The sealed chamber was vast, but silent — a silence unlike the world outside, heavy and unbroken as though time itself had been stilled within these walls. Rows upon rows of jade shelves stretched beyond sight, their surfaces carved with dragon motifs that glowed faintly under the light of floating lantern flames.
Haotian stood at the center, hands clasped behind his back, his golden eyes of the universe shimmering faintly as he took it all in. Every breath carried with it qi so pure it tasted like mountain snow, sharp and exhilarating. His heart beat faster.
This place… it could feed entire sects for centuries. And it waits for me alone.
With a flick of his wrist, a stack of blank parchment and a brush appeared from his spatial ring. He carried no burdens on his back; everything he needed rested quietly in the miniature world at his command. Setting the parchment upon a long jade table, he dipped the brush in ink and began to copy the first scroll he pulled from the shelves — a body-tempering manual.
The strokes flowed easily beneath his hand, qi-infused ink locking the characters with permanence. Every line seemed to hum faintly as though the scroll itself approved of being reborn.
Hours passed. The lantern fire dimmed and brightened again. By the time Haotian finally leaned back, three new scrolls lay complete beside him, their characters glowing softly with his qi.
He gathered them and walked to the barrier. For a moment he hesitated — then stepped through.
The air outside shifted; the disciples waiting at the entrance jumped to their feet.
"Senior Brother Haotian!" one called, eyes bright."Did you… did you succeed?"
Haotian held out the first scroll. "This one is a body refinement method — stable, suitable for most disciples. Practice it carefully and your foundations will strengthen."
The Cloudveil disciples clustered around, eyes widening as they read. "This circulation pattern is… it's far more direct than what we have now!
"Another laughed aloud, disbelief in his voice. "I can feel the qi flow just by tracing the lines — it's real!"
From Burning Sun's side, elders nodded quietly, already evaluating its worth. One spoke, voice tinged with awe: "Balanced. Refined. These manuals are not mere scraps — they are inheritances."
Disciples' faces lit with joy as they bowed deeply.
"Senior Brother, thank you."
"Truly, both our sects will rise from this."
Haotian gave a faint smile. "Use them well."
But inside, his thoughts were calm and sharp: This is only the surface. I give them what they can hold… and keep what they cannot even comprehend.
He turned back toward the barrier, golden eyes flickering once before dimming to ordinary black. The library called to him again, and he was far from finished.
The jade lanterns flickered softly as Haotian wandered deeper into the sealed library. The further he went, the denser the qi became, until it pressed faintly against his skin, as though testing his resolve.
His golden eyes of the universe opened fully. The shelves ahead shimmered, cloaked in faint veils of energy almost invisible to ordinary sight. To others, they would appear like ordinary racks of jade scrolls, but to Haotian, each veil glowed like a thin wall of cosmic light.
Restrictions, he realized. Someone long ago didn't want these falling into unworthy hands.
He stepped closer. His hand extended, brushing against the first veil. It trembled, then dissolved at his touch. The shelves stirred.
Three scrolls floated gently from their places and hovered before him. Each pulsed faintly, their aura far heavier than the manuals he had copied for the sects.
The first radiated silence so vast it seemed the air folded around it. Its jade casing was marked with fine silver lines that twisted like rivers: The Void Scripture of Space.
The second pulsed with a rhythm like a heartbeat, slow and unyielding. The surface shimmered faintly with silver threads like rippling water: The Chronicles of Still Waters.
The third was unlike the others, its surface split between obsidian black and pale ivory. When Haotian touched it, he felt both warmth and chill, destruction and rebirth in a single breath. Its title glowed faintly: The Scripture of Twin Poles.
Haotian's breath caught.
"Space… Time… Yin and Yang…" He whispered the words aloud, his voice barely carrying in the vast silence.
Holding them was like holding fragments of the heavens themselves. His body trembled, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of the truths written within.
He slowly sat down before them, steadying his breath, and opened the first scroll.
Inside were diagrams of folded lines, circles crossing upon themselves, annotations written in sharp, cutting characters. His eyes traced words that spoke of stepping through reality, of striking across distances untouchable by ordinary blades. Techniques like Void Step and Spatial Severance carved themselves into his mind.
