qi mention anyone by name, but everyone understood his meaning.

Someone instinctively wanted to defend the innocent boy, but Si Qi gave them no chance and went on: “Si Yu is weak because your ancestors sacrificed themselves to shield this household, using the family’s fortune to ward off evil. They didn’t want their bloodline tainted, and they saw his ill-fated destiny, so they warned you this way—or tried to snuff it out early. But when you learned the truth, you didn’t repent. Instead, you insisted on killing your own son, using his blood and flesh to raise this cuckoo chick. And none of you ever thought something was wrong?”

The few people present felt their hearts tremble.

Of course, they understood what Si Qi meant. But their deeply ingrained obsession made them subconsciously feel that Si Qi was spouting nonsense. After all, everything had been done by them, the adults—Yu’er had never taken part. Such a pure and kind child, how could he possibly…

The general’s wife was furious: “Stop trying to sow discord here!”

“How is that sowing discord?” Si Qi looked at her with a half-smile. “That sorcerer must have told you that Si Yu’s future would be limitless, right? But did he ever tell you what fate awaited your general’s household afterward? That sorcerer saw through this boy’s destiny and wanted to curry favor with him. Naturally, he wouldn’t tell you the truth. Just as you hid everything from me and made me his sacrifice, the sorcerer chose to sacrifice you, turning you into his nourishment.”

The more they listened, the less they could bear it. They shouted at Si Qi to shut up and rushed forward to strike him.

One by one, they were all kicked back by Si Qi.

They suddenly realized Si Qi must have known the truth long ago but chose to remain silent. Otherwise, with his ability, if he hadn’t wanted to bleed and only wanted to escape, who could have stopped him?

“Believe it or not, it won’t be me who suffers later.” After watching the servants scatter far away, Si Qi brushed the dust off his shoulder casually. “That’s all I have to say. If you want to keep protecting him, then cut your own flesh and blood to save him. I hope that when we meet next time, you’ll still be alive and in one piece.”

Having said that, regardless of how ugly their expressions were, Si Qi swaggered out of the little courtyard and soon disappeared from sight.

The general’s wife instinctively stepped forward, trying to stop him. But afraid he would strike her or her child, she could only look anxiously at her husband: “How could you just let him go? If he leaves, what about Yu’er?!”

The general was wracked with pain, his clothes and hands soaked with his own blood, making him look utterly wretched.

Hearing his wife’s complaint, his face twisted fiercely. “Find him! Find him at once! I don’t believe a brat like him can get very far!”

But there were countless places Si Qi could go.

If he wanted, he could hop into a mech that very afternoon and take a holiday on the opposite continent of the planet without a problem.

Yet each time he went somewhere, Chu Feng would somehow appear nearby. Since he wanted to find Chu Feng, Si Qi never deliberately strayed too far from the capital.

From the World Tree’s leaves, he retrieved a few miniature monitors and handed them to Xiu Xiu to manage, asking him to watch for signs of Chu Feng’s appearance in or near the capital, or for anyone mentioning Chu Feng’s name. With that, Si Qi left the general’s residence.

When he had studied this world line earlier, Si Qi noticed something unusual. The people here vaguely perceived the existence of world power and called it fortune, using it for many things.

Those who used world power were called sorcerers.

Sorcerers were usually poor at combat but excelled in divination, healing, and similar arts. They could, for example, transfer bones, talents, fate, or lifespan from one person to another, or sacrifice some lives to contribute their future to the dynasty, ensuring its strength for centuries.

Why did the general’s household always require the original body to participate in the New Year sacrifices? Because the more bloodline members participated, the stronger the ritual became. Through these sacrifices, they could strengthen their ancestors’ power and maintain the family’s fortune. Fortune, in turn, protected their bloodline descendants from harm.

That was why the original child, despite the high infant mortality rate in that era, had survived safely until the day his parents found him—thanks to the protection of the general’s fortune.

Meanwhile, the impostor child had been frail since birth because fortune rejected him.

But he was born with a cuckoo’s fate, loved by all. His deranged elders wanted to kill their own kin for his sake, swapping destinies between the two, ultimately causing the original child’s death.

Afterward, that child successfully took the original’s place, was accepted by the general’s fortune, and effortlessly ascended in status like a carp leaping over the dragon gate.

Not long after, he encountered a badly injured, hideous-looking youth. Concerned about others’ gazes and being kind-hearted, he saved him.

As fate would have it, that youth was the world’s Child of Destiny. The emperor had ordered his assassination, and he had barely survived. Grateful to the one who saved him, he remembered Si Yu deeply.

But he distrusted the general’s family. Before he had even seen Si Yu clearly, he slipped away secretly that very night to hide.

The Child of Destiny fled to the remote regions of the Qiu dynasty, where famine and disasters abounded. Many desperate commoners had risen in rebellion. He eagerly joined them and led them in a march on the capital.

For years, the Qiu dynasty was ravaged by famine and war until the Child of Destiny finally stormed the palace, personally killed his siblings and father, and founded a new dynasty as emperor.

His first order of business was to hunt down and kill every sorcerer in the land. Then he sought out Si Yu, who had once saved his life.

He even publicly declared that the general’s family would continue to prosper in the new dynasty, even rise higher—just as that sorcerer had once foretold.

The Si family rejoiced at the news, praising Si Yu as a bringer of fortune, saying the sorcerer had been entirely correct, and congratulating themselves for having made the right choice back then.

But Si Yu, noting the new emperor’s hatred of sorcerers, investigated the reason and panicked when he learned the truth.

When the emperor was born, sorcerers had praised his immense fortune and divine favor, claiming he would one day be a wise ruler.

But the old emperor grew jealous, coveted his son’s fortune, and made him a sacrifice—having sorcerers drain his blood, swap his bones, fate, and lifespan to extend his own. He nearly died several times as a result.

Could such a man tolerate Si Yu, who had stolen another’s destiny, flaunting himself before him? He had killed his own father; why would he spare Si Yu? This secret had to stay buried!

So Si Yu advised the new emperor not to show leniency to the general’s family because of him. He even recounted their many recent misdeeds, urging the emperor to wipe out his entire clan.

Seeing Si Yu’s resentment toward them, the emperor naturally didn’t hold back.

One moment the Si family was celebrating, and the next they were arrested and thrown into prison.

Panic-stricken, they realized Si Yu was not among those captured. Desperate, they tried to contact him, begging for his help.

When Si Yu saw them, he wept, promised wholeheartedly to save them, and once reassured they wouldn’t expose his past, he happily inherited all the family’s wealth and lived comfortably outside.

He thought all he had to do was wait until the execution day to watch their heads roll.

Perhaps those fools would even cry out for him to take care of himself before they died.

Then the new emperor personally led soldiers to capture him, threw him into prison with his family, and listened coldly as they all wailed together.

It turned out that after the soldiers captured the sorcerers, the emperor ordered them to reveal all the corrupt nobles they had colluded with, confessing their crimes—including the filth committed by the general’s household years ago.

The emperor, hardened by years of schemes and struggles, saw through Si Yu’s petty tricks easily. This man was just as disgusting as his father.

After capturing Si Yu, the emperor revealed to the Si family the very words Si Yu had said to him earlier, even stating that he had originally intended to let the general’s household flourish. But because Si Yu feared exposure, he had begged the emperor to kill them.

When they heard this, the Si family went mad.

The elders who had doted on Si Yu their whole lives fainted on the spot from shock.

The younger ones, consumed with hatred, cried out, “How has our Si family ever wronged you?” while clawing and biting at Si Yu, tearing his flesh until he was half-dead, living in the prison in torment worse than death.

Later, the new emperor busied himself with exterminating sorcerers, erasing all traces of their existence. The sorcerers’ lineage was cut off. Many cursed him as cruel and tyrannical, unworthy of being emperor. Centuries later, when people learned how powerful sorcerers once were, they too cursed the foolish, brutal “dog emperor” who had ruined everything for personal vengeance.

But amid all the scolding, he struggled to guard this land drained of fortune and ravaged by disasters. On the ruins, he built a new dynasty. Breaking first, then rebuilding, he barely carried the world through what had been, for its consciousness, the worst of times.

My Live Broadcast Room Can Teach You Everything (14): 

Li Zhaoran was a little puzzled as to why Si Qi would react this way.

Not only him, but also the classmates around who had a decent relationship with Si Qi were confused. They didn’t expect Si Qi to be so gentle toward his uncle, yet so cold and indifferent toward his own biological father.

Si Qi often appeared in public, and the impression he left was always extremely positive. Nobody thought Si Qi was the type to deliberately show someone a bad face. At this moment, they didn’t associate him with anything negative. On the contrary, some even secretly wondered if Si Yishan had done something behind the scenes, like helping Si Yuan vent his anger by teaching Si Qi a lesson, which would explain why Si Qi had such an attitude toward him.

Li Zhaoran thought of this, and asked indirectly, pretending to be casual: “Before you knew who Xiao Qi really was, did you do something that upset him?”

Si Yishan’s face was stern, and his tone wasn’t pleasant: “I only spoke a few words to him on the day of the entrance exam.”

Li Zhaoran gave an “oh,” and unreasonably said: “Then it must have been that time. Your actions indirectly led to Xiao Qi being bullied at school…”

Si Yishan’s expression darkened.

He wanted to say this had nothing to do with him, that the one who did wrong was Si Yuan, not him.

But he knew better than anyone that this really was something he had deliberately orchestrated. He had wanted Si Yuan to target Si Qi so he himself could benefit from the chaos.

Who would have thought it would all turn out like this.

Who was the bastard who, over such a trivial matter, went to Li Zhaoran and tattled?

He shot a cold glance at Si Yuan, the chill in his eyes sharp as ice. Si Yuan instinctively shivered, his face showing fear.

