Chapter 2: The Roster in the Merit Ledger

Chen Li entered his room just as the sky was beginning to pale.

He lit the oil lamp, spread the Merit and Demerit Ledger across the table, and dipped his brush in ink.

Stroke by stroke.

The first page contained the names, cultivation levels, and entry years of three hundred introductory disciples. It was a dense thicket of text, reading more like an accounting book than a sect record. He copied it rapidly—his previous life as a physics major had taught him one thing: any seemingly meaningless repetitive labor was actually the best time to let the mind wander.

And wandering minds could solve problems.

"Daocang Method," he whispered, his brush never stopping.

The standard flow of Qi was clockwise—Dantian, Qi Sea, Tanzhong Acupoint, Baihui, then cycling through the Ren and Du Meridians. This was the Xuanmen Sect orthodoxy, unchanged for millennia.

But the annotation in the fragmented scroll said: *Reverse.*

"Go against the flow..." He bit the end of his brush, glancing out the window. The sound of wind in the pines pressed against the mountain mist, and the silhouette of the Scripture Pavilion flickered in the gray light.

By the time he reached the fifth page, footsteps sounded outside.

"Chen Li, you up yet?"

His brush paused, splashing a dot of ink onto the paper. It was Zhou Yan—a fellow disciple, mid-stage Foundation Establishment, and two years his senior.

"Coming."

The door opened. Zhou Yan was carrying two oil-paper wraps containing steaming sesame cakes and soy milk.

"Brought you some. Auntie Wang from the kitchens asked if I wanted a portion for her too, but I told her I'm broke." Zhou Yan set the food on the table. "You didn't sleep last night?"

"I'm fine."

Zhou Yan glanced at the ledger. "Finished yet?"

"Only on page five."

"The Elder wants it done in three days."

"Three days is plenty." Chen Li took a bite of the cake. "What do you want?"

Zhou Yan sat opposite him, rubbing his hands together, hesitating.

"Spit it out."

"Training Ground, third quarter of the Hour of the Rabbit," Zhou Yan lowered his voice. "Your senior, Zhao Yuanqing, is going to spar with some guy named Sun from the outer sect."

"What's that got to do with me?"

"Senior Zhao wants you to be the referee."

Chen Li raised an eyebrow. "An early-stage Foundation Establishment senior wants *me* to referee? I've only been at Foundation Establishment for three months."

"Senior Zhao said he wants you to 'see how others fight,'" Zhou Yan mimicked his senior's tone with a hint of sarcasm. "His exact words were, 'Your brain turns fast; it'll be entertaining to watch you watch.'"

Chen Li snorted and stuffed the rest of the cake into his mouth. "What time?"

"Third quarter of the Hour of the Rabbit. I'll come get you." Zhou Yan stood up. "Oh, by the way—"

He stopped at the door and looked back. "Senior Zhao's martial nephew will be at the Training Ground too. A guy named Ma Jiuling. Mid-stage Foundation Establishment, nearly half a level higher than your senior."

"And that's my problem because...?"

"He might not be very happy to see you."

Zhou Yan left. Chen Li stared at the doorway for a moment, chewing the last bite of his cake.

"Let him be unhappy," he muttered to himself. "Who says just because I transmigrated, I have to take everything lying down?"

Third quarter of the Hour of the Rabbit.

The Training Ground was a flat expanse of blue stone surrounded by low walls overgrown with withered vines. A dozen disciples were scattered about, some watching the spectacle, others polishing their swords.

By the time Chen Li arrived, Zhao Yuanqing was already standing in the center.

Zhao Yuanqing—early-stage Foundation Establishment, early twenties, with a cold expression and eyes like blades. Dressed in a gray-white Taoist robe with a short sword hanging at his waist, he was slowly drawing the blade to test its edge.

"You're here," Zhao Yuanqing said without looking up.

"Senior Zhao," Chen Li said, cupping his fists.

"Mm." Zhao Yuanqing finally looked up, scanning him. "Stand over there. Watch closely."

"Watch what?"

