The Forgotten Road.
The name echoed in Yang Kai's mind for the next two days, a single, obsessive thought. It was a tangible clue, a destination on a map he was only just beginning to draw. He knew, with an instinct he couldn't explain, that this was far more important than the Governor's smuggling operation. This was the reason.
He returned to the Pavilion of Fading Sunlight with a renewed, feverish purpose. He pushed open the heavy, groaning doors and stepped into the familiar gloom. The air was thick and musty, the scent of decaying paper and profound neglect a physical presence in the back of his throat. The light of Lumina, now low in the sky, struggled to pierce the grime-caked lattice windows, casting long, dusty shadows that made the towering, empty shelves look like the ribs of some great, skeletal beast.
He no longer browsed the general histories. He went straight to the oldest, most neglected section of the library: the local records. This was a place no one had likely touched in decades, a tomb of forgotten knowledge. He ran his fingers over the spines of ancient, hand-written ledgers, the brittle paper crumbling at his touch. Dust, thick and grey as graveyard soil, puffed into the air with every movement.
Most were mundane. Tax records from a time when the clan had goods to tax. Land deeds for territories they no longer controlled. Population counts from a forgotten era of prosperity. He spent an entire day sifting through them, his fingers stained with grime, his hope slowly giving way to a familiar, bitter frustration. Had he been chasing a ghost? Was Xiong's information just a drunkard's tale?
On the afternoon of the second day, as he was about to give up, his hand brushed against a small, unassuming scroll tucked away at the very back of a shelf, hidden behind a stack of moldering almanacs. It was not an official clan record. It was a personal journal, its bamboo strips held together by a frayed silk cord that disintegrated the moment he touched it. The script was old, the ink faded, written by a careful, precise hand.
The title read: 'Ramblings of a Humble Surveyor, Third Generation.'
His heart began to pound a new, hopeful rhythm. He unrolled it carefully, the bamboo crackling in protest. It was the private journal of a mortal surveyor in his family's employ, written over a hundred and fifty years ago. The man had been tasked with mapping the foothills of the Titan's Tooth range.
He scanned the pages, which were filled with dry, technical observations about rock strata and mineral deposits. Then, near the end, he found it.
'…have discovered a peculiar anomaly in the deep foothills, near the old, depleted mining pits. A section of perfectly smooth, seamless black material, forming a road that leads directly into the mountain's heart. It does not appear to be of any known construction. The material is harder than any stone and utterly cold to the touch. The local hunters avoid this place, calling it the 'Forgotten Road' or the 'Shattered Path's Remnant.' They say it radiates a subtle, unnerving energy that disorients the senses. I have marked its approximate location on the regional survey map…'
The Shattered Path's Remnant.
He felt a jolt, as if struck by lightning. He scrambled through the other scrolls on the main shelves, finding the one on the history of cultivation. The Shattered Path. The ancient, flawed method of cultivation. The Great War of Annihilation.
The pieces clicked into place with a terrifying clarity.
The road was a relic from the Ancient Era. A time of impossibly powerful cultivators who didn't need World Trees. A time before the suppression field. The Governor wasn't just digging for Aethel-Iron. He was chasing a ghost of a bygone age, searching for the lost power of the ancestors. Master Lin, the Array Master, wasn't just clearing a path; he was likely trying to excavate and study a piece of this ancient, powerful artifact.
This was a secret that could shake the entire province. A secret that, if revealed, could bring the wrath of the Azure Empire's true powers down upon the Governor for dabbling in forbidden history.
This was his dagger. The leverage he had been so desperate to find.
But it was also a double-edged sword. The knowledge was dangerous. If the Governor discovered that he knew, his life would be measured in minutes. He needed an ally. He needed a place to store this dangerous information, a partner who could understand its weight and help him wield it.
His mind immediately went to his First Aunt. She was an alchemist. A scholar. She would understand the implications better than anyone.
He carefully re-rolled the surveyor's journal, his hands trembling not with fear, but with a cold, electric excitement. He tucked it deep within his robes. He had his offering. But he knew he couldn't just show up. He needed to be summoned. He needed to create a reason for the meeting.
He needed to create a spectacle.
He walked out of the library, his steps now filled with a grim, urgent purpose. He did not go to his own quiet courtyard. He walked towards the main training grounds.
The air in the main training ground was heavy with a frustrated, contained energy. Yang Wei stood in the center of the yard, his eyes closed, feeling the potent flow of his Star Force circulate through his newly tempered meridians. Peak Stage 2. Solid as a mountain stone. The power was a quiet, humming river within him, on the very precipice of overflowing its banks. He had been at this bottleneck for a month, a single step away from the Third Stage, and the final barrier felt as unyielding as a wall of Starmetal.