Si Yuan knew he was finished. Whether it was his stolen identity as a fake young master, or his attempts over the past period to poison and kill the real one, any of those were enough to make his father deal with him personally.

His illegitimate brothers wouldn’t let this chance slip either. Everything he had once done to them would now be paid back in full.

His lips trembled as he tried to speak to his father, hoping for even the slightest shred of pity.

But just as the word “Dad” left his mouth, the man turned and walked away without looking back, treating him as if he were air, leaving him frozen in place, enduring the murmurs of those around.

None of his lackeys came forward to speak to him, nor to escort him somewhere private for comfort. When their eyes met his, they only showed disgust, eager to cut ties with him.

These were people who had only followed him to flaunt power because of the influence behind him. Now that he had lost his prestigious background, they abandoned him faster than anyone.

Worse still, if Si Qi showed even a hint of dislike toward him, these same lackeys—who used to flatter him—would happily step on him to climb higher, “avenging” Si Qi just to curry favor.

After all, they had once used the same method—helping Si Yuan go against Si Qi—to get close to him.

The more Si Yuan thought about it, the more suffocated he felt. He couldn’t bear to face everyone anymore, so he covered his face and fled to a hidden corner where no one could see him, weeping bitterly.

Meanwhile, on Si Qi’s side—

After Si Yishan left, Li Zhaoran didn’t want to stay and get entangled with Si Yuan either, so he left as well.

He went to Si Qi, who was getting along harmoniously with Chu Feng, nothing like the icy attitude he had shown Si Yishan earlier. Li Zhaoran approached and asked with concern, “Xiao Qi, were you upset just now?”

Si Qi didn’t hide it, and nodded. “A little.”

Li Zhaoran sat down nearby and asked gently, “You’re a sensible child. You’ve said before you don’t blame us for what happened back then, so if you’re reacting this way, it must be for another reason, right? Can you tell your uncle?”

His tone was warm, his eyes full of reassurance, as if to say, “Just speak, don’t be afraid, your uncle will believe you.” It gave a strong sense of safety.

Seeing this, Si Qi sighed inwardly, feeling it unfair for Li Zhaoran.

He didn’t understand how, with Li Zhaoran treating his juniors so kindly, Si Yuan could have such baseless insecurity, betraying him so righteously. Si Qi said, “You know the kind of environment I grew up in. It made me very sensitive to malice. I can tell who treats me well and who doesn’t. That’s why I trust you and Chu Feng completely, but…”

He frowned slightly and said with puzzlement: “Whether it was when we met at the start of school, or just now, even including the encounter with those two patrol officers, General Si always gives me a very bad feeling. It’s even stronger than Si Yuan’s hostility.”

Li Zhaoran, hearing this, didn’t dismiss his intuition as laughable or deny it with old-fashioned views, but instead thought carefully, mulling over Si Yishan’s behavior recently.

When discussing Si Qi, the man always seemed eager for him to come home, with no sign of dislike.

He tentatively asked: “Could it be a misunderstanding?”

Si Qi shook his head firmly. “Since childhood, this intuition has helped me avoid many troubles. I trust my own judgment.”

Li Zhaoran felt troubled, not knowing how to persuade him.

Privately, he still hoped Si Qi could build a better relationship with Si Yishan, since that would help his future development.

But Chu Feng had a different view: “If Xiao Qi feels uncomfortable being around his father, why force him to? He’s already an adult, he can live independently.”

Li Zhaoran fell silent.

Thinking carefully, he realized that was true. With Si Qi’s intelligence, and with the Li and Chu families supporting him, Si Qi would do well even without relying on Si Yishan’s connections.

Besides, what could be more important than Si Qi’s own wishes?

Having thought it through, Li Zhaoran said to Si Qi, “In that case, just take your time with your father. There’s no rush.”

Si Qi smiled at this.

The shocking reversal of Si Qi and Si Yuan’s identities spread across the entire starnet within just an hour after the exam ended.

Si Qi had already been a well-known rising star in the Alliance, and his inspirational story was widely remembered.

Many parents used his background to motivate their children: if Si Qi, without parents, growing up in harsh conditions on a remote planet, could rely on himself to enter the Alliance’s best university and change his life, what excuse did their own kids have not to work hard?

Now that his true identity was exposed, with dramatic elements of a grassroots child switching places with a rich heir and family feuds, the story became even more sensational. The videos of Si Yuan being slapped down by two elders delighted Si Qi’s fans, who celebrated that the bully finally got what he deserved, losing the backing he had relied on.

Some even used this as an excuse to push bloodline theory: among so many children on remote planets, why was it only Si Qi who succeeded? Surely it was because he inherited the general’s bloodline!

Those who believed ordinary people could succeed through hard work were indignant: “Does the general also excel at making games? Does the general also excel at teaching? Si Qi is outstanding because of his own efforts—what does bloodline have to do with it?”

“Si Qi grew up without eating a single grain from the general’s household, and his attitude toward the general is lukewarm at best. Why are you so eager to credit all of Si Qi’s achievements to Si Yishan? Can’t the boy succeed on his own merits?”

When confronted, those insisting it was due to genetics hastily backpedaled: “I was just saying casually…”

Others, embarrassed by the rebuttal, lashed out at Si Qi instead: “They say he was born but never raised properly by his mother, and it shows. Look how cold he is to his own father—obviously his character is bad!”

“Maybe the friendly face he shows others is just an act. A person who doesn’t even care about his own father, would he really care about strangers?”

As such voices grew, some netizens who didn’t understand why Si Qi rejected Si Yishan began to feel doubt.

They couldn’t figure it out: why would such an outstanding general be rejected by his son?

But in truth, those were the minority. As reports spread of Si Qi being warmly received at the Li family home and by the Alliance’s Chief Executive (Chu Feng’s father), showered with lavish gifts like gemstones, villas, islands, and company shares, online discussions escalated.

Soon, netizens uncovered the masterminds behind the baby swap that had placed Si Yuan in the general’s household instead of Si Qi.

The Zhang family’s businesses were immediately hit with a massive boycott. Their products and companies were listed out in detail and marked with big red crosses.

Students and parents who had once benefited from Si Qi, office workers who had played his games—once they learned of the Zhang family’s ugly deeds, how they had tried to kill one baby and forced another into poisoning his adoptive father—were utterly disgusted and lost all goodwill toward them.

The Alliance’s enforcement agencies struck swiftly, investigating all of the Zhang family’s businesses and uncovering numerous illegal activities. Most of the main decision-makers were arrested, leaving only a few younger members uninvolved in the family business to hurriedly take over the mess, forced to handle problems too large even for adults.

Worse, the secret data they had stolen from the Li family was fake. The project they had invested heavily in was doomed from the start. Even though they pulled out after Si Qi’s identity was exposed, all the money they had sunk was lost.

Meanwhile, the Li family and other forces eyeing Zhang family’s wealth pounced like wolves, carving up their fortune and seizing huge chunks of their market. In the blink of an eye, the once-mighty conglomerate was reduced to barely surviving, its wealth shrunk to just one percent of what it had been.

Like the Zhang family’s desperate juniors, Si Yuan’s life also became miserable.

He had thought that, having sacrificed so much for the Zhangs, they wouldn’t abandon him and would surely reward him.

But within days, their leaders were all arrested, and his father too was jailed for his role in the baby swap. Si Yuan could no longer count on him.

So he went to the Zhangs, bringing recordings of his conversations with his father, revealing how the Zhangs had instructed him to steal company secrets and poison his adoptive father. He tried to use this as leverage to demand hush money.

But instead of getting what he wanted, he walked into a trap. The furious Zhang juniors, already under heavy attack from outside forces, blamed him for everything. They believed it was his incompetence that had ruined them—provoking Si Qi, exposing his identity early, and ruining their years of planning.

Even the disastrous investment was his fault, they said. He had stolen the fake data and handed it to them, letting them fall into the Li family’s trap and lose everything.

Otherwise, they could have at least gathered enough funds to resist their rivals instead of being left with nothing.

It was all Si Yuan’s fault!

The moment they saw him, they ordered the butler to capture him. A group of them swarmed him, beating and cursing, saying he must have deliberately sided with the Lis, calling him a lowly illegitimate child, unworthy to even call himself a Zhang.

They mocked him for thinking he could threaten them with such evidence. “It was your father who did all that. If you want to cause trouble, go find him. At worst he’ll serve a longer sentence—who cares?”

But as for Si Yuan, since he was complicit, the evidence would only implicate him further, landing him in prison too.

Beaten black and blue, he was thrown out of the Zhang estate, unable to move.

The sight of him lying on the ground, barely clinging to life, was strikingly similar to how helpless the original host had looked in the examination hall.

Everyone knew that Si Yuan was destined never to rise again in this lifetime.

Because of his numerous misdeeds, he would be persuaded to withdraw from school. The illegitimate children and those he had once harmed would try every possible way to suppress and retaliate against him. No employer would welcome someone so morally corrupt into their business. His only way out would be to wait until the storm passed, then go into hiding on some remote, backward planet where nobody knew him, living in constant fear that his true identity might be discovered.

Perhaps he would still go online, where he might come across news about Si Qi.

The more famous and accomplished Si Qi became, the more unbearable it would be for him. He would not be able to resist imagining: if he had not provoked Si Qi back then, would he still be the Si family’s eldest young master? Would Li Zhaoran have never discovered that his nephew was actually Si Qi?

Even if Si Qi lived gloriously under his very nose, praised by everyone, what did that really matter to Si Yuan? Why had he been so shortsighted as to make trouble for Si Qi in the first place?

Unfortunately, regret was useless now. All he could do was spend the rest of his life reliving that bitter torment.

And it wasn’t just Si Yuan who was depressed—Si Yishan was as well.

These days, he had been trying to approach Si Qi, hoping to lower his guard.