"Watch the man." Zhao Yuanqing sheathed his sword. "Watch how that guy Sun makes his moves. His 'Rock-Crushing Palm' follows a rigid, powerful path, but pay attention to his Qi—he's deficient. He won't last ten moves."

"How do you know?"

Zhao Yuanqing glanced at him. "Can't you tell?"

Chen Li stared at the disciple named Sun for three seconds. Indeed—the man's grip was wrong. His right index finger was slightly curled, while his pinky was too tense. It was a textbook external manifestation of unstable Qi.

"Right," Chen Li nodded. "The Qi leaves the Dantian, but it hit a snag passing through the Tanzhong Acupoint."

Zhao Yuanqing's eyes flickered. "You saw that?"

"I saw it."

"Good." Zhao Yuanqing stepped into the center. "Then enjoy the show."

"Are you actually fighting?"

"Why would I?" Zhao Yuanqing flexed his wrists. "Let Senior Sun warm up first. I'll step in later."

Chen Li's lip twitched.

Translated from "Senior-speak," that meant: *I think this guy is a joke, but for the sake of appearances, I have to pretend to be humble.*

At the edge of the field, Ma Jiuling approached.

He was half a head shorter than Zhao Yuanqing, with a round face and a smile like the Maitreya Buddha. But Chen Li noticed where he stood—directly facing Zhao Yuanqing, not the edge of the field.

"Senior Ma," Chen Li greeted with cupped fists.

"So you're the one, Chen Li?" Ma Jiuling beamed. "I heard you're quite the bright spark. Senior Zhao has you refereeing?"

"Senior said he wanted me to see how others fight."

"Perfect." Ma Jiuling patted his shoulder with considerable force. "Once you're done watching others, you should probably practice yourself. Three months at Foundation Establishment—when do you plan on breaking through?"

"No rush."

"No rush?" Ma Jiuling laughed. "Zhou Yan is two years older than you, and he just hit mid-stage last month. You—"

"Senior Ma," Chen Li interrupted, "how long have you been at mid-stage?"

Ma Jiuling paused.

"Eight months."

"I hit Foundation Establishment in three," Chen Li grinned. "You might be mid-stage, but in terms of speed, I'm not exactly at the bottom."

The smile on Ma Jiuling's face froze.

"Fine, you're impressive." He withdrew his hand. "After this match, how about we trade a few punches?"

"Trade punches?"

"Just a test." Ma Jiuling flexed his wrists. "I'll go easy on you. Three moves. If you can block them, I'll admit you've got skill."

Chen Li smiled. "Block them? I can block ten of yours."

Ma Jiuling's expression shifted.

"You—"

"I said I can 'block ten of yours,'" Chen Li pointed to Zhao Yuanqing. "Senior, you watch the show; Senior Ma is going to warm up first."

Zhao Yuanqing waved a hand. "No rush. Let Senior Sun go first."

Ma Jiuling grit his teeth and turned away.

Watching his retreating back, Chen Li turned to Zhao Yuanqing with a smile. "Senior, are you finding stepping stones for me?"

Zhao Yuanqing snorted. "You wanted to be the referee, so I'm arranging the entertainment."

The commotion at the Training Ground wasn't huge.

The man named Sun went first, lasting eight moves against Zhao Yuanqing. Chen Li counted—every one of Zhao's moves was textbook standard, devoid of any wasted motion. On the eighth move, Zhao struck the opponent's shoulder with a palm; the force was precise, just enough to knock Sun off balance without causing real injury.

"Senior Sun, thank you for the lesson," Zhao Yuanqing said, withdrawing his palm and cupping his fists.

Sun wiped blood from the corner of his mouth and returned the gesture. "Senior Zhao's skill is formidable."

"It's alright," Zhao replied indifferently.

Cheers erupted from the sidelines.

Zhou Yan squeezed over and whispered, "Your senior is amazing."

"Standard," Chen Li said. "Textbook positioning, no openings. But—"

"But what?"

"But it's *too* regular." Chen Li paused. "Every move he makes follows the orthodox path of the technique. There's no variation. If he hits someone who doesn't play by the rules, he'll suffer for it."

