Three days later.
Under Lin Wan’er’s treatment—which, though somewhat perverted in process, was exceptionally effective—the external wounds on Wu Yan’s body had mostly healed.
Although the meridians within her body still required time to be nurtured, her mobility was no longer hindered.
Therefore, Wu Yan decided to leave Medicine Peak. Naturally, she ignored the blessing Lin Wan’er gave her before she left, telling her to remember to visit often.
Walking on the road toward Zhuqu Peak, Wu Yan suddenly remembered the reward the Sect Master had mentioned giving her when she returned from completing her mission in the Western Wilderness.
She decided to head over and take a look now.
***
Piaomiao Sect, Sutra Library
This was a seven-story ancient tower built against a mountain, constructed entirely of Black Xuan Rock and shrouded year-round in the dense mist halfway up the peak.
The body of the tower was mottled and covered in moss. Ancient trees reached toward the sky, and occasionally, a few spirit cranes would perch on the flying eaves, letting out a clear, high-pitched cry that made the surroundings feel even more secluded and profound.
The first four floors housed common low-rank techniques and a small number of mid-rank techniques. As for the top three floors, they held many high-rank techniques; the higher the floor, the better the quality of the manuals.
Generally, only those with a high number of sect contribution points or those with special permission from the Sect Master could go to the top three floors to select a technique.
Holding her Chief Disciple Token, Wu Yan passed through the noisy areas on the first four floors filled with ordinary disciples.
As she climbed higher, the number of people around her dwindled, but the concentration of Spirit Chi in the air grew higher, and the distinct, dry scent of aged paper and ink became more intense.
The moment she stepped onto the fifth floor, the world seemed to instantly hit the mute button.
There were no windows here. Lighting relied entirely on several night-luminescent pearls embedded in the ceiling, casting a dim and hazy light.
Rows of tall blackwood bookshelves stood like silent giants, casting large, oppressive shadows.
Although the Piaomiao Sect’s strength was no longer as formidable as it once was for certain reasons, it still possessed nearly a thousand years of heritage.
Every book here was a rare volume, a secret technique, or even the cultivation notes left behind by certain Elders before their passing, collected by the Piaomiao Sect over the past millennium.
Wu Yan felt a slight wave of dizziness.
This was not just because of the formations arranged here to suppress Divine Sense, but also because her current state was truly poor.
Since the battle of the Internal Selection, although her external wounds were recovering, Wu Yan (Inner) had never given up on trying to reclaim dominance over the body. To suppress Wu Yan (Inner), her soul was in a constant state of tension, like a bowstring pulled to its limit, liable to snap at any moment.
“Tsk, all of it is trash.”
A voice full of laziness and ridicule sounded beside her without warning.
Looking sideways, she saw Wu Yan (Inner) toying with her own red hair. Her blood-colored eyes scanned the surrounding bookshelves wantonly, her gaze filled with high-and-mighty fastidiousness.
“Look at this one, Blazing Sun Palm? Such common goods are actually placed on the fifth floor as treasures? In my previous life, I used that to prop up table legs.”
“Oh, and there’s this Light Splitting Sword Shadow. It’s an incomplete fragment, isn’t it? It’s missing the most crucial Intent-Nurturing Chapter. Practicing it makes it nothing more than a flowery display. The Piaomiao Sect really has regressed generation after generation; even this kind of junk can be considered part of their heritage.”
Wu Yan (Inner)’s voice was sharp and biting, carrying an innate arrogance.
Wu Yan’s brow twitched, and she felt a throbbing pain in her brain.
“Shut up. I didn’t come here to listen to your appraisals.”
“What? Think I’m annoying?” Wu Yan (Inner) sneered, her tone becoming dangerous.
“Then go ahead and search. Look for some techniques that can strengthen your soul. Your current soul is like a dilapidated grass hut leaking air everywhere. If you don’t repair it, I’ll be able to take over this body directly the next time you get injured. When that happens, I’ll kill whoever I want to kill. I’d like to see if you can stop me then.”
Wu Yan ignored her threats and forced herself to concentrate, her fingers sliding across the ancient records one by one.
She needed some special techniques.
They didn’t need to be immensely powerful or exquisitely profound; they just needed to be able to stabilize her soul and isolate distracting thoughts, allowing her to maintain clarity in special environments.
“Soul Locking Technique”—no, that was an offensive technique used to deal with enemies.
“Nourishing Spirit Pill Formula”—it required a mid-level alchemist; a distant remedy couldn’t solve an immediate crisis.
“Split-Mind Utility Art”? What kind of strange technique was this?
Her fingers moved faster and faster, and her brow furrowed deeper.
Although the books here were precious, most were used to increase combat power or break through cultivation realms. Those specifically targeting the cultivation of one’s state of mind were few and far into between.
Just then, Wu Yan’s gaze stopped on a dust-covered bookshelf in the corner.
There, sitting all alone, was an ancient book with a black cover. There were no words on the cover, and the edges of the pages were somewhat tattered.
For some reason, Wu Yan’s hand reached out uncontrollably, her fingertips about to touch the cold spine of the book.
Just as her fingertips were an inch away from the book—
*Clap.*
An ordinary-looking, even somewhat balding bamboo broom suddenly thrust in between, lightly pressing down on the black ancient book.
The movement was very light, stirring not a speck of dust, nor even bringing the slightest sound of wind.
But Wu Yan’s hand felt as if it had slammed into an immovable mountain, unable to advance even a hair’s breadth further.
“You cannot touch this thing in your current state.”
An old, raspy voice, like two pieces of coarse sandpaper rubbing together, echoed abruptly in the deathly silent space.
Wu Yan’s pupils shrank violently, and the hair all over her body stood on end in an instant.