But for some reason, Si Qi refused to give him the slightest chance, not even basic courtesy. When he saw him, he wouldn’t even speak. This angered him greatly, yet under the eyes of others, he could do nothing. He couldn’t even openly fall out with Si Qi, much less threaten or pressure him. On the contrary, he had to keep talking to him politely.

But Si Qi was no longer the boy who had just arrived in the capital star. Now, with both the Li and Chu families protecting him, and his own fame spreading far and wide at such a young age, the influence of the General’s Mansion meant nothing to him.

Even when Si Yishan swallowed his pride and said, “Everything that belongs to your father is yours. It will all be left to you. As long as you come home and live with your father, I will be satisfied and want nothing else,” Si Qi remained indifferent.

It was an offer others would kill for, yet Si Qi just stared at him with a blank face, unmoved.

At one point, when Si Yishan was particularly emotional, Si Qi even clapped for him—clapping with a look of admiration, as if praising his progress—and then casually reached into his pocket, as though preparing to reward him with two coins.

Si Yishan was furious. After being rebuffed again and again, he lost face everywhere.

Finally, he realized that Si Qi truly wanted nothing to do with him. The more he thought about how he had once humbled himself to speak with Si Qi, the angrier he became.

At that moment, the doctor told him his mental power was deteriorating rapidly. If he didn’t undergo surgery within a month, he would completely lose it, and his intelligence might even be affected.

The so-called Son of the World did have a backup plan. Among his illegitimate children was one who had also awakened mental power and was fairly compatible with him. The child’s mother was a vain woman who cared more about the benefits the child could bring than the child himself. Taking the boy away for surgery would be easy.

But the boy’s mental power was only at level E. The Son of the World disdained such a weak level. Even if the surgery succeeded, his own strength would be greatly reduced. Having grown accustomed to holding power and superiority, he could not accept such humiliation. Unless absolutely necessary, he would never settle for that option.

As time passed, with no sign of Si Qi softening, the Son of the World grew increasingly impatient and began to hate him.

He no longer cared about preserving Si Qi’s life or maintaining ties with the Li family. He only wanted Si Qi dead—dead so that his organs could still be harvested while viable and placed on the operating table.

Thus, he gave up on compromise and stopped approaching Si Qi directly.

Instead, he had his men stir up public opinion online, riling up netizens to condemn Si Qi for ignoring familial ties, for repeatedly showing disrespect to his biological father in public. Even if he did not wish to honor his father, should he not at least respect a national hero?

They argued that just because of a schemer’s trick years ago, Si Qi now hated his father to the core. Even when his father begged him to come home, he refused—was he not thinking too highly of himself?

They called him nothing more than an internet celebrity, famous for being a young prodigy, yet arrogant enough to disregard his elders. Clearly, his character was flawed.

Under the push of paid trolls, such voices multiplied, until it seemed as if the whole world condemned Si Qi. Many insisted that if he wanted to remain beloved online, he had to listen to public opinion and reconcile with his father.

The Son of the World thought his plan was flawless. Seeing the relentless criticism, he believed Si Qi would soon cave in, humiliated and apologetic.

But to his surprise, Si Qi simply didn’t care.

Whether praised or scolded, he went on living as he always did—uploading videos on schedule, updating his game, visiting elders and accompanying them on outings, exploring new fields in his spare time, and sharing his insights online.

The online chatter seemed completely irrelevant to him. He ignored all the insults and condemnations, treating the trolls like air.

If he didn’t even look at their words, what effect could they have?

The trolls, frustrated, grew anxious. If they couldn’t crush Si Qi, then they themselves would be in trouble when their employers saw their failure.

So they turned to attacking those around him, hoping to cause pain through the people he cared about.

Li Zhaoran, angered by the situation, even went to Si Yishan and urged him to clarify matters publicly so that Si Qi wouldn’t be put in such an awkward position.

Si Yishan outwardly agreed, and in his social circles, he casually mentioned it to a few high-ranking figures. He put on a bitter smile, making them feel sorry for him. They concluded that since he wasn’t at fault for what happened years ago, it was unreasonable for Si Qi to hate his own father so much.

Later, when Li Zhaoran heard these same influential figures speaking with dissatisfaction toward Si Qi, he was furious.

He thought bitterly that it would have been better not to explain at all. Now even elders who rarely paid attention to the internet were starting to dislike Si Qi.

If Si Yishan truly cared about Si Qi’s reputation, he could easily have recorded a video saying, “This is a family matter. Si Qi is still young, struggling to process his feelings and accept me as his father. Please don’t be too harsh on him.”

How hard could that be?

The more Li Zhaoran thought about it, the angrier he became. Just as he was about to confront Si Yishan again, several of the general’s medical records suddenly leaked online.

The records stated in detail that years ago, a certain General Si had developed a brain condition. His mental power was steadily deteriorating due to organ failure, and he would soon lose it entirely, even risking intellectual decline.

In short, before long, the general would be unable to pilot mechs or command troops, and if the illness worsened, he would become mentally disabled.

The news shocked the entire internet.

People began reminiscing about Si Yishan’s past achievements. Articles and videos praising his contributions flooded in. Overnight, the public grieved for him and sincerely offered prayers.

Even some of Si Qi’s most loyal fans, who had supported his decision not to return to the Si family, began to waver.

Together with the trolls, they gently urged Si Qi to return home and spend time with his father. After all, his father was already gravely ill and had little time left.

If he regretted it later, it would be too late.

But Si Qi, who had long known about the Son of the World’s illness and who had personally leaked the records online, only laughed brightly at the public’s reaction.

In his mind, Xiu Xiu projected Si Yishan’s furious outburst into his consciousness space: Si Yishan had overturned a table in rage, terrifying his subordinates into silence.

His longtime colleagues, alarmed, called him, angrily questioning why he hadn’t disclosed his illness earlier. What if their enemies exploited this now? How were they supposed to handle it unprepared?

They also shouted about who would command his forces once he collapsed, and why he had been foolish enough to let his medical records leak.

Their words dripped with disdain, treating him like a useless liability who had dragged them all down.

Si Yishan, seething, could only grit his teeth and insist that the records were fake.

But they only sneered, mocking him. Did he think seasoned veterans like them couldn’t tell real from fake? He might fool others, but not them. Clearly, he no longer treated them as allies.

Unable to explain, he was ridiculed and angrily hung up the phone.

He ordered an investigation into who had leaked the records and interrogated the terrified doctor for hours, but learned nothing.

Overwhelmed by the crisis, he was even preparing for the worst—resorting to transplanting that child’s brain organ if he had no other choice.

Meanwhile, at the very height of the public’s sympathy for the Son of the World, Si Qi uploaded several new videos.

From that point, events spiraled completely out of control.

My Live Broadcast Room Can Teach You Everything (15): 

The video showed several conversations between Si Yishan and his private doctor after his illness had been diagnosed in recent years.

In the footage, he looked noticeably younger than he does now, sitting on a stark white hospital bed, head slightly lowered as he studied the test results before him.

The doctor stood nearby explaining his condition. Perhaps because Si Yishan’s expression was so grim, the doctor’s tone carried a hint of persuasion: “You’ve been using mental power in combat for too long, overdrawing the vitality of your organs. That’s why—”

The man on the bed lifted his head, eyes sharp and icy, and cut him off: “How can it be cured?”

The doctor froze, seemingly rattled by his gaze, then after a pause said: “To… to cure it would be very difficult. Your organs are already beginning to atrophy. This process can’t be reversed. My suggestion is to refrain from using mental power from now on. That might buy you more time…”

Si Yishan remained silent, his expression downright terrifying. His gaze was dark and oppressive as he looked at the doctor who had brought him such news, his voice sounding as though it had come from hell itself: “You mean that even if I stop using mental power, I’m destined to become a cripple—or a vegetable?”

The doctor looked at him with a troubled expression. His silence said everything.

Si Yishan put away the medical records in his hand and ordered: “This is confidential. Destroy all my test reports immediately.”

Knowing Si Yishan’s status, the doctor understood the matter could not be leaked. Fearing trouble, he quickly agreed and complied.

When the doctor turned back to say all records had been deleted, and Si Yishan had already left the consultation room, he sat alone in his office, shaking his head regretfully. How could a great hero have fallen ill with such a disease? Heaven was truly unfair.

The next second, however, a group of people burst unannounced into his office. They seized the panicked doctor and dragged him away. Within moments, the room on camera was empty.

At first, viewers didn’t think much of it, sharing the doctor’s regret that such a great general had fallen ill. But when the doctor was suddenly dragged away, everyone felt a jolt of unease. Something wasn’t right.

The video ended by showing updates from the doctor’s family: they had reported his sudden disappearance to the police, searched for years without finding any trace of him, and the investigation turned up no leads.

Viewers were dumbfounded, spamming the screen with frantic comments.

“Wait, this doctor was kidnapped? No news for years—was he silenced?! How can things like this still happen today? This is horrifying!!”

“The surveillance timestamp matches the year he disappeared…”

“Too terrifying. To kidnap and kill just for this? Even if he’s a general, he can’t do whatever he pleases. What does he think we ordinary people are?”

“I was this doctor’s colleague. After he disappeared, his family came to the hospital many times. His daughter was only six then, crying in the hospital for her father. It was heartbreaking. We even helped put up missing person notices. Who knew I’d see him here…”

People were furious, flooding departments with the video, demanding a full investigation.

At the same time, they hurriedly clicked to the next video, desperate to see what other unspeakable things the man they once prayed for had done.

In the next clip, Si Yishan was speaking with a doctor in his forties or fifties. Two reports lay between them—one from the previous video, the other newly produced.

The doctor, after carefully reading and analyzing, said: “Your condition is already extremely severe. The best you can hope for is conservative treatment to prolong your life for a few more years.”