Zhou Yan blinked. "How much do you actually know?"

"More than you do," Chen Li smiled.

Zhou Yan didn't believe him, but he didn't ask further.

In the afternoon, Chen Li returned to his room.

Sunlight slanted through the window, illuminating the half-finished ledger. He set down his brush and pulled the booklet from his robes—the one the Elder had given him, the one with the annotations.

He flipped to the page with the fragmented scroll and stared at that line of small text for a long time.

"Daocang Method... reverse cycle..."

He stood up, walked to the center of the room, and began to gesture.

Right palm facing out, moving slowly up from the Dantian, through the Tanzhong, to the Baihui. This was the standard Qi route.

Then he flipped his hand, palm facing in, moving down from the Baihui.

"Wrong." He shook his head.

Going "reverse" didn't mean going backward. The opposite of clockwise is counter-clockwise, not a rewind.

He closed his eyes, and a memory suddenly flashed—a lab class from his previous life, a professor drawing electromagnetic field lines on a blackboard. Positive and negative field lines weren't simply reversed; they had a phase difference of one hundred and eighty degrees.

"Phase difference..." He snapped his eyes open. "It's not about going backward; it's about being half a step offset!"

He tried again. This time, he didn't start from the Dantian, but from the Tanzhong—the dead center, offset by one point. Then, instead of the standard Ren and Du Meridians, the Qi looped along a branch meridian on the outer edge of the Ren Meridian.

"Branch meridians..." He looked toward the corner of the room.

There was a bronze mirror in the corner. He walked over and stared at his reflection for a few seconds.

"If the path I take isn't in the orthodox manuals..."

He turned back to the table and opened the ledger—no, the ledger had no cultivation diagrams.

But the booklet did. The booklet the Elder gave him had a handwritten Qi flow chart attached behind the fragmented page.

He flipped to the chart and traced it with his finger.

"Main meridians—Ren, Du, Chong, Dai... those are the four primary paths. Branch meridians—" He followed the lines to the side. "Liver, Gallbladder, Spleen... those are the six meridians."

He suddenly slammed the booklet shut and took a deep breath.

"The six meridians aren't part of the main cycle. But if I use the six..."

He opened it again. His finger started at the Tanzhong, but instead of following the Ren Meridian, it cut diagonally into the path of the Liver Meridian.

"The Liver Meridian rises through the Tanzhong, to the eyes, to the forehead, to the crown," he whispered the meridian path. "If the Qi flows through here..."

He closed his eyes.

The spiritual energy in his Dantian began to move.

Not according to the manual, but according to the map in his head—starting from the Tanzhong, cutting into the Liver Meridian, bypassing the main paths, and following a route that didn't exist in any known cultivation chart.

Pain.

Not ordinary pain. It felt like a needle was being driven into his Tanzhong, forcibly carving out a new Qi vein along a path that had never been traveled.

He grit his teeth, refusing to make a sound.

The spiritual energy traveled half a loop along his mapped path—from the Tanzhong to the Liver Meridian, then looping back to the Tanzhong.

"It worked..." He opened his eyes, drenched in sweat.

The spiritual energy in his Dantian had increased. Not by much, but it was definitely more.

"It's not a breakthrough," he panted, staring at the ledger. "It's... I've opened a new road. If the road is open, more Qi can stay."

He suddenly laughed.

"Did I just... take the long way around?"

Birds chirped outside. Chen Li closed the booklet and stuffed it back into his robes.

"The long way is still a way."

He picked up his brush to continue the ledger.

But just as he dipped the brush in ink, hurried footsteps sounded outside.

The door was thrown open, and Zhou Yan stood there, pale-faced.

"Chen Li—"

"What now?"

"Ma Jiuling is waiting for you at the Training Ground." Zhou Yan was breathless. "He said—he said he wants to 'trade punches' with you."

Chen Li's brush paused.

"Trade punches?"

"He's not happy about the things you said this morning." Zhou Yan swallowed hard. "He said—"

"Said what?"