His pride was a sharp, bitter taste in his mouth. He was the clan's only true hope, a single strong pillar trying to hold up a rotting roof. And his progress had stalled. He was pushing himself, trying to force a breakthrough, but the final barrier wouldn't break. He looked at the clumsy efforts of the lesser disciples around him with contempt. They were flies, buzzing around his personal domain, a distraction from his own internal war.
He was about to begin another cycle when his attention was caught by a figure walking onto the training ground. A thin, pathetic figure in worn-out robes.
His cousin. The cripple.
Yang Wei's eyes narrowed. The irritation he felt at the boy's very existence sharpened into a hot, angry contempt. What foolishness was this? This was his training ground, a stage for his inevitable success. This was not a place for the clan's greatest shame to wander into.
Yang Kai, walked onto the training ground.
His sudden appearance was a disruption. The few other disciples stopped their practice to stare. Yang Wei saw him, and his frustration at his own stalled cultivation found a new, perfect target. A flash of profound annoyance crossed his handsome features.
"What are you doing here?" Yang Wei asked, his voice sharp. "This is a place for training, not for… whatever it is you do."
Yang Kai ignored the insult. He walked forward until he was standing a few paces from his cousin. He held out his hands. They were still wrapped in the clean bandages his First Aunt had applied.
"My hands," Yang Kai said, his voice steady. "They are better now."
Yang Wei stared at him, his expression one of pure confusion. "What of it?"
"I wish to train," Yang Kai said.
The statement was so absurd that a stunned silence fell over the training ground. Then, one of the younger disciples snickered. The sound broke the dam, and a wave of quiet, derisive laughter spread through the others.
Yang Wei's face flushed with a deep, vicarious shame. His useless, crippled cousin was making a public spectacle of himself, and by extension, of the First House.
"Don't be a fool," he hissed, his voice a low, angry warning. "You have no cultivation. You have no Star Force. You cannot 'train'. Go back to your room before you embarrass us further."
"You are right," Yang Kai said, his voice still quiet and calm. "I have no Star Force. So I cannot practice the clan's martial arts." He looked directly into his cousin's eyes. "So, I will practice my body."
He took a step back, settled into a low, clumsy imitation of the horse stance he had seen the other disciples practice. His legs trembled from the strain. His form was atrocious.
"Teach me, cousin," he said. "If I cannot cultivate my Star, I will cultivate my vessel. Teach me the most basic stances. The most basic punches."
Yang Wei stared at him as if he were a lunatic. "Have you lost your mind? I am on the verge of a breakthrough. I do not have time to teach a cripple how to stand."
"Then let another disciple teach me," Yang Kai pressed, his gaze sweeping over the others, who were now watching with rapt, mocking attention.
This was the core of his plan. He had created a public dilemma for his cousin. To refuse would be seen as petty and cruel, a powerful genius unwilling to help his own weak family. To agree would be a waste of his precious time. But to let a common disciple teach the Second House's son? That would be an even greater insult to the family's hierarchy.
Yang Wei was trapped. His pride and his position gave him only one choice.
With a growl of pure frustration, he strode forward. "Fine! You want to train? I will train you."
He grabbed Yang Kai's shoulder, his grip like a vice, and shoved him into a proper horse stance. The position was brutally uncomfortable, his thighs burning almost immediately.
"Lower!" Yang Wei commanded. "Your back, straight! Do you want to be a warrior or a wet noodle?"
He began to correct Yang Kai's form with a rough, impatient frustration. He would push his back, kick his legs into a wider stance, his every touch a mixture of strength and disdain.
Yang Kai grit his teeth and endured it. He endured the pain. He endured the humiliation. He endured the snickers of the other disciples.
He held the stance until his legs were shaking so violently he collapsed onto the dirt, his body drenched in sweat.
Yang Wei stood over him, his chest heaving not from exertion, but from anger. "Are you satisfied? Was this foolish display worth it?"
Yang Kai looked up at him from the ground, a pained, pathetic smile on his face. "Thank you… cousin," he gasped.
He had gotten exactly what he wanted.
That evening, a servant came to his door.
"Second Young Master," she said, bowing her head. "The First Mistress has summoned you to the Alchemist's Garden. She has brewed a muscle-soothing liniment for your… training."
He smiled. The thread he had thrown out had been caught.
His First Aunt had taken the bait.
[Cycle of the Azure Emperor, Year 3472, 7th Moon, 17th Day]