His heart thundered. If my Ninefold Thrust carried this power… no wall, no armor, no defense could resist me.
Reluctantly, he closed the scroll.
He reached for the Chronicles of Still Waters. The moment he touched it, the world around him seemed to slow. The lantern flame froze mid-flicker, his heartbeat thudded louder in his ears, each second stretching into an eternity.
He yanked his hand back with a sharp breath, and the sensation ended.
Time.Not merely a technique — a law. To slow it, hasten it, or stop it entirely.
Haotian's hands tightened. If I could wield this alongside the spear dance… He forced himself to set it aside. "Not now."
Finally, he opened the Scripture of Twin Poles.
Yin and Yang swirled from the pages as black and white light curled around him, dancing in harmony. His qi stirred in response, his Nine Elements rippling inside his dantian as though yearning for balance.
"This… this could unify them," he whispered, voice thick with awe. "Yin-Yang as the axis… the balance my Nine Elements lack."
The scroll snapped shut in his hands. Sweat beaded his brow, though the air was cool.
He exhaled slowly, lifting all three treasures into his palm. For a long moment he simply stared at them. Then, with a solemn breath, he willed them into his Golden Text Library within his inner world. There, they shimmered faintly, sealed away where no sect could touch them.
When he finally emerged from the barrier hours later, disciples rushed to greet him, eager for new scrolls. Haotian smiled and handed them copied manuals on defensive qi circulation and ordinary martial forms.
Their joy erupted instantly.
They bowed in gratitude, not suspecting that only moments before, Haotian had touched the laws of Space, Time, and Yin-Yang.
He lowered his gaze, hiding the faint golden glow flickering in his eyes.
I'll give them what raises the sects. But these… these belong only to me.
The deeper Haotian walked into the library, the heavier the air grew. It was no longer the sharp purity of mountain qi — here, the qi shimmered like molten fire, pressing heat into his skin. His eyes of the universe guided him toward a lone shelf, its jade surface cracked from centuries of heat exposure.
There, resting as though it had been waiting for him, lay a single scripture.
Its casing glowed with molten patterns, veins of crimson and gold shifting as if alive. When he reached out, warmth seared into his palm — not burning, but demanding. Haotian's breath hitched.
"Scripture of the Primordial Yang Sun."
The characters themselves radiated a heat that made his blood stir. Slowly, reverently, he opened it.
The chamber immediately roared with silent fire. Waves of heat burst outward, and for an instant, Haotian felt as though he stood in the heart of a blazing star. The shelves around him shimmered, lanterns flaring brighter, shadows retreating from the oppressive brilliance.
His body quivered, his spirit trembling — but his heart pounded with exhilaration.
The Solaris Verdant Flame Codex… it was a branch. This… this is the root!
The scripture unfolded a path of fire cultivation unlike anything he had ever seen. The opening passages spoke of the Nine Solar Breaths, breathing cycles that pulled flame directly from heaven and earth into one's marrow. Each cycle burned impurities, each exhalation tempered bones, blood, and skin.
Further down, diagrams showed the body wreathed in golden fire, every strike turning limbs into weapons of living flame. The ultimate stage described the Ultimate Yang Fire: a conflagration that did not merely destroy, but remade the body itself.
To cultivate this flame, the scripture read, is to temper the physique in the heat of the Primordial Sun. To burn until flesh, marrow, and spirit are aligned with the fire, until one's very body becomes a vessel of eternal yang.
Haotian's pulse thundered in his ears. His skin prickled as though already beginning to burn. He could almost feel the weight of the fire in his veins, cleansing, tempering, reforging.
He swallowed hard, his throat dry."So… that's why the Solaris Verdant Codex was so slow."
That lesser manual had twisted around the original steps, creating detours and unnecessary tempering cycles. It had still worked, but only as a diluted version. The true scripture cut straight to the heart of the fire.
"With this," Haotian whispered, eyes blazing, "I can form the Ultimate Yang Fire in years instead of decades."
He closed the scripture carefully, his hands still trembling from the sheer force radiating from it. Even sealed, he felt its heat like a second heartbeat, echoing in his chest.
I cannot give this away. Not to Burning Sun, not to Cloudveil, not to anyone. This is mine alone.