"He said, 'Bring the brat here; I'll teach him what 'rules' actually mean.'"

Chen Li set down the brush and stood up.

"I'm going."

"You—" Zhou Yan panicked. "You've only been at Foundation Establishment for three months, he's mid-stage—"

"What about three months?" Chen Li slipped on his shoes. "My route is different from his."

"What route?"

Chen Li didn't answer and pushed open the door.

Outside, the sunlight was blinding.

Ma Jiuling stood in the center of the Training Ground, slamming a fist into the blue stone floor, cracking it in three places.

"Chen Li!" he roared. "Get over here!"

Chen Li walked over and stood opposite him.

"Senior Ma," he smiled. "You said you'd teach me about the rules."

"That's right." Ma Jiuling narrowed his eyes. "You little brat, I heard what you said this morning. You claimed you could block ten of my moves—"

"I did."

"Then come." Ma Jiuling clenched his fist, spiritual energy condensing into a ball of white light on his knuckles. "I'll throw the first move. If you can't block it, stop pretending to be a genius in front of Senior Zhao."

Chen Li looked at the white light.

Standard boxing. Orthodox cultivation. Mid-stage Foundation Establishment power.

A mental image flashed in his mind—magnetic field lines, phase difference, reverse cycle.

"Senior Ma," he raised his right hand, palm facing out. "This punch of yours follows a rigid, powerful path, right?"

Ma Jiuling paused. "How do you know?"

"Guessing," Chen Li said. "Your Qi starts at the Dantian, passes through the Tanzhong, and hits the fist. The standard Three-Gate flow."

Ma Jiuling's expression changed.

"You—how do you..."

"I guessed," Chen Li repeated.

Ma Jiuling stopped talking and launched a punch.

The white light, wrapped in a blast of wind pressure, aimed straight for Chen Li's face.

Chen Li didn't dodge.

He raised his hand, meeting the blow.

But his hand didn't meet it head-on—it was offset by half an angle.

It was as if the magnetic field line had been deflected.

The wind pressure grazed his cheek and slammed into the low wall behind him. A sheet of withered vines was shaken loose by the impact.

Ma Jiuling's pupils shrank.

"You—"

"I blocked it," Chen Li said.

"You shifted!"

"A block is a block." Chen Li smiled. "Senior Ma, second move."

Ma Jiuling took a deep breath, and another layer of spiritual energy condensed on his fist.

The second move.

This punch was thirty percent faster than the first, and the power was greater.

Chen Li raised his hand again, palm out.

But this time, his palm didn't shift—it rotated.

Like a reverse cycle.

The wind pressure hit his palm, and the moment they touched, the spiritual energy was diverted—not blocked by force, but guided along the new branch meridian he had carved, looping around and venting out behind him.

On the other side of the low wall, several disciples watching the fight suddenly felt a chill on the backs of their necks as a gust of wind blew past.

Ma Jiuling was completely stunned.

"You... what technique did you use?"

Chen Li lowered his hand and flexed his wrist.

"No technique," he said. "I drew it myself."

Ma Jiuling opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Chen Li turned to walk away.

"Senior Ma," he called back without looking. "Do you have a third move?"

Silence followed for two seconds.

"...No," Ma Jiuling's voice drifted from a distance, sounding hoarse.

Chen Li smiled and didn't look back.

As he reached the door, Zhou Yan caught up to him, looking bewildered.

"What... what were those two moves just now?"

"Physics."

"What's 'Physics'?"

Chen Li didn't explain and pushed his way back into the room.

On the table, the ledger was still open. He sat down and picked up the brush.

But before he could dip it in ink, the booklet slid from his robes and landed on the table.

A breeze blew through the window, flipping the booklet to the final page.

The last page wasn't a Qi chart.

It was a list.

The list contained eleven names, each followed by a date.

The first name was "Chen Li."

The date was today.

Chen Li stared at his name for three seconds.

Then he looked at the names following—the eleventh name had no date.

There was only a small line of text:

"Pending entry."

He slowly closed the booklet.

The room was silent.

Outside, the wind in the pines suddenly stopped.