BDSMST -Chapter 165 Gu Xuan Becomes a Disciple—A Martial Arts Dream Across Generations

The Old Marquis’s words hit like a stone thrown into a lake, sending ripples not only through the minds of the three from the Huashan Sect but also making the atmosphere in Wo Niu Village unusually tense.

Jiang Suisui and Gu Yan escorted the Old Marquis back to the study. Gu Yan’s face still held a trace of disagreement.

“Father, you don’t need to concern yourself with them. I will handle Chen Jing’s schemes myself; there’s no reason to involve you.”

Gu Changming sat under the lamplight, carefully cleaning his small carving knives, his movements calm and deliberate. “Yan’er, some debts are yours, some are mine. I hid for twenty years not out of fear, but out of weariness. But now this fire has reached our doorstep, has reached you two. If I hide again, I am unworthy of being your father, unworthy of being Xuan’er and Ling’er’s grandfather.”

He lifted his head to look at Gu Yan. “If Chen Jing wants to pressure me using martial world consensus, then I’ll give him that opportunity. But the location must be chosen by me. Here in Wo Niu Village, on our own land, we write the rules.”

In his eyes shone a light Gu Yan had never seen before—not the calm steadiness of the Marquis of Zhenbei, but the sharp insight and aura of the “Qianji Computation Master.”

Jiang Suisui handed over a cup of warm ginseng tea. “Father is right. Rather than passively responding, it’s better to take the initiative. But many martial artists will flood the manor next; there will be all kinds of people. Preparations for managing them should be made early.”

Seeing that his father’s mind was made up, Gu Yan stopped persuading. The father and son began discussing concrete strategies: from security arrangements to personnel verification, and how to prevent these visitors from disrupting the normal order of the manor. One plan after another slowly took shape under the lamplight of the study.

They did not notice two small figures crouched below the study window, like alert little cats, listening intently from the flower bushes.

Gu Xuan and Bai Ling’er had originally gotten up for the night, but the commotion in the courtyard had drawn them over. They quietly crept closer, just in time to overhear the entire conversation between father and grandfather.

“Qianji Computation Master…” Gu Xuan repeated the title in his mind, his eyes shining with amazement.

So, the grandfather who usually only taught him about herbs, weather patterns, and carving little animals, was in fact the legendary master of the jianghu—leaping across rooftops, solving countless traps! Jingyun Hall, martial world assemblies—these words that only existed in storybooks—suddenly felt so real.

Images flashed through his mind: his grandfather wielding a long sword, riding alone into the midst of thousands of soldiers to seize the head of a general. Though in reality it had been book theft and arson, in the boy’s imagination it was transformed into a heroic, legendary tale.

Bai Ling’er, on the other hand, was less interested in fighting. Her little mind focused on the woman who had died saving her grandfather. That must have been a beautiful and gentle person, she thought. This story felt sad to her.

Back in his room, Gu Xuan tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. At the crack of dawn the next morning, he jumped up. He didn’t go to the shipyard to meet Zhang Heng about his plans, nor to the fields to see the new crops—he ran straight to Jingxin Court.

The Old Marquis had a habit of tending to the flowers early in the morning. When Gu Xuan arrived in the courtyard, Gu Changming was holding a small pair of scissors, carefully trimming the dead leaves of a potted orchid.

“Grandfather!” Gu Xuan called out cheerfully.

“Hmm? Xuan’er, why are you up so early today?” Gu Changming asked, slightly surprised.

Gu Xuan ran up to him, imitating the heroes from the storybooks of the jianghu. He dropped to his knees with a loud dong, performing a full kowtow.

“Xuan’er, what are you doing? Get up!” Gu Changming was startled and hurried to help him.

But Gu Xuan remained kneeling upright, tilting his little face upward, his eyes full of admiration and longing. “Grandfather, please take me as your disciple! I want to learn martial arts! I want to learn your world-renowned ‘Qianji Calculation’!”

He had slightly misremembered the title of “Qianji Computation Master,” calling it simply “Qianji Calculation.”

Gu Changming paused, then realized what had happened—the boy had likely eavesdropped last night. Seeing his grandson’s small face flushed with excitement and his clear, eager eyes full of reverence, a complex mix of emotions stirred in his heart.

In his lifetime, the first half had been in the jianghu, the latter half on the battlefield. The blood he had shed and the pain he carried were far too many. He had never wished for his descendants to follow the same path. That was why he taught Gu Yan military strategy but had never passed down a single jianghu skill.

Yet now, looking at his grandson, whose appearance so resembled his own childhood, the long-dormant, audacious spirit of the “Qianji Computation Master” seemed to awaken once more.

He sighed and pulled Gu Xuan to his feet, neither agreeing outright nor refusing. He reached out his rough, calloused hands and squeezed Gu Xuan’s arms and leg bones.

“Good bone structure… even better than your father’s at that age,” he murmured to himself.

After a moment’s thought, he spoke: “Martial arts are not for killing, fighting, or showing off. They are to strengthen the body and protect those you wish to protect. If you want to learn, you may. But you must promise me—you cannot bully others with your skills, cannot be reckless or quarrelsome, and cannot use them for fame or profit. Can you do that?”

“Yes! I can!” Gu Xuan nodded vigorously, afraid his grandfather would change his mind.

“Good.” Gu Changming nodded. “Then from today onward, come to me at the hour of Mao (early morning). We’ll start with basic stances.”

And so, a new scene appeared in the mornings of Wo Niu Village. In the courtyard of Jingxin Court, the Old Marquis, Gu Changming, stood like an ancient pine. Beside him, a five- or six-year-old child planted his feet firmly, face flushed red, beads of sweat sliding down his temples, yet gritting his teeth in silence.

Gu Yan had observed a few times and saw that his father was only teaching foundational internal training: strengthening the body, tempering muscles and bones—not any of the quick-kill techniques of the martial world. He relaxed. Watching the old and the young in the morning light, a warm feeling rose in his heart. Perhaps letting Xuan’er learn a few things from his grandfather could also help his father step out of the shadows of the past.

Thus began Gu Xuan’s martial arts dream, in the daily sweat and toil of morning practice. He had no idea what grand and turbulent path his curiosity and admiration would lead him down. He only knew that listening to his grandfather recount stories of the jianghu, and feeling a tiny flow of energy slowly growing within him, was an immense joy.

Meanwhile, Jiang Suisui watched her son, who after each practice could eat three bowls of rice, and her father-in-law, whose health seemed to improve day by day. Quietly, a brand-new plan began to take shape in her mind.

That noon, she did not ask the kitchen to prepare lunch. Instead, she cooked herself, carrying a soup pot into Jingxin Court.