The Scripture Hall was quiet—too quiet for a place that seemed to breathe.
Lin Qing stepped past the stone doors, the faint hum of formations trailing behind him like whispers. Every jade slip on the walls pulsed faintly, reacting to his presence.
Elder Hei stood waiting beside the central dais, his bone mask gleaming in the crimson light.
"The Heir's divine platform has awakened," Elder Hei said, his voice reverent. "According to tradition, this is when the Sect's Heir selects his supporting arts—techniques to complement the Mirror Blood Scripture. Choose wisely. Each art can shape your destiny."
Lin Qing stared at the endless rows of glowing shelves. "Great. No pressure."
Elder Hei gestured to the shelves, symbols flickering across his mask. "The scrolls are graded by light. Profound-tier burns pale gold. Earth-tier glows deep crimson. Heaven-tier—"
He paused, awe creeping into his tone. "—Heaven-tier shines white as moonlight. Few dare to even touch them. The soul can fracture if one's comprehension falters."
Lin Qing shrugged. "Then I'll read fast."
Li Chun nearly choked on air.
He walked deeper, brushing his fingers across the shelves. Symbols rippled like water wherever he passed, recognizing his aura. Most disciples would meditate for months just to open one. Lin Qing skimmed hundreds with a glance.
Too basic… too wordy… this one's just breathing with extra steps…
Then his hand stopped. Three slips glowed brighter than the rest.
Crimson Shadow Step.
The jade shimmered like a bleeding moon, the description unfolding inside his mind:
"Each step across shadow leaves a reflection in space.
When the reflection strikes, heaven follows."
Lin Qing exhaled softly. "Movement art. Good start."
He reached for another.
Blood Mirror Guard.
"Form a barrier of blood qi and reflection intent.
Strike it, and your own strength returns to you."
A defensive art. Perfect symmetry.
The last slip burned white.
Moon-Sundering Palm.
"Gather the sea within.
Let one strike tear the sky and shatter all illusions."
His pupils glowed silver as diagrams unfolded across his vision. Runes spun, merged, and settled into memory.
Heavenly Insight Divine Body — Activated
Comprehension: 0% → 47% → 100%.
The runes dimmed. His heartbeat steadied.
Done.
Elder Hei, watching from afar, froze mid-breath.
Li Chun blinked. "Already…?"
Lin Qing looked up. "That's all three."
"Th-three?" Li Chun squeaked.
Elder Hei stepped forward slowly, each word carrying disbelief. "The Crimson Shadow Step is a Heaven-tier movement art. Even our Patriarch once failed to master it beyond the first stage."
Lin Qing flexed his fingers. "Maybe he didn't read fast enough."
The elder's mask tilted, as if rethinking his entire worldview. "Heir Lin Qing… you grasped three arts simultaneously. The record of our sect stands broken."
Lin Qing blinked. "There was a record?"
A faint vibration rolled through the hall. One of the sealed shelves in the far back pulsed once—barely noticeable, but enough to catch his eye.
For a heartbeat, Lin Qing felt something looking back at him.
Strange.
Then the feeling vanished. He ignored it.
He turned to Li Chun. "Come on. Let's test one."
The disciple's eyes went wide. "Here? The hall isn't built to handle—"
Too late. Lin Qing vanished.
The air snapped. A dozen afterimages bloomed across the chamber, streaks of crimson shadow flickering like blades. When he reappeared, he was standing behind Li Chun, palm resting lightly on the boy's shoulder.
Li Chun yelped. "You—You didn't even move!"
Lin Qing studied his hand, faint traces of qi swirling between his fingers. "It's efficient."
Behind them, the floor was split by a long, smoking line where space itself had trembled.
Elder Hei dropped to one knee. "Perfection on first attempt… as expected of the Heir."
Lin Qing sighed. "It's called walking."
---
Outside, the crimson light of the mountain had faded, replaced by a cold, clear moon.
From the distant peaks came the sound of disciples cheering again—the legend of the Holy Son growing louder with every hour.
Lin Qing walked to the edge of the terrace and looked out over the sleeping sect. The wind was sharp, filled with the scent of iron and pine.
He didn't feel divine. Just tired.
But somewhere in the back of his mind, a quiet voice whispered from the Mirror Blood Scripture, soft and distant:
"Reflection begins with understanding…
but ends with truth."
Lin Qing frowned. "That's not ominous at all."
He turned back toward his quarters, cloak fluttering behind him.
The hall's lights dimmed one by one, as if bowing their heads.