Si Yishan didn’t even blink, replying coldly: “I didn’t bring you here to hear you tell me to accept fate. I want a result that satisfies me.”

The doctor didn’t argue with his attitude. After some hesitation, he said slowly: “There may be one possible method.”

“Speak.”

“Organ transplant.”

Si Yishan shifted into a more comfortable posture, lifted his chin slightly, signaling him to go on.

The doctor, seeing no change in expression, emphasized: “But for brain tissue… removing it would cause extremely serious consequences for the donor. At best, they would become an idiot who knows nothing…”

Si Yishan sneered, his meaning clear.

The doctor pursed his lips and stopped wasting words. A man who had already threatened his family and dragged him here for something so secret would never spare him afterward. He could not expect morality.

He could only say: “You want organ transplants to restore your mental power. Artificial organs won’t work. Ordinary people’s organs won’t either. They must come from someone whose mental power waves closely match yours. Which means the donor must be a blood relative.”

This time, Si Yishan didn’t sneer. He paused, thought for a few seconds, then nodded. “I happen to have a son. His mental power level is quite good.”

The doctor had nothing left to say. With a silent sigh, he lowered his head and resigned himself: “You can bring him in for testing, to see if he’s compatible with you.”

The video cut off there, freezing on Si Yishan’s indifferent face.

The internet exploded.

“Bastard! He’s a monster!!”

“Even a tiger won’t eat its cubs, and he’s a man!”

“Wait, this was years ago, right? Then the ‘son’ he mentioned—was that Si Yuan? But Si Yuan isn’t his biological son. So… so now he’s targeting Si Qi?!!!”

“No wonder the internet’s been attacking Si Qi lately, like the whole world’s forcing him to go home, saying if he doesn’t, he’s not worthy of being human. It was all a conspiracy to trick him back for organ harvesting!!”

“I was brainwashed by those comments too. I even told Si Qi to go home and be filial to his dying father. Damn it, so this is what ‘filial piety’ means?!”

“He never once fulfilled his responsibility as a father, and now that he needs his child’s brain, he suddenly plays the doting parent, talking about father-son reunion—disgusting!!”

“Well, Si Yuan must feel lucky now. He lost his status as the eldest young master for not being Si Yishan’s son, but at least he survived.”

“So Si Yishan knew years ago that Si Yuan wasn’t his son??? Then he must’ve also known Si Qi was! That meeting at the start of term—wasn’t coincidence, was it? He did it on purpose?! To hide the truth and secretly target Si Qi?!!”

“The more I think, the scarier it gets. This goes too deep.”

“If today’s videos hadn’t come out, wouldn’t Si Qi soon have been forced to move into the Si household? Wouldn’t he then one day ‘suddenly’ vanish from the public eye, or ‘accidentally’ die, so naturally no one would suspect?”

“@Chu Lizhaoran, come see this!!! Si Yishan’s going to kill Si Qi!!”

Viewers were horrified.

Some said, thank goodness the transplant could only work with blood relatives. Otherwise, with so many gifted people over the years, Si Yishan would have already snatched some of them and dragged them into an operating room.

Others said, now that his illness was exposed, everyone knew the truth. If he suddenly recovered, it would mean he had secretly harmed someone. They vowed to watch him deteriorate into disability.

The more people had once hoped the so-called Child of Heaven would be healthy, the more they now hoped his condition would worsen.

What shocked them most was that there weren’t just these two videos—there were many more.

Some who had already watched ahead ran to the comments to accuse:

“Si Yishan isn’t human! After discovering Si Yuan wasn’t his son, he didn’t expose the truth, afraid the Li family would trace it back to Si Qi. He deliberately hid it to protect his real son first!”

“All these years, he’s been seeking lovers, making them bear him illegitimate children—over a dozen in total!! Damn it, is he a stud horse? And he didn’t want those children to grow up healthy, but to harvest their organs! What did he take them for? Walking organ farms? Born only to give up their lives to Si Yishan?!”

“I can guarantee that when Si Yishan saw Si Qi, what he thought about wasn’t how to make it up to him, how to protect him, or how to let him live a good life. What he thought was how to knock Si Qi out, tie him up, drag him into the operating room, steal his gift, and transplant Si Qi’s organs into his own body. Maybe, to prevent Si Qi’s uncle from noticing the surgical scars, he’d even go so far as to make sure Si Qi’s corpse couldn’t be found.”

“That doctor already said it very clearly—the surgery would cause enormous harm to the donor. But Si Yishan didn’t care at all! He never once considered Si Qi’s future! Yes, his achievements are impressive, but when he was eighteen, he was just an ordinary student. Compared to Si Qi, he was nothing! What right does he have to demand Si Qi’s sacrifice? What right does he have to call himself Si Qi’s father? Even if he is his biological father, did he ever raise him? At most he just provided a sperm cell!!”

“Heh. When I saw him holding those one-month-old babies and putting them on machines so doctors could test their brains, I felt a chill down my spine. Didn’t he feel guilty? They were so tiny, so fragile that you’d be scared to hold them too tightly—yet he felt nothing, repeating the same thing more than ten times!!”

“These children must be protected. If that beast gets desperate, what if he just picks one at random for transplant? The doctor said himself there were two children who could be donors—it just wouldn’t be as effective as using Si Qi.”

“Stop, I feel like my whole worldview is shattering.”

“I just went to look at Si Qi’s social media. It’s nothing but endless abuse, everyone forcing him to return to the Si family. I really can’t take it…”

“If it weren’t for Si Qi’s firm character, his indifference to online gossip, if it were anyone else in his place, they’d probably already be dead, right?”

“Ha! Using netizens’ sympathy to morally blackmail Si Qi. After everyone learned about his illness, they even made videos praying for him… pfft! All that talk about living with Si Qi, making up for lost fatherly love—it was just a ploy to lure him home and kill him! I was insane enough to scold Si Qi back then too. I must have been out of my mind!”

“Did you all see those last two videos? Si Yishan learned who Si Qi was from his school admission medical exam, then ‘accidentally’ ran into him on campus. That was no accident, it was deliberate! And later, even Si Yuan’s schemes against Si Qi were orchestrated by him behind the scenes. Otherwise, how could it all have lined up so conveniently, with the Zhang family learning Si Qi’s true identity from Si Yuan?”

“I used to admire Si Yishan. Now just thinking about it makes me sick.”

“The family of that first doctor already knows about this. My god, they look so pitiful. [Video.AVI]”

“I think Si Qi must have realized something, that’s why he absolutely refused to go home. Otherwise, why would he treat his uncle and Si Yishan so differently? As expected, he’s the smart one.”

Online, people were furious, their anger boiling over. Offline, all the relevant departments moved quickly, restraining Si Yishan the moment he tried to salvage the situation.

Chu Feng personally led the operation, holding the governor’s signed authorization order, driving back the hesitant soldiers under Si Yishan’s command.

The look he gave Si Yishan was like looking at a dead man. His expression was so cold it was frightening. No one dared approach him.

When Li Zhaoran heard the news, he jumped to his feet, his eyes bloodshot and terrifying with murderous rage. He rushed straight out the door.

The board members in his meeting were nearly scared to death. It wasn’t until later that word spread through the company, filling the whole building with buzzing conversations.

The matter had all but burst Li Zhaoran’s lungs with fury. If Si Yishan were in front of him right then, he would have strangled him with his own hands. But since he couldn’t see him immediately, he chose first to find Si Qi.

At that time, Si Qi was at Old Ge’er’s house. Old Ge’er had no interest in the internet, and because of the recent online abuse of Si Qi, he had been too angry to even use the net, so he had no idea what was happening outside.

But someone who knew their family connection called. After listening in stunned silence, the uncle turned pale, terrified, and rushed to Si Qi, immediately warning him never to meet that so-called father again—it was too horrifying!

Old Ge’er was bewildered, asked what was going on, and nearly exploded with rage after hearing it. He roared that he would confront Si Yishan, but when he opened the door, he ran straight into Li Zhaoran.

The two exchanged words of comfort and anger. Li Zhaoran, still shaken, told Si Qi: “It’s a blessing you sensed something was wrong and never agreed to go back. Truly a blessing.”

The more he thought, the worse he felt. With his head lowered, he wiped his face with his hand, both angry and ashamed: “I once thought if you inherited that man’s estate, it would benefit you, so I tried to persuade you… if you had listened to me and returned, only to disappear soon after—I can’t even imagine what I’d feel…”

Si Qi lightly patted Li Zhaoran’s back to comfort him.

Not wanting Si Qi to have to console him, Li Zhaoran forced himself to pull together. After talking for a while and confirming Si Qi was fine, he left bodyguards behind for protection and hurried away.

He pulled every string he could, going after those who still tried to rescue Si Yishan.

Chu Feng played a major role too. As the son of the Star Alliance’s governor, he had the standing to target even a general.

Fortunately, this time the evidence was ironclad—Si Yishan couldn’t escape. Their goal was to leave him no chance of turning things around, no way to survive, ensuring he died on the execution ground.

In the past, killing the Child of the World would have been difficult. His luck was too strong, shielded by the world’s will.

But now, the internet was filled with curses against him. No one supported him, everyone wanted him dead. The world’s power protecting him was dissipating rapidly, leaving him no different from any other high-ranking official.

Si Qi, for once, truly won by doing nothing. All the videos and evidence were handled by Xiu Xiu. He just stayed home peacefully for a month.

That month, Si Qi continued to study, summarize insights, and share them with everyone.

He focused on one thing only: mental power.

On the day the Child of the World was sentenced to death, the central news channel broadcast a report.

It announced Si Qi’s great breakthrough in the mental field—his training method not only helped people upgrade their mental power, but even gave ordinary people the chance to awaken it.