He willed the scripture into his Golden Text Library within his inner world. There, the book pulsed with molten light, settling among his secret inheritance.
When he emerged hours later, carrying rewritten defensive and elemental manuals for disciples, they surged forward in gratitude, bowing and praising.
Haotian only smiled faintly, his expression calm. But behind his eyes burned the fire of a sun waiting to be born.
The days began to fall into rhythm. By morning, Haotian would enter the library, brush in hand, and spend hours bent over parchment. By evening, he emerged through the invisible barrier, scrolls stacked neatly in his arms, disciples and elders waiting eagerly outside.
The scrolls he copied were useful — qi circulation techniques that improved efficiency, body-tempering manuals that stabilized foundations, and spear or blade arts refined for precision and steadiness.
When he distributed them, the reactions were always the same.
The disciples' eyes glowed with gratitude, their voices thick with awe. Some looked at him as though he were already half a legend.
The elders of both sects conferred in hushed voices as they tested the scrolls themselves."These are balanced.""Practical, stable… safe.""Enough to elevate the sect without shaking the heavens."
Their approving nods carried weight, but their relief carried more. They saw his generosity as magnanimous restraint — and in their eyes, this made him trustworthy.
Haotian would smile faintly, accepting their bows and thanks, but once night fell and the crowd dispersed, he returned to the library.
There, in the silence, he pulled open the Scripture of the Primordial Yang Sun once more. Even sealed within his Golden Text Library, it pulsed, calling to him. His chest throbbed with its heat, a reminder that the fire within him was meant for more than "safe" manuals.
When he copied scrolls for the sects, he used stable brushstrokes. But when he traced the diagrams of the Primordial Sun with his eyes, his hand unconsciously clenched, veins thrumming.
If I cultivate this flame… my body will be remade. Bones tempered, flesh reforged, blood ignited. Every strike I make will carry the heat of the sun itself.
By day, he forged the tools for disciples to grow slowly but surely.By night, he fed his own ambition, a flame that could not be shared.
As he sealed the scripture again, he exhaled softly."They believe I am generous… and I am. But there are paths they cannot walk."
When he emerged the next morning, disciples surged forward again, bowing and cheering at the new scrolls.
Haotian looked at their hopeful faces. His own expression remained calm, even warm, but behind his eyes burned a secret truth:
The sects would rise on what he gave them.But he would ascend on what he kept.
The library at night was a different world. The lanterns burned dimmer, casting long shadows across the jade shelves. The silence grew so profound it pressed against Haotian's chest, like the air itself was holding its breath.
He wandered the aisles slowly, fingertips grazing the edges of jade scrolls, when a faint pulse of energy drew him to an unassuming volume tucked into a corner. Its casing bore no grand name, only a simple inscription in old calligraphy.
Curious, Haotian unrolled it.
His eyes narrowed as he read, each line sinking into him like a hammer stroke.
It described a cultivation method unlike most he'd seen — a dual path. One path for the spirit, the other for the body.
The text explained what most cultivators already believed: the spirit path was the safer, more common choice. Spirit cultivation flowed endlessly upward, through qi seas, nascent cores, souls, and beyond. Body cultivation, however, came at a terrible price.
"To temper the body to the higher realms," the scroll read, "one must die. The vessel must shatter before it can be reborn. The more stable the foundation, the more difficult the destruction. Many fail. Few rise again."
Haotian's brows furrowed, his heartbeat quickening.
So that's why body cultivation is abandoned. Not because it is weaker… but because its trial is too cruel.
He leaned back, the parchment glowing faintly in his hands.
But what if… His eyes gleamed with a dangerous thought. What if I walk both paths? Spirit and body. If I temper my spirit with the Heaven Sundering Trinity Scripture, and my body with the flames of the Primordial Sun… my foundation would be beyond any cultivator in history.
The thought lingered in him like fire on dry wood, but he set the scroll aside."Not now. I'll study this further when the time is right."
With a steadying breath, he reached for another scroll — one whose aura had been whispering to him for days.
The Void Scripture of Space.
As soon as he touched it, the air folded faintly, as though reality itself bent around his hand. His golden eyes flickered, focusing. He carefully unrolled it across the jade table.
