The oak splinters were still falling onto the stone floor when Zhì Yuǎn's boot crushed the destroyed threshold.
The noise of the market died behind the trio, swallowed by the shadows of the shop called Ancient Path. The air was stagnant, smelling of old parchments and rancid sandalwood. Dark wooden shelves sagged under the weight of bamboo scrolls and leather tomes.
In the center of the shop, behind a worn counter, a thin old man was slowly drinking tea. His skin looked like dry parchment stretched over bone. He was at the Ninth Mortal Stage — the only one to reach that level in the mortal world in the last few centuries. His presence was that of someone who no longer cared much about what happened around him. His breathing was shallow. His sunken eyes seemed to register nothing beyond what was necessary.
When the group stepped onto the floorboards, the old man did not immediately raise his gaze. He took another slow sip of tea, and only then lifted his eyes.
They stopped on Yù Méi.
The old man observed her in silence for a few seconds. His half-closed eyes narrowed. He tilted his head slightly, as if he had noticed something out of place.
— Foundation already opened… — he murmured, almost to himself. — And already drawing Qi from the air at this speed. I've never seen that before.
He set the cup down on the counter and looked at Zhì Yuǎn.
— Leave her here, boy. I'll train her until she can stand on her own.
A subtle spiritual pressure descended over the room. It was not hostile, but it carried the weight of decades of Qi accumulated at the peak of the Mortal Realm.
Zhì Yuǎn took a step forward. His leather boot pressed heavily against the stone floor. The old man's pressure met something solid — and dissipated like mist against a wall.
The elder raised an eyebrow.
The silence that followed was brief but heavy. The old man observed the outsider in the gray tunic for a few seconds, as if reassessing the situation.
— She is not for sale — Zhì Yuǎn said, his voice deep and respectful. He pointed his chin toward the dark depths of the shop. — I'm looking for maps and ancient records, elder. What does this place have to offer?
The old man leaned back in his straw chair and crossed his arms. His small eyes studied the gray-tunicked outsider for a second.
— Didn't you read the rotten sign outside, boy? — he mocked, his voice taking on a rough tone. — The Ancient Path guards priceless relics. I have scrolls on how to play Weiqi and old books teaching how to boil tea. If you want easy directions, go to the street.
The air seemed to stop. Yù Qíng appeared in front of the counter.
There was no sound of footsteps. She was simply there, as if the space between her and the old man had ceased to exist for an instant. Her navy-blue silk was still swaying slightly.
The elder blinked once. Even at the peak of the mortal world, he had not perceived her movement.
Yù Qíng placed both hands on the counter and leaned forward. Her black eyes stared at the old man over the dark veil.
— My husband asked a question, old man — she hissed, her voice low and cutting. — Speak quickly about what this hole actually has to offer.
The elder looked at her in silence for a second. Then his gaze returned to Zhì Yuǎn.
He tapped his bony fingers on the counter once, thoughtful.
— The knowledge on the shelves doesn't accept silver or stones — he grumbled, his voice hoarse and direct. He pointed his bony hand toward the dark corridors of the shop. — It's free. The only price is digging through the dust with your own hands.
The trio advanced through the stone corridors. The air reeked of dried paper and ancient dust.
Zhì Yuǎn stopped in front of a wooden table. He released the corroded clasp of a thick tome and opened the heavy pages. The faded title read: The Foundation of the Nine Mortal Stages.
Yù Qíng leaned her shoulder against her husband's arm. The woman's black eyes slid over the ancient letters. Yù Méi stopped a little behind the two, her light eyes quietly scanning the shelves. She did not touch anything, only observed.
Zhì Yuǎn's calloused finger followed the text. The cultivation manual dictated the basic rules of the world. To purify the organs and preserve the fragile meridians, the book demanded decades of herbal baths, motionless meditation, and absolute isolation. The cultivator needed to keep the mind empty and the body still in order to absorb the Qi around them.
Zhì Yuǎn evaluated his own foundation.
They had ignored silent meditation. They had broken open their channels through raw force, shattering the limits of their own skeletons through constant friction and lust in the darkness of that cabin. In the face of the rule of immobility printed in the book, the existence of the two was an offense to the natural order.
Yù Qíng tilted her face. The wife's pale finger descended onto the paper, stopping exactly over the ideogram that demanded "peace of mind and detachment." She let out a short, dry laugh.