Those who had exhausted their mental power through years of combat, suffering organ and brain damage, could also be effectively treated and healed.

The people’s joy was overwhelming.

Meanwhile, the Child of the World sat in prison, having just learned the date of his execution. On the cold bench, he saw the news and trembled with rage.

He had shed blood, killed his own child, schemed endlessly, only to land in prison.

Yet the truth was that if he had just brought Si Qi home and explained his illness, Si Qi could have cured him within a month!

Why? Why?! Was Heaven deliberately tormenting him?!

He couldn’t accept it. He roared, punched himself, raged in his cage like a beast, pointlessly burning through his strength.

He tried to reach Si Qi, begged for forgiveness, pleaded for rescue, hoping for a turnaround. But nothing came—except a gunshot.

With a bang, he fell to his knees, collapsed to the ground.

Chu Feng and Li Zhaoran stood not far away, staring at him expressionlessly until his breathing stopped.

When news of his death spread, the people cheered. Some rejoiced that one more villain was gone, others sighed that he had brought it all on himself with one terrible choice after another.

If he had been even a little kinder, even a little more loving to Si Qi, he wouldn’t have ended this way.

Now everyone knew Si Qi’s worth to the Alliance. He was a once-in-a-century genius, the brightest star of his time. He had given ordinary people the chance to awaken mental power, spurring progress across industries and boosting the Alliance’s strength.

Amid the people’s celebration, Si Yishan was quickly forgotten. Only hope for the future remained.

In the days that followed, Si Qi lived up to expectations, continuing to share his brilliance, leaving deep marks across every field.

Almost everyone in the Alliance had watched his videos and benefited from his mental power training.

He was like the perfect, most knowledgeable teacher, patiently guiding everyone step by step.

After graduating from school, he ended his four years of livestreams. With support from the Li and Chu families, he joined the Ministry of Education, launching large-scale teaching programs, soon becoming the soul of the department.

Working with the government, he helped reform education on remote planets, improving access so that children struggling in poverty had the same opportunities as others. More and more people enjoyed the benefits of knowledge.

His whole life was devoted to helping others. The many materials he left behind were still widely studied centuries later.

Nearly everyone knew his story, his legendary life.

Whenever people spoke of him, they mentioned his difficult childhood, his broken family, and the happy life he built under the care of his husband Chu Feng, his uncle Li Zhaoran, and others.

It seemed that after those early struggles, his life held no more storms—only beauty.

My Live Broadcast Room Can Teach You Everything (12): 

The Military Management Department of the Comprehensive Academy holds an end-of-term combat test every year, adopting a points-based competition system.

Candidates are allowed to seize each other’s items, and as long as they collect enough points within the time limit, they can pass. Those who fail to meet the score requirement may have to take a make-up exam, while those who cannot even reach the settlement point will be forced to repeat the year.

Some students choose to cooperate temporarily during the exam to deal with overly complex traps together, or simply block the path to the test site to rob others.

Those who believe they are strong enough, like Si Qi, choose to fight alone.

Si Qi surveyed the terrain around the magnetic storm trap, used surrounding plants to partially conceal the exposed item, then piloted his mech toward the next location.

The camera shifted to the teachers’ side. After watching Si Qi’s maneuver to dodge the trap, one teacher sighed in admiration, praising him as truly deserving of being the genius who had once won the interstellar league championship on behalf of the school.

Those who had just been flattering Li Zhaoran while belittling Si Qi for neglecting his studies fell silent. They only quietly comforted Li Zhaoran, saying that Si Qi’s success was just a coincidence.

Li Zhaoran, utterly stifled, said nothing: “…………”

One teacher noticed Si Qi’s action and asked in puzzlement, “Why did he cover up the trap with things?”

“Maybe to trick other students?” another guessed.

“But there are no items here anymore. Who would deliberately land nearby just to trigger a trap?” the first teacher shook his head.

“That’s true…”

Another teacher remained silent, repeatedly replaying the footage of Si Qi’s evasive movements, with growing admiration on his face.

“Impressive. To pull off such maneuvers even in a training mech… If he were piloting a standard mech, or even an ace unit, his strength would definitely be—” The teacher raised his thumb in approval.

“I wonder if this kid will enlist in the military someday. If he doesn’t, that would be a real pity.”

“After all, he’s also gifted in other fields…”

The teachers’ discussion was full of confidence in Si Qi’s future achievements. Even if he didn’t join the military, he was sure to shine elsewhere.

Those who had previously muttered that Si Qi was inferior to Si Yuan tried to speak again, but the veins on Li Zhaoran’s forehead bulged. He could no longer hold back and snapped, “My eyes work just fine. I can see clearly who is more outstanding!”

“Uh…” The person looked awkward. “I was just being honest about what I felt.”

Then your heart must be blind, Li Zhaoran thought, rolling his eyes and refusing to engage further.

Just then, five or six students appeared in formation and ran into Si Qi head-on.

Si Qi piloted his mech to the right, intending to avoid them, but the group spread out mid-air, encircling him and blocking his path.

The teachers laughed aloud. “Looks like they think Si Qi’s score is too high and want to rob him!”

At this stage, most students with three or four points were already considered pretty lucky and capable, yet Si Qi alone had fifteen—more than enough to share two points each with his opponents.

“Even for Si Qi, handling six opponents in just a training mech will be troublesome.”

The teachers watched with interest, eager to see how he would respond.

Seeing Si Qi draw his weapon and point it straight at his opponents, his unyielding intent clear, the teachers smiled. “I knew this kid wouldn’t surrender without a fight.”

A child from a remote planet, admitted into the best university in the Star Alliance purely through his own ability—when facing difficulties, compromise would never be his first instinct. He would always bravely fight back.

Just like when Si Yuan slandered him and classmates whispered behind his back, this so-called country bumpkin didn’t retreat a step. He confronted Si Yuan directly, even asking in public why he was being targeted, giving him no face at all.

From this, it was clear that no matter how gentle and friendly Si Qi usually seemed, deep down he was stubborn and proud. Even if it meant blood and broken bones, he would never back down.

This was common among the teachers and students of the Comprehensive University. Those who studied or taught here were either natural-born geniuses, proud and unyielding, or relentless strivers who refused to give up no matter what.

So when they saw Si Qi rashly engage in combat, the teachers might criticize him with their words, but in their hearts they were satisfied.

“He’s up against six people now. The energy drain alone will be huge, and if the mech malfunctions, he’ll be in real trouble.” One teacher spoke with a trace of schadenfreude. “Real combat isn’t the same as sparring in a simulator. This kid is clever, but he lacks experience.”

“He’s only just enrolled and hasn’t had real combat training before,” another teacher defended him. “That’s exactly why this exam matters.”

While they spoke, the students on screen had already clashed.

Si Qi alone faced six opponents, maneuvering his mech with remarkable agility. Just by watching its complex moves, one could imagine his fingers flying across the controls.

Training mechs were simple to operate and weak in attack. With a standard mech, Si Qi could have guaranteed disabling his enemy’s unit with a single strike. But now, he could only scrape away armor bit by bit.

To dodge attacks, he had to keep making evasive maneuvers, burning through energy at an alarming rate. With reserves down to sixty percent, he broke out of the encirclement and dashed aside.

“Oh? Is he retreating?” one teacher laughed. “He fights decisively and retreats decisively too. Not bad—he knows when to cut his losses.”

The person beside Li Zhaoran curled his lips, muttering inwardly that the teachers always found something to praise, regardless of what happened. Praising Si Qi right in front of Li Zhaoran—wasn’t that just rubbing salt in the wound?

Sure enough, Li Zhaoran sat stiff-faced and silent, though he normally wouldn’t hesitate to compliment a promising student. Clearly, he despised Si Qi.

“We’ll see if he can escape the encirclement. If they disrupt him with ranged fire…” The teachers chuckled as they speculated.

Just then, a mech behind Si Qi drew a long-range weapon and fired at his back.

A blazing beam streaked across the screen, melting a dozen towering trees in an instant and leaving only smoking stumps.

The room went dead silent. Everyone stared at the screen, stunned into speechlessness.

That just now was…

Li Zhaoran shot up from his seat. “Where did that weapon come from?! Who let it into the exam?!”

Cold sweat broke out among the teachers. Their voices trembled with tension. “Our exam field doesn’t have anything like that…”

Even in combat exams, they would never allow weapons capable of instant lethality. That would be gambling with the students’ lives.

One teacher reacted quickly, about to hit the emergency rescue button, but saw Li Zhaoran already slam his fist down on it, shouting, “Student number 9587 is in danger! Immediate rescue!!”

His eyes trembled violently, as if he himself were the one under attack.

No, even if it had been his own life on the line, Li Zhaoran wouldn’t have looked this terrified.

One teacher sensed something unusual but kept quiet, only asking, “Which student drew that weapon?”

Another quickly checked. “A student named Zhang Xinran…”

“The Zhang family!” Li Zhaoran’s breathing grew ragged, his face twisted with hatred.

He had combed through the entire exam field to confirm everything was safe. Who had smuggled this weapon in?!

“This weapon was planted as an exam item! Who approved this?!” A teacher traced the source through surveillance and exclaimed, “Quick, connect to this student’s comm channel!”

“I’m trying… No use! Can’t connect!”

“What?!”

“I don’t know why!”

“Damn it!”

The control room fell into chaos, while the students on screen seemed oblivious to the weapon’s true danger, continuing their pursuit of Si Qi.

Si Qi nimbly dodged the deadly shot, as though dancing on a cliff’s edge, and sprinted back the way he came.

The group behind kept firing, slowing him down, closing in from behind.

Just as they were about to catch him, Si Qi suddenly dove down, kicked off the ground, and launched himself upward, flipping beneath them.

They hurried to turn around mid-air, but a blast of bright blue lightning erupted below. With a sharp crack, their mechs’ systems were paralyzed, and they tumbled down in a chaotic heap.

