The mindset of the ancients was such that even upon becoming cultivators, they could not shake off these deeply ingrained beliefs. Even in the modern age, such thoughts still persist—they are etched into the very bloodline.
Inheritance. Legacy. Among the descendants of Yan and Huang, these were of utmost importance.
In ancient dynasties, if an emperor had no heirs, the entire empire would be destabilized. His throne would be shaky, and the hearts of the people could never fully gather around him.
Why?
Because without an heir, the foundation he had built had no successor. Naturally, the people's hearts would be unsettled. The court would inevitably fall into turmoil. After all, no one could be certain that their hard work today wouldn't vanish into smoke tomorrow. But with a successor, it was different—if the current emperor died, there would still be a son to inherit everything, ensuring everyone's interests remained protected.
Their efforts would not be in vain.
Thus, in the empire, the emperor's children were regarded as the foundation of the nation.
An emperor without heirs could not hold his kingdom securely.
There had never been an exception to this.
Such situations would inspire ambitions that should never exist.
Of course, none of this applied to Xuanhuang Village for now. Heirs were only one part of the equation. After all, these were cultivators—so long as they didn't fall to unexpected misfortune, they could live for a very long time. The longevity that ancient emperors had so desperately pursued might very well be within reach. The importance of heirs had lessened considerably—but it still lingered, a resonance that stemmed from the depths of their bloodline.
The bloodline of Yan and Huang placed the highest value on this.
Children were seen as the continuation of one's own life.
Especially in times of chaos like these, no one could truly guarantee survival.
The villagers still hoped that Yi Tianxing would produce an heir as soon as possible.
Under the kind gazes of the villagers, although Cai Yan felt shy, she did not flinch. Gracefully, she walked beside Yi Tianxing.
Before long, they arrived at the Heavenly Works Pavilion.
The structure was similar in size to the Heaven's Scripture Hall.
Upon entering, they found themselves in a large courtyard.
There, a large number of craftsmen were busily working on various items.
Some were carving—not with wood, but with bone crystals—depicting animals or people. Each sculpture was vivid and lifelike, practically works of art.
Others were forging weapons, using methods like hundred-fold forging and thousand-fold forging to temper their creations.
Some carpenters were making wooden beds, tables, and chairs.
Still others were trying to create mechanical beasts.
In one part of the courtyard stood a wooden horse. From the outside, it looked nearly identical to a real steed. But getting it to move—now that was the real challenge.
Elsewhere, bamboo artisans were crafting bamboo dragonflies.
Their eyes remained fixed on the toys, racking their brains about how they could achieve lift, how they could carry a person into the air—an idea sparked by the shaman who had previously been carried away by one. They sought to harness that concept.
Many of the craftsmen were straining their minds for new ideas.
They wanted to merge their craftsmanship with cultivation.
Whenever someone hit a roadblock, they would gather together to discuss, brainstorm, and solve problems collaboratively. The atmosphere was harmonious, and innovation was in the air.
Seeing all this, Yi Tianxing felt genuinely pleased.
Only through open communication and a lack of prejudice between trades could real innovation occur, allowing for the sparks of wisdom to fly and true miracles to be born.
Bringing these craftsmen together was undoubtedly a wise move.
When the craftsmen in the courtyard saw Yi Tianxing approaching, they greeted him warmly. Some were too absorbed in their work to notice, but Yi Tianxing didn't mind. He wasn't the kind of person to put on airs—and besides, this focus was the hallmark of true artisans.
Knock knock knock!!
Hu Bin approached a certain room and knocked gently.
There was no response from inside.
"Master Lu must be immersed in his work again," Hu Bin said a bit awkwardly. "At times like this, it's nearly impossible to disturb him."
"No problem," Yi Tianxing replied with a smile. "A true master immerses themselves fully when they begin creating. This is the path of total devotion. Perfect—I'd like to witness Master Lu's work firsthand."
He knew well the temperament of technical minds. After all, his adoptive parents had worked in a research institute. When they were deep into a project, they'd sometimes forget their own family. Many times, he had been the one taking care of Zhao Ziyan.
"Alright then, let's go in. But we should remain silent. If his thoughts are interrupted, Master Lu might lose his temper."