Ten steps away, the sound of light footsteps echoed in the stone corridor. The old shopkeeper emerged from the shadows, walking slowly between the shelves.
— Usually, the world takes meditation very seriously — the elder's voice sounded rough, but his small eyes shone with curiosity. — These methods you use… are not something learned from common manuals.
Silence fell over the shop.
Zhì Yuǎn closed the leather tome. The dull thud of the book against the furniture cut through the echo of the old man's voice. The man turned his broad body, the shadow of his black hat covering his eyes, and gave a faint smile.
— We stumbled upon the Dao by accident, elder — Zhì Yuǎn's rustic voice sounded affable. — We almost killed ourselves a few times trying to cultivate the body without any guidance. We came looking for maps and manuals to learn how to preserve our own meridians.
The old man blinked slowly.
The elder's gaze descended upon Zhì Yuǎn's massive body and the veiled woman beside him. The presence of the two radiated a pure weight, as if the shopkeeper were standing before a force the world itself had only recently produced.
The elder gave a slow nod, swallowing his curiosity.
— I understand — the shopkeeper murmured dryly, accepting the excuse.
The old man walked toward the dark back of the shop. The sound of an iron lock echoed against the stone.
When he returned to the faint light, he placed a thick black leather scroll on the wooden counter. The thud sounded heavy, like a solid iron plate.
— Since your path is so different from that of mere mortals like us — the elder's voice sounded rustic, carrying a tone that was half sarcastic and half realistic in the face of the couple's anomaly. — You will probably benefit from knowing what comes after the Mortal Realm.
Zhì Yuǎn extended his hand. His calloused palm touched the black leather.
The Qi in his chest reacted instantly. The energy stored in the old ink pulled the man's consciousness with brutal force.
The shop vanished.
Zhì Yuǎn opened his eyes in another time. The air was so dense it weighed on his lungs like water. He saw the ancient cultivators — existences with the power to crush the earth, yet cornered. The ceiling of the world oppressed them, blocking any further advancement.
To break the sky and escape that prison, they raised a colossal furnace in the center of the continent.
Those entities sucked the entire planet to feed the fire and forge a portal. Zhì Yuǎn saw the rivers of pure energy dry up until the mud cracked into deep scars. They ground the forests and used the world's vital force as firewood. With the flames of that furnace, the ancients opened a hole in the sky's ceiling and fled into the cosmic void, abandoning the earth.
The hole scarred over. What remained was an empty shell. The Qi, once dense and rich, became thin dust — forcing the generations left behind to crawl in the dirt to fight over crumbs.
The vision vanished at once.
The roughness of the black leather returned against Zhì Yuǎn's hand. The smell of old dust invaded his nose. The young man drew in air forcefully, cold sweat running beneath his tunic.
His left hand hurt.
Yù Qíng's pale fingers were gripping his hand with blind strength. The wife's short nails tore at her husband's thick skin, drawing blood. The brutal grip tried to forcefully anchor him back to reality.
Zhì Yuǎn squeezed her fingers in return. The pressure of her nails eased at the same moment.
A few steps away, the shopkeeper observed the sweat on the outsider's face.
— You saw the hole they left for us — the old man murmured.
Zhì Yuǎn released the leather book. His broad body recovered its calm posture. The miserable difficulty of cultivating in the outside world now made complete logical sense to him.
— The world out there is nothing but a dry shell — Zhì Yuǎn stated, his voice direct, cutting the subject in a practical manner. — The thin energy of this place cannot sustain my foundation. I need the thick filth they left behind. Elder, where are the remains of that furnace?
The old man gave a grim smile and pointed his bony hand toward the south.
— The skeleton is buried in the Far South. The sects there govern the ruins because the land still bleeds a thicker energy — the shopkeeper warned, lowering his voice. — But marching there without strength to spare is asking to die.
Zhì Yuǎn took a step back from the counter. He brought his hands together in front of his chest, slightly bowing his broad shoulders in a traditional salute.
— We thank you for the guidance, elder — he said, his voice calm.
He lowered his hands and turned his back on the old man.
— Then the South is our target — he said as he walked back toward the shop's exit, the two sisters following him. — But first, we'll have to buy everything your sister promised you, Méi. The auction in Qīngshí is in three days. Let's stock up first.