The teachers, sweating nervously in the control room, were momentarily stunned. Then one cried out in excitement, “…It’s the magnetic storm trap from earlier!”

The others quickly realized and exhaled in relief. “Lucky, very lucky…”

“Si Qi is quick-witted.”

But before the words faded, one of the supposedly disabled mechs suddenly raised its arm. The student with the high-energy weapon once again aimed at Si Qi’s cockpit.

The teachers’ smiles froze. There was no time to ask why this training mech could still move against all rules. Li Zhaoran lunged toward the screen, eyes blazing, as if he could shield Si Qi himself.

Just when everyone thought disaster was inevitable, Si Qi, mid-air, spun and raised his weapon.

Two attacks—one from him and one from a patrol officer who had just arrived—struck together, blasting the weapon to pieces.

Everyone’s breath caught. Following the direction of the attacks, they saw Si Qi and the patrol officer. Their nerves had been jolted one too many times.

The patrol officer confirmed Si Qi’s exam number. One flew to his side to protect him, while the other landed near the fallen mechs and ordered, “Drop the weapon and cease attack.”

The student named Zhang Xinran, realizing he had lost his last chance, glared bitterly at Si Qi in the sky.

Whether it was the destroyed weapon or the modified mech, both had been provided by the academy. Even if the school pursued the matter later, the only culprit would be the academy itself for its oversight. He just had to insist that he didn’t know the weapon was faulty, that he thought it was one whose power had been reduced.

Sitting inside the mech, Zhang Xinran asked the patrol officer in a bewildered tone: “What happened?”

The patrol officer’s voice was harsh: “You nearly killed your classmate!”

Zhang Xinran paused, then grew agitated, his voice full of anger: “What are you talking about? We were just taking an exam, how could anyone be trying to kill?”

“Exactly, our teachers told us these weapons wouldn’t be lethal!” another student immediately chimed in, protesting: “You’re not interfering because you saw Si Qi was about to lose, right?”

“And now you’re framing us, saying we were trying to kill someone. That’s a huge accusation—we won’t take the blame!”

A group of them, righteously indignant, declared that the school was biased toward Si Qi and interfering with their fair competition.

Meanwhile, high in the sky, another patrol officer asked Si Qi: “Student, are you alright?”

Si Qi: “I’m fine.”

“Once we finish investigating the situation, we’ll take you for a physical checkup. Don’t worry, the danger is over,” the officer reassured.

Si Qi refused: “No need, I’m fine. I want to continue the exam now.”

The officer frowned: “Is the exam more important than your safety? There’s something suspicious about this incident. We need to clarify everything. Surely you don’t want those who nearly killed you to go unpunished?”

Si Qi: “I don’t know anything. Asking me won’t help.”

The patrol officer picked up on Si Qi’s deliberate distance and asked in confusion: “You don’t trust us? We just saved you!”

He patiently explained: “I’m a patrol officer in this exam. I’m here to protect your safety. You don’t need to worry that I’ll harm you.”

Si Qi glanced at the legion insignia on the mech and said, “But you’re soldiers under General Si, aren’t you?”

The officer, puzzled, replied: “Yes, what about it?”

Si Qi spoke bluntly, “Then I don’t trust you.”

The officer: “…”

Down below, Zhang Xinran, who knew the inside story, almost laughed.

How amusing—soldiers under the general came to protect the general’s own son, yet that son, because of an impostor, avoided anything related to his father like the plague.

If that great general ever learned the truth, he would probably be enraged to death.

Li Zhaoran was already close to exploding.

He was furious at what Si Yuan had done back then, driving a wedge between Si Qi and the Si family, but at the same time, he felt unbearable pity for Si Qi.

His poor nephew had just survived a brush with death, yet afterward he couldn’t find even one person to trust. Rather than lean on anyone, he chose only to protect himself.

When he had lived alone on a remote planet in the past, wasn’t this exactly how he had survived? A child without vigilance could never have lived this long.

Watching Si Qi fly alone in the sky, evading the patrol officers again and again, while hearing some chatterbox nearby mock him as petty for rejecting General Si’s goodwill, Li Zhaoran suddenly realized something.

Compared to dealing with the Zhang family, Si Qi was far more important. He never wanted to hear anyone speak ill of Si Qi again—not from Si Qi himself, nor from others. Si Qi was far too pitiful.

He wanted Si Qi to become confident, to know that in this world, there were many who silently loved him, protected him, and were willing to stand behind him.

You are not a child without support.

With this thought, Li Zhaoran took a deep breath, ready to press the comms button and reveal Si Qi’s true identity to the soldiers on the channel.

But before he could, the soldier standing opposite Si Qi, who had been repeatedly avoided, helplessly lowered his hand and said: “You don’t need to reject us. The General sent us specifically to protect you.”

Huh?

Li Zhaoran stared at the screen in surprise. Could it be that Si Yishan had told his subordinates the truth?

Sure enough, the soldier continued: “We are the General’s personal guards, tasked with protecting the General—and the General’s family.”

Si Qi: “……”

Xiu Xiu was confused: [What’s this guy doing? Didn’t the Son of the World and the Li family agree to keep your identity secret for now? If he blurts it out, won’t the Zhang family immediately realize their plan failed?]

Si Qi replied indifferently: [It’s just to make me lower my guard and to distance themselves from what’s coming.] If they didn’t say it now, how could they prove their innocence later?

Xiu Xiu: [Huh? What’s coming?]

Si Qi chuckled: [Don’t forget, it’s not only the Zhang family that wants me dead. The Son of the World does too. That strike earlier was to keep me alive until I reach the operating table. Otherwise, forget about whether there’d even be a body left after that laser—if I were nothing but a corpse, the Li family would never hand me over for Si Yishan to use.]

[Oh, right!] Xiu Xiu realized: [No wonder that guy kept saying things like “it’s over” and “don’t worry.” He wanted you to relax so they could take you away, then quietly stage your death and pin it on the Zhang family!]

After all, these two soldiers already knew Si Qi’s true identity. On the surface, it was impossible for them to harm him. Even if Li Zhaoran suspected anyone, he wouldn’t suspect them first. By the time he did, Si Qi would likely have been operated on already—too late to stop anything.

Xiu Xiu clicked his tongue: [In the original timeline, the Son of the World also used others to kill for him. And now, he’s still using others to kill. He really hasn’t changed a bit!]

The soldier across from Si Qi, mistaking his silence for shock, gently reassured him: “That’s right, you are our General’s child.”

He said this openly, without lowering his voice. Down below, Zhang Xinran’s helpers, crawling out from disabled mechs, looked up in shock.

—Wasn’t Si Qi supposed to be a lonely orphan with no family? How could he be General Si Yishan’s son?

So the rumors back then were true… No wonder Si Yuan and Zhang Xinran targeted him, even plotting to kill him—they must have known!

The crowd’s expressions turned scornful, their gazes toward Si Qi filled with disdain. They resolved to spread this news later.

Only Zhang Xinran’s face tightened, sensing things spinning out of control.

Did Si Yishan know Si Qi’s identity? Then did he also know that Si Yuan wasn’t his biological son?

If so, why did Si Yishan still keep Si Yuan in the family, even entrusting him with important company affairs…

In the monitoring room, the teachers were stunned, some regretting that Si Qi really was Si Yishan’s child.

Even being an orphan sounded better than being an illegitimate child. Once the public knew, they’d associate Si Qi’s name with his disgraceful origin. They’d dismiss his admission to the academy and his brilliant military talent, attributing it all to Si Yishan’s secret support…

The room fell quiet. Then the person who had been disparaging Si Qi earlier suddenly grew excited, raising his eyebrows proudly: “Didn’t I say he looked just like General Si? I knew it!”

“He rose to fame so fast, even conveniently winning the mech command competition. Clearly it was staged to attract the General’s attention!”

“And he stepped on Si Yuan to climb higher, even falsely accusing him of bullying! That kid is way too scheming!”

The teachers looked embarrassed, unsure how to defend Si Qi. Li Zhaoran couldn’t take it anymore. He turned and glared: “Shut up!!”

The man who had been ready to scold Si Qi froze, stunned: “Huh? What…”

What was going on? Wasn’t Li Zhaoran the one who doted on Si Yuan most? Now, with a rival illegitimate child exposed, shouldn’t he be furious on Si Yuan’s behalf? Why was he refusing to let anyone insult Si Qi instead??

Li Zhaoran glared again, displeased, and turned back to the screen.

On the screen, Si Qi’s voice was cold: “This matter has already been explained. I’m not some illegitimate child. I’m just an orphan who grew up on a remote planet.”

“Tch, isn’t it too late to deny it now?” the students below sneered. “Wanting it both ways…”

“You’re certainly not an illegitimate child,” the soldier said firmly. “You are the General’s wife’s child—their only child.”

The students who had been mocking Si Qi froze in place, staring up at the soldier in shock.

Li Zhaoran couldn’t contain his emotions anymore. A smile spread across his face as he declared proudly to the bewildered teachers beside him: “That’s right! Si Qi is my nephew—my own blood nephew!!”

His voice carried long-suppressed joy. The teachers, more and more confused, looked at his proud expression and asked blankly: “Then what about Si Yuan?”

Li Zhaoran’s smile froze. With a cold snort, he said angrily: “Don’t mention that beast to me. He’s nothing but a cuckoo stealing another’s nest! He stole my Xiao Qi’s identity and even conspired with outsiders to harm him! He’s truly venomous!”

After saying this, Li Zhaoran couldn’t help glancing at the one who had been maliciously disparaging Si Qi. It was people like him, always lifting one person up while stepping on another, who had made Si Qi’s school life so miserable before!

That man noticed Li Zhaoran’s look and went pale as if struck by lightning, at a complete loss for words.