The diagrams within were unlike anything he had ever seen. Intersecting lines that twisted into impossible shapes, circles folding into themselves, runes that described pathways that shouldn't exist. His mind spun, but his gaze devoured every stroke.
Void Step. A technique to slip through folds of reality, stepping across distances in a blink.
Spatial Severance. A cut that ignored barriers, striking through walls of stone, steel, even qi itself.
Haotian's fingers tightened around the brush he had set aside. His imagination flared — his spear thrusting not through air, but through space itself, piercing defenses before they could form.
His breathing deepened. If I fused this into the Ninefold Thrust… no armor, no array, not even the heavens could block me.
The desire surged hot in his chest — but he forced it down. His hands curled into fists.
"No," he whispered, eyes shut tight. "Not yet. Not while I am still laying the foundations. To rush this would consume me."
He closed the scroll, sweat beading along his brow. The scripture's aura still pulsed in his veins like a second heartbeat, whispering promises of invincibility.
Slowly, he formed a version of it within his Golden Text Library.
When dawn came and he emerged once more, disciples rushed to him, cheering at the new manuals he had rewritten the previous day.
Haotian accepted their praise with a calm smile. But deep inside, the words of the void still whispered to him, an endless call:
Fold the world. Sever reality. Become untouchable.
The library's innermost shelves grew colder, darker, as though even the lantern light struggled to pierce the shadows here. Haotian's golden eyes glimmered faintly, their cosmic depths cutting through the gloom as he followed the subtle tug of qi that guided him.
His steps stopped before a scroll bound in silver-threaded silk, its surface etched with rippling lines that moved like water. Yet the moment he reached for it, the air thickened.
Haotian froze. His heartbeat slowed. The lantern flames swayed once, then seemed to hang in the air, unmoving.
The scroll's aura alone had bent time.
Breath shuddering in his chest, Haotian's fingers closed around it. A chilling pulse ran up his arm — not cold like winter, but a stillness so absolute it pressed on his spirit.
He unrolled it slowly. The characters glowed with faint silver light, each one delicate, yet dense with unfathomable meaning. The title read:
"The Chronicles of Still Waters."
His eyes raced across the first passages. Time is the river. Qi is the paddle. To command qi with perfect resonance is to command the river's flow.
He read of techniques that slowed enemies until their movements seemed trapped in water. Of hastening one's own strikes until a single thrust became dozens in the blink of an eye. Of freezing moments into eternity — raindrops suspended mid-fall, blades halted in mid-swing.
His breath caught, chest tightening. To hold time… is to hold the battlefield itself.
He reached deeper into the scroll, and suddenly—
The lantern flame before him stilled. His breath lingered in the air as a visible mist, unmoving. Even the pounding of his heart stretched, each beat echoing slowly in his ears.
The world had slowed.
Haotian's golden eyes widened, his body trembling. The scroll slipped slightly in his hands as sweat broke out across his brow.
No… not slowed. Everything else… everything but me.
The realization struck him with the force of thunder.
A heartbeat later, the effect broke. Time rushed back into place, the lantern flickered, and his breath spilled from his lips in a trembling exhale.
He clutched the scroll tighter, staring down at it as though it were a venomous beast. His hands trembled, not with fear — but with awe.
"To touch this power…" His voice was low, hoarse. "It is too vast. Too dangerous."
Visions swam before his eyes — his Ninefold Thrust exploding in an instant of accelerated time, striking before any opponent could blink. Enemies locked in frozen stillness as his spear pierced their hearts. A battlefield where only he could move freely.
He shut his eyes, jaw tight. The hunger burned hot, but he forced it down with iron will.
"Not now. If I rush this, I will lose myself."
With great care, he rolled the Chronicles of Still Waters closed. He pressed his palm against it for a lingering moment, then willed a copy of it into his Golden Text Library, sealing it away with the other hidden treasures. then he placed to book back on the shelf.
When he emerged the next morning, scrolls of safe qi-circulation methods in hand, disciples swarmed him with bright smiles and bows.
Haotian nodded faintly, returning their smiles.
But as he looked past them, the echo of stillness lingered in his heart — the weight of a world frozen, waiting to be commanded.