With the birth of his child, Zhuge Sagan Emrys, the mundane and repetitive life of Zhuge Jianhong changed drastically. He was a man of focus and discipline, yet fatherhood was a new and distinctly difficult challenge, even for him. As a celibate Taoist, he had never taken care of an infant, and his own infancy was hardly an example to follow—at the very least, he knew being constantly assassinated from birth was not a proper way to raise a child.
Thanks to his demi-god nature, little Sagan was a tough child to raise. Especially with his ADHD and immense energy, every resident of the site made sure he never left their attention—especially after he threw himself off a cliff. Thankfully, a giant white wolf with blue lightning-shaped stripes caught him before he fell. With mostly happy, but sometimes sad, memories, little Sagan grew up in the peaceful site.
The sun rose from the horizon, illuminating the misty peaks of the mountains. With its light and warmth, a now seven-year-old Sagan lifted himself from bed. His body was well rested and, like every morning, full of energy—but today, he couldn't play all day. His father had told him to come in the morning, and his little head was filled with curiosity and wild ideas.
When he arrived at the main training ground—where his father usually was—he found a colossal fire and a giant cauldron instead of his father's usual routine. With awe in his eyes, he ran to his father, who was throwing herbs and mixing them with a giant stick.
"Good morning, Dad! What are you doing? Can I finally start training with you?" Sagan asked with a bright smile.
"Good morning, my little star," Jianhong replied. "This is a medical bath for you. And yes, today we begin your training. I wanted to wait a few more years, but you've already finished all your studies. But everything in order—now wait patiently while I finish this."
"YAY!" Sagan screamed in excitement, even overlooking his father's embarrassing nickname.
Since the day his father crushed a falling boulder with a simple slap, he had wanted to learn martial arts. Seeing this, Jianhong had started his studies at the age of four, promising that when he finished all of them, he could begin martial training. That way, while Sagan was learning information critical to life, he would also be occupied until he was old enough. After all, it's nearly impossible to explain to a child why they must wait to grow into their body.
But even Grandmaster Zhuge Jianhong couldn't have predicted that his son would possess talents even greater than his own. In just three years, Sagan had learned Chinese, English, and Ancient Greek, mastered high school-level mathematics, the sciences, and basic medicine including first aid. Seeing this, Jianhong decided it was acceptable to begin his training at the early—but safe—age of seven.
After nearly an hour, Jianhong finished preparing the bath.
"Listen, Sagan. From this day forward, you will be a martial artist. This is no easy life, and you don't have to walk this path. So I'll ask one last time: Are you sure you want to do this?"
His voice was deep and serious.
"I am sure, Father," Sagan answered firmly, trying to imitate his father's tone.
"Very well. Now, I will explain to you what a martial artist is—and what martial arts are." He raised his hand, and a blue, flame-like energy surrounded it.
It's warm, Sagan thought to himself.
"This is Qi. Qi is the energy of the heavens, bestowed upon all living beings—from the smallest bug to the mightiest beast. Martial arts are, at their core, the mastery of Qi. With Qi, you can move mighty mountains and divide vast oceans. Everyone is born with Qi, breathes Qi, and dies when their Qi is spent. This specific kind of Qi is called vital Qi—the purest and mightiest form of Qi left in the world. There is also common Qi, which is much weaker and impure by comparison. What you are feeling now is the Qi I've accumulated and refined throughout my life. I hope you never need to use your vital Qi—it is nearly impossible to regain after birth. Are you following so far?"
"Yes, I think I understand."
"Excellent. Now, for cultivating Qi: it is done through meditation and by consuming elixirs. Elixirs are natural culminations of Qi, sometimes aged for thousands of years. For example, this thousand-year-old ginseng."
Jianhong showed a brown, human-shaped root.
That looks cool. I wonder what it tastes like, Sagan thought to himself as Jianhong set it aside.
"Now, the basics of martial arts. As I said, martial arts is the mastery and manipulation of Qi." A bronze machine activated, projecting a hologram of a human body. Veins covered its entire form, creating a complex network.
"These veins are called meridians—the pathways through which your Qi flows. To use your Qi, you must guide it through them. So you'll need to memorize this system... but that can wait. For now, I want you to eat this."
Jianhong handed him a pill. Sagan ate it with curiosity. It dissolved in his mouth, and soon he felt his entire body heating up. He felt nauseous and threw up a lump of black, stinking ooze. Again and again, he vomited until his strength was spent. Even as he collapsed, his body continued to sweat out the same foul substance.
"What… is… this?" he asked weakly.
"Poison residue," his father answered nonchalantly.
"P-p-poison residue?!" Sagan cried. "I've been poisoned? Since when?!"
"Well, you never complained about my secret sauce. Or the tea. And the coffee. And desserts. And spice. And soup. And stew…"
"All of it was poison?!" Sagan shouted in shock, his exhaustion overridden by outrage.
"Yeah, everything you ate from age two was mildly poisonous. Never lethal nor harmful, but poison nonetheless. It's actually a secret method from the Tang Clan. Now your body can resist even the most potent poisons. Still… be careful about python venom—you're not ready for that yet."