What had he just said? That Si Qi was manipulative, that he was far inferior to Si Yuan, that he wasn’t worthy of the spotlight…

Why had he been so quick to speak??!!

My Live Broadcast Room Can Teach You Everything (13): 

Someone who had similar thoughts, who had figured out the cause and effect of everything and realized she had been completely played, was Zhang Xinran.

It was over.

She had fallen into the trap.

Was Li Zhaoran and Si Yishan carrying out a fishing operation, deliberately luring them in? Or had they been plotting for a long time, preparing everything in advance…

No matter how turbulent the hearts of others were, Si Qi’s reaction remained calm and indifferent: “So, can I continue the exam now?”

Everyone present fell silent.

Seriously? We spectators are all shaken to the core, and you, the person at the center of it all, are acting so indifferent, as if you didn’t hear a thing?

That’s the General’s residence we’re talking about! You’re the General’s wife’s only son! Even if you don’t care about fame and fortune, and even if you don’t want to take this chance to get back at Si Yuan, you finally found your family after so many years—shouldn’t you show at least some emotion?!

Li Zhaoran anxiously looked at Si Qi, wondering if this child was angry.

And of course he might be. When he needed his family’s protection the most, they had never appeared.

By the time Si Qi was capable of protecting himself, slowly building up his own forces, and no longer needing so-called “relatives,” only then did they swagger back into his life. If this had happened in a more ordinary family, outsiders would already be suspecting that they were only eyeing Si Qi’s wealth, shamelessly coming to leech off him.

And with all that Si Qi had gone through these years, he had every right to resent these adults. Why had so many people been so careless back then that they didn’t even notice a child being swapped, nearly causing Si Qi—who had no ability to protect himself at the time—to die?

Thinking about all this, Li Zhaoran watched as Si Qi finished speaking, turned around, and flew away, feeling more and more certain that Si Qi was angry.

Otherwise, how could this normally gentle and polite child act like this?

Li Zhaoran let out a defeated sigh, lowered his head, hands bracing against the control panel, his heart filled with guilt toward Si Qi.

The two patrol soldiers also didn’t want Si Qi to leave.

Watching Si Qi walk away without looking back, the two soldiers—who carried the secret mission of faking Si Qi’s death and secretly taking him away—grew increasingly anxious. Helpless, they could only report the situation to their superior.

Si Yishan frowned as he listened to his subordinates’ report, displeased that Si Qi was treating him so dismissively. Forcing down his anger, he said in a calm tone: “The plan doesn’t change. Continue following Si Qi and protect him.” Then he hung up.

It seemed Si Qi wasn’t eager to acknowledge him.

Considering that Si Qi had grown up struggling in society, later entered school and easily defeated Si Yuan, and within just a few months became famous across the Star Alliance—it was clear this was someone with deep shrewdness and practiced skill.

Now that he had learned his true identity, not only was he not overjoyed, he even kept his distance. Could it be he already knew his biological father wanted him dead and was being extra cautious? Maybe he was waiting to assess the situation clearly before deciding whether to acknowledge this connection.

Such composure and restraint were not something an ordinary teenager could have. Even those slick veterans outside, decades older, would have trouble resisting such temptation.

If Si Qi were as foolish as Si Yuan, rushing eagerly the moment someone told him he could inherit the General’s residence, Si Yishan wouldn’t have had to worry at all—Si Qi would have already died on the operating table according to plan.

But now, to spirit Si Qi away under the Li family’s heavy protection? Never mind passing Chu Feng’s watchful eyes—Si Qi himself was not an easy person to deal with.

What was worse, the reason Si Qi was so wary in the first place was precisely because Si Yishan had schemed to set Si Yuan against him, making him extra cautious.

He had truly shot himself in the foot.

Thinking of this, Si Yishan called Li Zhaoran, saying he already knew what had happened in the exam hall and was preparing to come in person to meet Si Qi, to speak face-to-face and erase the misunderstandings between them.

Coincidentally, Li Zhaoran also wanted to meet Si Qi as soon as possible, so he immediately agreed, gave him the exact location, and silently waited for Si Qi to finish his exam.

The exam wasn’t much of a challenge for Si Qi. Other than Zhang’s family and the Son of the World sending people to ambush him, he smoothly collected the required points, arriving at the designated location more than four hours early. There he saw the academy’s teachers, an emotional Li Zhaoran, and Chu Feng, who had been urgently called over by Li Zhaoran for support.

The teachers stood on the side, watching him with strange, gossip-filled looks.

Chu Feng stepped forward, greeted Si Qi, and, knowing his straightforward personality, didn’t bother with roundabout words. “Xiao Qi, you already know that your biological father is General Si, right?”

Si Qi nodded, his eyes turning toward Li Zhaoran, whose eyes were faintly moist.

Chu Feng led him to Li Zhaoran: “This is your uncle, your mother’s younger brother.”

“Child…” At this moment, Li Zhaoran completely lost his usual composure, gripping Si Qi’s hand and saying emotionally, “It’s all your uncle’s fault. I didn’t notice anything wrong back then, and you ended up wandering outside all these years, suffering so much…”

The teachers who knew Li Zhaoran were stunned. They knew he cared deeply for his sister’s only child and would surely treat him well, but they never expected him to feel such deep guilt. He laid bare his heart the instant they met, without a trace of seniority.

This, in fact, was Chu Feng’s advice.

Li Zhaoran had worried that Si Qi would hate them, so he asked Chu Feng for suggestions. Chu Feng said Si Qi was straightforward—if you treat him well, he will treat you well. He told Li Zhaoran not to overthink, but to just be honest and tell Si Qi what was in his heart.

Having spent so much time with Si Qi recently, Chu Feng’s words were credible. So Li Zhaoran didn’t hesitate—he admitted his faults right away, telling Si Qi that even if he hated him, it was fine, but please give them a chance to make it up to him.

Si Qi could be hard as steel at times, but also very soft at heart. The original owner’s death had nothing to do with the Li family. When the Sons of the World killed him and framed Si Yuan, the Li family avenged him without hesitation, punishing everyone who had bullied him. So Si Qi didn’t mind being in contact with them.

Seeing how upset Li Zhaoran was now, Si Qi’s expression softened, and he said to his uncle: “The ones who harmed me back then weren’t you. How could I blame you? You don’t need to feel so guilty.”

Li Zhaoran: “But…”

Si Qi shook his head and smiled. “There’s always a cause for every grudge. I can tell the difference. I’m happy you came to find me. I just want to know—who exactly was the enemy who killed my mother and switched me away?”

At that, Li Zhaoran’s expression twisted. He said, “It was a corporation that has been against our family for a long time. Zhang Xinran, who just tried to harm you in the exam hall, is from their family…”

But not wanting Si Qi to be troubled by adult feuds, Li Zhaoran only wished for him to live peacefully, carefree, while they shouldered everything. He said gently, “You don’t need to worry about this. Your uncle, your grandparents, we’re already dealing with them. In just a few days, they’ll suffer. Those who harmed you and your mother won’t escape.”

Of course, Si Qi already knew the Zhang family wouldn’t last much longer. Even if the Lis couldn’t destroy them, he would. Hearing this, he nodded and said that if they ever needed his help, they could just ask.

Li Zhaoran was overjoyed at his words, recognizing that this meant Si Qi was willing to accept them. Smiling, he praised Si Qi for achieving so much on his own, saying it was remarkable.

With one side eager to get close, and the other willing to accept, the distance between them quickly vanished.

As the exam neared its end, students began arriving at the exam site one after another.

Noticing the closeness between Si Qi and Director Li, and hearing about his background from gossiping teachers, the students were dumbfounded. They couldn’t wait to spread the news to their families and friends.

By coincidence, Si Yuan was also among the crowd.

After finishing his test and landing his mech at the designated spot, he immediately noticed the strange looks others gave him.

People were pointing at him, subtly or outright. His cronies gathered around, their expressions odd, and carefully explained everything.

They told him how Zhang Xinran almost killed Si Qi in the exam hall, how Li Zhaoran had erupted in the monitoring room, how Li Zhaoran nearly wept holding Si Qi’s hand when they recognized each other… everything in detail.

When Si Yuan heard that his father’s men had approached Si Qi and revealed that Si Qi was Si Yishan’s real son, his vision went black, and he nearly collapsed.

Unspoken terror and panic flooded his body. His hands and feet went cold, his mind blank. Fear of losing everything, mixed with the dread of being caught for his misdeeds, churned violently in his chest, making him desperate to do something—anything—to change the situation.

If Li Zhaoran and the others discovered his schemes, he wouldn’t even have time to worry about losing the status of the General’s son or how others would mock him. His uncle and father would be the first not to spare him. His fate would be far worse than just losing his backers!

Others didn’t understand what he was so afraid of. They only saw that as soon as Si Qi’s identity was revealed, Si Yuan turned deathly pale, unable to even stand properly, and they scorned him for such poor mental strength. Their contempt for him deepened.

Many remembered how Si Yuan had once used his supposed identity as the General’s son to falsely accuse Si Qi of being an illegitimate child, encouraging classmates to bully him, spreading rumors, and using cold violence against him.

Now Si Qi had become the acknowledged son of General Si and the General’s wife, his combat skills and leadership proving worthy of that bloodline. Meanwhile, Si Yuan was reduced to a nobody of unknown origin—lower than even an illegitimate child. The contrast was utterly humiliating.

Especially since Li Zhaoran himself had said he discovered Si Qi’s identity because Si Yuan bullied him. Someone had reported it to Li Zhaoran, who, after hearing Si Yuan call Si Qi the General’s illegitimate son, looked at Si Qi’s photo. He realized that rather than resembling Si Yishan, Si Qi looked far more like his sister Li Qiran. That was what led to suspicion and eventually the truth.