She jerked her hand back, retreated three steps, and her palm instinctively pressed against the hilt of the sword at her waist, assuming a defensive posture.
Standing by the bookshelf was an old man wearing a dusty grey servant’s robe.
His figure was hunched, his thinning white hair was messily tied in a Daoist bun, and his face was covered in age spots like dry tree bark. He held the broom that had pinned the book down, his cloudy old eyes half-squinted. He looked just like any other dying old servant seen anywhere in the sect.
But Wu Yan knew that someone who could appear on the fifth floor and approach her without a sound was absolutely no ordinary servant.
This was the Library Guardian of the Sutra Library, Elder Xuanji.
Rumor had it that although his cultivation wasn’t at the very top, he was of a very high seniority and had a strange, rigid personality.
“Greetings, Elder Xuanji.”
Wu Yan forcibly suppressed the turmoil in her heart, released the hilt of her sword, and respectfully performed a junior’s salute.
Her spine was held straight, but her palms were already soaked in a layer of cold sweat.
Elder Xuanji did not speak immediately.
He slowly pulled back his broom and used those eyes that seemed dim but actually held an internal brilliance to look Wu Yan up and down.
That gaze was not sharp, but it carried a type of scrutiny and pressure unique to elders, as if it could see through all the impetuousness and secrets of a young person.
Time seemed to freeze at this moment.
“Pfft, what are you afraid of?”
Just as Wu Yan was tense to the extreme, Wu Yan (Inner) let out a laugh of utter disdain.
“He’s just an old thing at the late stage of Soul Transformation whose lifespan is nearly exhausted. His Divine Sense has already begun to decline. With those old, dim eyes of his, what does he think he can see?”
Wu Yan (Inner) even let out a yawn, her tone full of fearless contempt: “Little Wu Yan, don’t look like you have a guilty conscience.”
“Are you the Wu Yan who defeated Zhao Wuji on the arena?”
“I am,” Wu Yan replied with her head bowed.
“Hmph, quite the display of power.” Elder Xuanji gave a cold snort, and the broom in his hand tapped lightly on the ground. “For the sake of a so-called Chief title, you’ve made yourself covered in injuries. I saw that just now, your breath was erratic and your hostility was surging. What? Do you think you’ve lived too long and want to take a shortcut?”
Was she like that just now?
Wu Yan didn’t quite remember. To her, she had simply been inexplicably drawn to that book and wanted to touch it.
“I have done wrong.”
“The old thing talks too much nonsense.” Wu Yan (Inner) rolled her eyes inside her mind. “If it weren’t for the fact that I only have a remnant soul left, I could crush him with one finger. Little Wu Yan, don’t listen to his preaching. Hurry up and find a book so we can leave.”
Seeing that Wu Yan’s attitude was still considered respectful, the severity in Elder Xuanji’s eyes softened slightly.
“Seeing as you are still honest, I will give you a piece of advice. A sword cultivator cultivates the sword, but even more so, the heart. If the heart is not quiet, the sword will surely stray.”
He turned around, dragging his broom as he walked to a row of inconspicuous bookshelves. He searched for a while among a pile of dust-covered bamboo slips and thread-bound books.
Elder Xuanji pulled out a thread-bound book with a blue cover. He didn’t hand it directly to Wu Yan, but instead tossed it onto a nearby desk, kicking up a cloud of dust.
“This ‘Sutra of Calming the Heart’ is a notebook left behind seven hundred years ago by an Elder of our sect who specialized in the cultivation of the heart,” Elder Xuanji said slowly, his voice raspy. “It isn’t some high-rank technique, nor does it have any offensive power. It only has one function—to calm the heart and quiet the spirit, and to suppress the Inner Demon.”
“It emphasizes using stillness to control movement, and using softness to overcome hardness. The hostility in your body is too heavy; you need to use this kind of upright and peaceful method to slowly wear it away.”
Elder Xuanji picked up his broom again and began to sweep the dust on the floor, as if the guidance he had just given was merely a casual act.
“The Grand Competition is imminent. I do not wish to see the Chief Disciple of the Piaomiao Sect end up as a joke who fell into Chi Deviation. You shall read this book here. You are not permitted to take it away until you understand it.”
Wu Yan stepped forward and picked up the “Sutra of Calming the Heart.”
The pages were yellowed, and it felt cool to the touch.
She flipped to the first page. After reading just a few lines, she felt a faint artistic conception, like a clear mountain spring, wash over her.
The words were plain and simple, yet every word was a gem, pointing directly to the heart:
“Heart as clear as ice, though the heavens may collapse, one remains unshaken; all things may change, yet the spirit remains joyful and the chi serene…”
As she read, Wu Yan’s originally tense nerves actually began to relax. The parched heat in her Sea of Consciousness, which was constantly being disturbed by Wu Yan (Inner), also received a sliver of relief.
“Tsk, what a garbage book.”
Wu Yan (Inner) glanced at the content and immediately let out a disgusted sound. “The whole thing is nothing but nonsense about endurance and inaction. Reading this kind of soft stuff will only make a person more cowardly! Little Wu Yan, you don’t actually believe this old man’s words, do you?”
Wu Yan closed the book, the corners of her mouth curling into an almost imperceptible arc.
“I think it is quite good.”
Wu Yan turned around and performed a very respectful, deep bow toward Elder Xuanji, who was currently sweeping the floor.
“Thank you for your guidance, Elder. I will surely study this diligently and not fail your teachings.”
Elder Xuanji did not look back; he simply waved his hand. His back looked somewhat hunched under the dim light.
“Go on. Remember, when the heart is quiet, the sword will naturally be sharp.”
The fifth floor of the Sutra Library returned to a deathly silence once more.
Only the rustling sound of the old man sweeping was left, sounding exceptionally peaceful.