Hu Bin nodded.
They carefully opened the door, making not even a sound. For cultivators, this was no difficult task.
Inside, an old man sat at a workbench. In his hands were various knives, which he used to carve wood into intricate components. Some of the pieces seemed worthless to an untrained eye—many would even scoff, calling them junk.
But Yi Tianxing watched as piece after piece was swiftly carved.
With the addition of previously completed parts, the old man's hands soon blurred with motion, assembling the components. What once appeared to be random, useless bits, now connected flawlessly—as if disassembling and reassembling a firearm into a functional whole.
In mere moments, a lifelike mechanical bird appeared before them.
The bird opened its wings as if preparing for flight.
Its beak, neck, body, wings, and claws were vividly detailed. It looked like a masterpiece.
And then—the old man touched something, and the mechanical bird took a few waddling steps forward.
"Mechanism Arts!!"
Yi Tianxing's pupils contracted sharply as he let out a silent gasp.
The bird, assembled from carved wooden parts, actually moved—just like a living creature. It was an astonishing sight.
Only one term came to mind: Mechanism Arts (机关术).
This was one of ancient China's most mysterious crafts—a discipline that embodied the brilliance of ancient wisdom.
According to ancient texts, during the Spring and Autumn Period, Lu Ban had created a wooden bird that could fly in the sky, carrying him across the heavens, landing safely thereafter. During the Three Kingdoms era, it was said that Zhuge Liang created wooden oxen and flowing horses, which could walk and run.
These seemingly miraculous feats were all rooted in the principles of mechanism arts.
Sadly, they had all been lost through the centuries of war and upheaval.
Those brilliant legacies were eventually erased by the tides of history.
A true tragedy.
Mechanism arts had the potential to achieve what others thought impossible.
Yet back then, few appreciated their worth. The aristocracy dismissed them as mere tricks, unworthy of serious attention. Even when they heard of such wonders, they treated them as idle tales, ignoring the value within.
But Lu Ban's wooden bird required no fuel and could fly—crafted through skill and intellect alone. No one knew what powered it, whether its energy was perpetual or consumable. If it required no external power, then Lu Ban had essentially created a perpetual motion machine in the Spring and Autumn era.
An idea like that could terrify modern scientists.
Modern technology is still bound by the law of energy conservation. The mere suggestion of a perpetual motion device would make engineers fall to their knees.
To many, mechanism arts are shrouded in mystery. It's not about making simple traps or clever mechanisms—that's only scratching the surface. The true art lies in making the impossible possible.
Even Yi Tianxing was stunned by what he saw. He hadn't expected Master Lu to possess knowledge of mechanism arts. This man was a true genius.
"Mechanism arts?" Cai Yan couldn't help but exclaim in surprise.
"Who's there?"
The old man slowly turned around. Despite his apparent age, his face glowed with youthful vitality. His skin emitted a gentle sheen, and his black hair suggested renewed vigor. Still, his eyes revealed a life full of hardship and deep experience—a story of trials and resilience.
"So it's the village chief and Miss Cai."
Master Lu glanced at Yi Tianxing and Cai Yan, immediately recognizing them. He then looked at Hu Bin and scolded with mock fury, "You ungrateful disciple! Selling me out like this. I should've expelled you from my sect years ago." His eyes widened, beard bristling in mock outrage.
But from his tone, it was clear he wasn't truly angry.
"If not for your disciple, I wouldn't have known that such a great master of mechanism arts was hidden within the village," Yi Tianxing said with a smile, his gaze still on the mechanical bird. "I should be thanking him. Otherwise, I'd have missed this brilliant display."
"In the past, Lu Ban crafted wooden birds that soared across the sky. At that time, mechanism arts had already reached the realm of the Dao—divine and miraculous. Since then, that level of mastery has been lost. However, I believe that if we integrate mechanism arts with talismans, and power it using spirit crystals, flight could be possible once again. For instance, if we engrave Wind-Riding Talismans (御风符) onto the bird's wings, it may very well take flight."
The divine craftsmanship of Lu Ban may be gone—but that didn't mean they couldn't forge a new path forward.