In other words, if Si Yuan hadn’t gone out of his way to bully Si Qi, slandering him as an illegitimate son, the Lis and Si Yishan might still not know that their child had been switched.

Si Yuan’s current situation was entirely his own doing. He had only himself to blame.

Seeing his pale face and unsteady figure, everyone looked at him with disdain.

After all, he was already an adult, a top student at the academy, fully capable of living independently. So why was he reacting like this?

Remembering how he used to act the victim while maliciously bullying classmates, bragging about how much both families valued him, people couldn’t help but feel schadenfreude. They wondered how he would keep throwing his weight around now.

The mocking stares were too obvious, stabbing into Si Yuan’s heart like knives, causing him unbearable pain.

He didn’t want to give in and accept being abandoned. Forcing himself, he stepped forward to speak with Li Zhaoran. After all, not long ago, Li Zhaoran had been kind to him, unchanged—maybe he would still treat him the same.

But as he walked closer, seeing Li Zhaoran gently holding Si Qi’s hand and speaking to him with tenderness, Si Yuan found the sight unbearably piercing.

These two got along too well. The uncle and nephew looked alike, and anyone who saw them standing together could immediately tell how strong their blood ties were. That warm scene even made Si Yuan think, “No wonder they’re family,” filling his heart with sour jealousy.

The one who should be standing in Si Qi’s place, the one being carefully cared for by Li Zhaoran, should have been him, Si Yuan.

But because of that damned academy, it was snatched away by Si Qi.

Putting on a sad, completely oblivious look, he walked up to Li Zhaoran, choking as he said, “Uncle… am I not your real nephew?”

While wearing an expression of pain, he thought to himself: so what if Si Qi was Li Zhaoran’s biological nephew? He, who had lived by Li Zhaoran’s side for more than ten years, tied closely with the Li family, was clearly the one closest to and most loved by Li Zhaoran.

Maybe Li Zhaoran felt guilty toward Si Qi because of his past, but that still couldn’t erase the years of affection between him and Li Zhaoran. There was no way Li Zhaoran would suddenly turn his back on him just because of blood ties.

Normally, if Si Yuan even pouted a little, Li Zhaoran would rush over in worry to ask what was wrong, giving him anything he asked for, trying every way to coax him into happiness.

Now that he had suffered such a huge grievance, being pointed at and gossiped about by so many people, surely Li Zhaoran, even with Si Qi at his side, would still feel sorry for his innocent nephew. After all, back then he was only a baby—he wasn’t the one who intentionally swapped Si Qi. He was a victim too!

Thinking this, Si Yuan lifted his head, forcing a few tears to fall, only to meet Li Zhaoran’s unusually cold, disgusted gaze.

The act he was about to put on was instantly stuck in his throat. The tears that were about to fall were scared back into his eyes. His heart clenched violently, like his head had been struck hard, his ears buzzing.

A bad premonition rose in his heart, and suddenly he thought of something—if Li Zhaoran had realized Si Qi’s identity back when he bullied him, then with Li Zhaoran’s love for his nephew, how could he not have immediately gone to find Si Qi and bring him back to the Li family?

And with Li Zhaoran’s uncompromising personality, if he knew about his framing of Si Qi, how could he have never mentioned it, never made him apologize, and instead valued him more, even giving him an important role in the company?

What he had vaguely felt was wrong but refused to admit now became undeniable when he saw the almost hateful look in Li Zhaoran’s eyes.

He could no longer deceive himself, pretending there was still a chance to make things right.

Li Zhaoran knew. Not only had he long known that he had no real ties to the Li family, but he had probably also found out about everything he’d been doing!

Otherwise, how could the elder who always loved him look at him like this?

Si Yuan’s lips trembled as he spoke with sorrow in his eyes, “Uncle, don’t look at me like that, I’ve always respected you, treated you as my—”

“Heh.” The mocking expression on Li Zhaoran’s face nearly made him choke on his words. Li Zhaoran said, “Treated me as what? An enemy? Or a fool?”

Unable to contain his anger, Li Zhaoran’s voice grew harsher with every word: “You hid the truth, colluded with outsiders to harm my family’s child, treated me like an idiot to be played with! You even abused my trust, working with my enemies, leaking company secrets, wishing nothing more than to see me bankrupt and ruined! I wonder if all these years I haven’t been loving you, but torturing you, otherwise why would you hate me this much?!”

“No, that’s not true…” Si Yuan shook his head again and again, stepping back fearfully. His helpless expression made him look like a child being unfairly scolded by an elder—sad, pitiful, fragile, and innocent.

He even turned to Si Qi, crying out, “Si Qi, help me explain to Uncle! I know you hate me for stealing your identity, I know you can’t accept me, but I didn’t mean it! I don’t want to lose the family I love most. Please don’t take them away from me…”

The surrounding classmates were stunned, exchanging strange looks with each other, thinking Si Yuan was utterly shameless.

Before, they only thought he was hypocritical, obsessed with reputation and power, doing things he wouldn’t admit to. But now, he even had the nerve to play the innocent victim!

Listen to those words—he made it sound like Si Qi was persecuting him and stealing his family, when in fact he was the one who had taken advantage of everything and committed all the wrongs!

Someone, disgusted, pulled out their terminal to record this scene that was sure to go viral on the interstellar net.

Otherwise, if Si Yuan later went around spreading rumors that Si Qi bullied and excluded him so his family wouldn’t accept him, Si Qi would be unjustly accused!

Si Qi stood with arms crossed, tilting his head at Si Yuan, showing not a trace of being moved—as if watching a cheap clown show.

Li Zhaoran, already fed up with Si Yuan’s betrayal, had no patience left. Now, seeing Si Yuan trying to drag Si Qi into it, it was like hitting his bottom line. Furious, he pointed at Si Yuan’s nose and scolded him harshly.

He didn’t hold back, exposing how the Li family had given Si Yuan everything, yet Si Yuan repaid them with ingratitude. He revealed every single thing Si Yuan had done these past months without sparing his face:

How after discovering his identity, he hid it and chose to ally with the Zhangs; how he repeatedly leaked company secrets to rivals; how he helped outsiders target the Lis; how he even tried several times to poison his father, but failed…

He laid it all out, leaving Si Yuan’s face burning red in humiliation, trembling under everyone’s eyes.

Meanwhile, the crowd watching was stunned, many whispering “holy shit” while filming, barely able to contain their excitement.

Li Zhaoran clearly had no intention of letting Si Yuan off. In just a few words, he utterly socially destroyed him.

Even if later some bleeding-heart sympathizers excused him for hiding the truth to protect himself, the fact that he poisoned his father and betrayed his uncle for personal gain was enough to prove his viciousness.

He wasn’t afraid of losing his family; he was afraid of losing everything he had, while still wanting more!

Shamed and unable to refute, Si Yuan felt the stares and gossip crush him like winter frost, freezing him to the bone. He wished he could crawl into a hole and disappear.

Si Qi, on the other hand, hadn’t said a word. Li Zhaoran had said it all for him. It was as if, after arriving in this world, all he had done was send Li Zhaoran a photo—he hadn’t needed to do anything else.

Whether it was dealing with the Zhangs or revealing his identity, he hadn’t lifted a finger. He just had to lie back and let things play out.

Not a bad feeling.

Maybe even the matter of dealing with the so-called Child of the World didn’t need him to act—he could safely leave it to his uncle.

And his uncle would certainly be happy to take care of it for his nephew, to deal with the true culprit.

And speak of the devil—

The Child of the World stepped down from the hovercar, locking eyes with Si Qi the moment he arrived.

His aura was stern and intimidating, instantly silencing the gossiping students nearby, some even looking at him with admiration.

Of course they knew him—he was a general who had achieved military merit over a decade ago, a hero of the Alliance.

Si Qi raised an eyebrow, watching as the man approached. Si Yishan forced a somewhat awkward smile of affection and said, “Child, I am your father.”

Si Qi silently rolled his eyes, really wanting to say, “Actually, I’m your father!” But seeing Li Zhaoran’s expectant face, he merely nodded, showing a bit of coldness.

The crowd was puzzled by his response.

But recalling his normally gentle personality, they assumed there must be a reason, quickly filling in the blanks themselves: it must be because of Si Yuan’s past slanders. He still harbored resentment toward the Si family and couldn’t face them calmly.

Si Yishan thought the same. Otherwise, why would his son refuse him?

If Si Qi could accept Li Zhaoran, why not him?

So he continued, “Back when I first saw you at the academy, I felt you looked familiar and wanted to talk to you. Now I know—it was the bond of father and son quietly telling me how special you are.”

Standing on the side, ignored, Si Yuan felt as if his heart was being cut apart.

When had his father ever spoken to him with such warmth?

Was blood really that magical? He had lived with his father for over ten years, always in coldness, while Si Qi, who didn’t even know him, was welcomed at first sight. His father even liked him so much.

Why? Why was a blood tie enough to erase him?

If his father had treated him better, given him some sense of security, he wouldn’t have chosen the Zhangs when it came down to it. In the end, wasn’t it all the adults’ fault? They never treated him well enough!

Si Qi, unwilling to listen to Si Yishan’s insincere words, said to Li Zhaoran, “Uncle, I’m tired. I want to rest.”

“Of course, go sit inside—Xiao Feng, go with him.”

As if oblivious to Si Qi’s rudeness, Li Zhaoran ignored Si Yishan’s darkening face, cheerfully sending Si Qi off.

At the same time, he raised a hand to stop Si Yishan from stepping forward, soothing him with, “He’s still a child, and he’s endured years of hardship. It’s natural for him to hold resentment. This is our fault. You’re the adult here, don’t take it personally…”

The Child of the World held back his displeasure, forcing down his irritation as he said in a deep voice, “I know. I’ll get along with him properly.”