Even though he still wanted to rant, his body had reached its limit. Slowly, he closed his eyes and slipped into the arms of Morpheus.
When he woke, he found himself completely cleaned and inside a giant bathtub.
How long was I asleep? he wondered, glancing around. His gaze settled on his father sitting beside him.
"You've been sleeping for thirty minutes," Jianhong said calmly, sensing the question in his son's eyes. "Less than expected. Yet… you are ready. How curious. Anyway, now that you're clean, we can begin."
As he spoke, the green-colored liquid in the cauldron flowed toward them.
"This time, you don't have to do anything. Awakening is a ritual that only a master of the Fusion Realm or higher can handle. Just observe and try to memorize everything you can."
With those words, Sagan felt an immense amount of Qi released from his father, followed by a suffocating pressure that paralyzed him. He watched as the hot liquid filled the tub, completely submerging him.
Though underwater, he was surprised to find he could still breathe—or rather, that he didn't need to breathe at all. The energy from the pill returned, but this time it was amplified, navigated by his father's guiding Qi. It flowed slowly at first, then faster and faster—like a gentle spring becoming a raging river, reshaping his body like a butterfly breaking free from its cocoon.
His heart beat harder and harder as the energy surged. Suddenly, he felt a sharp sting in his shoulder—and an overwhelming, primal urge. Unable to control himself, he roared.
And fainted instantly.
Jianhong maintained perfect control as he began the Awakening Ritual—a sacred rite that allowed a person's innate physique to awaken. Contrary to popular belief, every human possessed a unique body gifted by the heavens. But with Qi having become diluted and scarce since ancient times, most bodies never awakened.
He guided the energy like a gentle breeze.
Suddenly, the flow quickened beyond his predictions, and a new presence emerged—distinct, noble, familiar.
No way… he muttered, as a dragon-shaped mark appeared on Sagan's shoulder. A thunderous roar shook the chamber.
The green liquid slowly turned transparent. The energy's flow steadied. Jianhong looked at his son, for the first time in his life, with genuine expectation.
Chuckling to himself, he pulled a mirror from his robe. A young man's face with striking purple eyes stared back—now further distinguished by the dragon tattoo that marked his cheek.
"Brother Jianhong," a voice spoke from the mirror. "What's the occasion? Did you finally remember I'm alive?"
"Brother Hyuk," Jianhong smiled. "It's very good to see you again. I'd love to talk for hours, but I have something urgent. I need your help."
"Who do I have to kill?" Hyuk's voice turned cold, eyes filled with killing intent.
"Calm down, brother. I don't need you to kill anyone. Yet. Just come here—you'll understand when you see."
"If you say so. I'll be there in half an hour. That bastard Terminus still hates me."
"I'm brewing your favorite tea. See you soon."
"See you soon."
The mirror faded. Jianhong put it away and looked at his son while preparing clothes for him.
Sagan slowly opened his eyes, the warm sunlight washing over his skin. He felt strong, light, and clear. First thing he did was check his shoulder.
"WOAH!" he exclaimed. A dragon-shaped mark now adorned his skin. "That's so cool!"
Stretching, he got up, hearing his bones creak with newfound strength. He headed toward his father's quarters.
He heard laughter—one voice familiar, the other not. He approached and saw his father drinking tea with a stranger clad in majestic purple robes, decorated with golden stripes and flame imprints.
The stranger turned, filling Sagan's entire field of vision with his towering frame. His gaze pierced deep, like a predator eyeing prey.
Cough.
Jianhong's warning cleared the air. The man stepped back slightly, still watching. Up close, Sagan saw the same dragon tattoo he had—only this one was across the stranger's face.
"Sagan!" Jianhong called. "This is my sworn brother, Cheon Hyuk."
'Cheon Hyuk? That name sounds familiar… wait. No way…'
"You mean… Cheon Hyuk as in Heavenly Demon Cheon Hyuk?! Like the stories you told me?!"
Before Jianhong could answer, Cheon Hyuk's laughter boomed.
"I didn't know there were still kids who remember this old man. And who might you be, little one? Didn't your parents teach you manners?"
Embarrassed, Sagan gave a martial bow.
"I greet Senior Heavenly Demon. I am Zhuge Sagan Emrys, son of Zhuge Jianhong and young master of the Zhuge Clan. My father told me stories of your youth."
Cheon Hyuk blinked, stunned. "Brother… did you break your oath?" he asked, voice trembling.
"No, brother. It happened..."
After hearing the bizarre tale of Sagan's birth, Hyuk sighed in relief.
"Heavens. Don't scare me like that again. So this is your child, huh? Come here, kiddo. No more 'Lord' stuff—just call me Uncle Hyuk. Now tell me more about those tales, and I'll tell you what your father was really like back then."
Sagan sat down next to his newfound uncle, eyes full of wonder.
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An: Here is another chapter please tell me your thoughts and criticism is like always welcomed.