He has been reincarnated through countless worlds, adorned with billions of mythological terms!

Yun Yi sat on a specially made small chair, his feet barely touching the ground, swaying gently in mid-air.

A stack of papers lay in front of him, containing what he had jotted down over the past few days.

It contains interpretations of classical texts, historical commentaries, military strategies, and even a few casual essays.

The old scholar casually picked up the top one.

On Lord Shang's Book

He had expected to see some childish copying or clichéd phrases written by adults.

After reading three lines, his expression changed.

Upon reaching the tenth line, my hand began to tremble slightly uncontrollably.

Halfway through the reading, he looked up and stared at the two-year-old child in front of him with a look of utter disbelief.

"Did you write this?"

Yun Yi nodded.

"Nobody's helping you?"

Yun Yi shook his head.

The old scholar remained silent for a long time before handing the article to the person next to him.

After the person next to him finished reading it, he passed it on to the next person.

The area in front of the library grew increasingly quiet.

In the end, more than thirty of the most learned men in Luozhou City surrounded a baby sitting on a small chair, and all was silent.

The only sounds were the rustling of the wind through the pages of the book and the occasional chirping of birds in the distance.

The headmaster of Luozhou Academy was surnamed Zhou, and his given name was Li. He was a genuine Jinshi (a successful candidate in the highest imperial examinations) who had passed the imperial examinations twice. He had been teaching in Luozhou for twenty years, and his students were spread throughout the court and the country.

He read through all of Yun Yi's articles from beginning to end, then squatted down to make his line of sight level with Yun Yi's.

How many books have you read?

"The students in the library have read about 70% of it."

"What is 70%?"

"Around three thousand two hundred volumes."

Zhou Li's eye twitched.

He had just glanced through the Yun family's book collection, and it was indeed around four thousand volumes.

A two-and-a-half-year-old child has read 3,200 volumes—not just superficially, but truly understood, digested, and was able to write such articles.

"How did you pronounce it?"

"Just open it and take a look."

Yun Yi thought for a moment, then added, "I remembered it after seeing it once."

Zhou Li stood up and bowed deeply to Yun Wantong.

"Master Yun, I dare not comment on your son's talent."

Why?

"Because it can't be evaluated."

Zhou Li smiled wryly, "I've been teaching for twenty years and I've never seen a student like this before."

"This isn't a child prodigy; it's a gift from heaven."

God-given.

When this word came from the mouth of Zhou Li, it carried a different weight.

Within three days, the news spread throughout Luozhou City, then to neighboring prefectures and counties, to the provincial capital, and finally even reached the capital.

"A literary star has descended to earth from the Yun family of Luozhou."

"At two and a half years old, he was well-versed in all schools of thought, and his writings astonished even the most learned scholars."

"Not a child prodigy, but a gifted individual."

The rumors became increasingly outrageous, but no one could refute the core fact—Yun Yi did indeed convince the most learned people in Luozhou City when he was two and a half years old.

During that period, Yun Wantong was walking unsteadily.

He framed Yun Yi's "On Lord Shang" and hung it in the most conspicuous place in the main hall.

He would "casually" lead every business guest past the main hall and then "casually" introduce the origin of this article.

The guests all cooperated by showing shocked expressions, which made Yun Wantong laugh even more heartily.

Yun Yi didn't feel anything about it.

He had experienced fame before.

In the first world, he was an emperor and stood at the pinnacle of power.

To him, the fame of Luozhou City was nothing more than a child's game.

He's more concerned about something else now.

This world is different from the previous two worlds.

Martial arts exist in this world.

Third-rate martial artist, second-rate martial artist, first-rate martial artist, then innate martial artist, grandmaster, great grandmaster.

His current identity is that of a merchant's son, not a prince.

The strongest person my father could hire was only a first-rate martial artist.

So far, he has only managed to cultivate in his spare time, and his cultivation level is only at the peak of Qi Refining, which is equivalent to Grandmaster.

It's still too weak.

The third leaf hasn't grown yet.

But he could sense that it was almost time.

The seed that had grown into a seedling was gently swaying in his mind, with golden specks of light flickering on its two leaves.

Whenever he reads a book of a new category, the seedlings tremble slightly, as if anticipating something.

Almost there.

One last piece of the puzzle is missing.

On his third birthday, Yun Wantong hosted a small family banquet.

Everyone who came was family; even distant relatives of the Yun family came from the neighboring county.

Yun Yi's mother, Qin, held him as they sat in the main seat, while Yun Wantong, holding a wine glass, went from table to table toasting, his smile never fading.

"The thing I'm most proud of in my life," Yun Wantong said, slamming his hand on the table as he drank his third cup, "isn't how much money I've made, it's having a wonderful son!"

The relatives all chimed in.

Yunyi sat expressionlessly in his mother's lap, but his gaze passed over the table full of food and wine and landed on an old locust tree outside the courtyard wall.

There are people there.

He is not an ordinary person.

A faint, almost imperceptible aura was emanating from that direction.

It was very faint, as if it had been deliberately concealed, yet a wisp of it was intentionally released—as fine as a silkworm's thread, precisely probing into his range of perception, like a finger reaching out and gently tapping his shoulder.

He was trying to get my attention.

Yun Yi didn't make a sound, but simply looked away and continued to quietly act like a three-year-old child.

After the banquet, the guests left one after another.

Yunyi was carried back to his room by his wet nurse and, as usual, read for a while before going to bed.

He turned to page eighteen of "An Introduction to Meridians" and then stopped.

"Come out."

The room was very quiet.

The candlelight flickered slightly, casting a swaying shadow on the wall.

Then, a figure emerged from the shadows beside the bookshelf.

He was an old man.

Her hair was gray and messy, tied into a bun and held in place by a twig she'd picked up from who-knows-where.

Although his clothes were rough, Yun Yi could tell at a glance that beneath the rough texture lay a certain deliberate casualness—like someone deliberately wearing tattered clothes but forgetting to change out of their priceless boots.

But Yunyi didn't notice these things.

It was the other person's gaze.

That's not the look you give a child.

It was a look that was condescending, playful, scrutinizing, and filled with a certain secret expectation.

Like someone standing on a high place for a long time, with the look in their eyes that regards the world as a game.

The old man emerged from the shadows, casually pulled a book from the bookshelf, flipped through a couple of pages, and then shoved it back into the box.

His movements were as casual as if he were at home.

"The course of the Lung Meridian of Hand-Taiyin, Volume 1, page 17 of 'Introduction to Meridians'".

The old man sat down opposite Yun Yi, plopping down on the small desk without any regard for seniority or hierarchy. "Tsk, who wrote this? It's all wrong."

Yun Yi's gaze sharpened slightly.

"take it easy."

The old man waved his hand. "I'm just curious to see what you, this little fellow who's called the reincarnation of the God of Literature, actually look like."

Yun Yi remained silent for a moment.

"Have you finished watching now?"

The old man nodded.

"I've finished watching it."

"What the outside world is saying is indeed true, and even a bit too low."

He closed the book, tossed it back onto the shelf, and tilted his head to look at Yun Yi.

There was something new in those eyes, not the previous playfulness, but something deeper, almost something that could be called "resonance".

"At two and a half years old, he had read 3,200 volumes, had a photographic memory, and could thoroughly understand them."

He pointed to his own eyes, then to Yun Yi's eyes.

"You're just like me."

The way you look at the world isn't like you're looking at your own home.

"It's more like watching a... no, a game."