Without a word, Lin Feng turned and resumed his walk. The path to the Sacred Vault wound ahead. But his movement was different now.
The preternatural grace that usually defined him was gone. His pace was steady, but it was the pace of a mortal man. His boots met the stone with a definitive, un-enhanced weight. He held his hands clasped behind his back, a posture of forced control. A subtle tension in his shoulders betrayed the immense internal effort.
Every ounce of his Qi was engaged in a twofold battle. The vast majority of his power had been consumed in the terrifying act of his own reconstitution, leaving his spiritual sea dangerously shallow. What little remained was now dedicated to containing the violently devoured, icy foreign energy coiled in his dantian. He was a depleted vessel, walking on will alone.
Feng Yan watched his retreating back. Her flirty grin softened into a flicker of curiosity. With a graceful step that contrasted sharply with his own, she fell into place beside him. The two other female disciples followed a few paces behind, their whispers and giggles a soft rustle.
She tilted her head, her robes shimmering. "So, the heaven-shaker himself," she began, her voice playful. "I half-expected you to be floating on a cloud of your own ego by now." Her intelligent eyes scanned his profile, noting the tightness around his eyes. "It's surprisingly refreshing to see you walking like a mere mortal. It's almost… humble."
Lin Feng's gaze remained fixed on the path ahead, his profile a mask of stone. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone flat. "This path leads nowhere but to a single point."
Feng Yan waved a dismissive hand, the silk of her sleeve fluttering. "A girl needs some adventure! I was getting bored cultivating non-stop on Elder Ru's peak." She gestured vaguely to the two disciples trailing them. "So I decided to explore the sect properly. These two were kind enough to humor me." The girls behind her nodded in eager unison.
Lin Feng offered no further reply. His focus turned entirely inward, his consciousness retreating from the trivial conversation to assess the alarming state of his body.
'30 kg…' The realization was a cold, hard fact in his mind. 'It feels like I'm carrying 30 kg of weight on my shoulders.' With each step, the sensation grew. '40 kg… The ambient qi of this world has always made movement effortless. And now… it feels like I'm back to being a normal human.'
He kept his expression perfectly neutral, a masterful feat of control. But beneath the calm exterior, each step was a conscious, grinding effort against the crushing weight of his own depletion.
Undeterred by his silence, Feng Yan continued, her voice a lively chatter against the mountain's quiet. "You wouldn't believe the rumors flying around because of you," she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Some of the junior disciples swear you're the reincarnation of an ancient demon lord, sealed away for millennia." She glanced back at her two followers, who nodded vigorously, their faces a mixture of fear and fascination.
"Others are convinced you're a lost prince of the empire, hiding your jade seal and waiting to reclaim your throne," she went on, ticking the theories off on her fingers. "But my personal favorite is that you climbed to the highest peak one night and made a deal with a dying star for its power." She let out a bright, clear laugh that echoed in the stillness. "The point is, the junior disciples are either utterly terrified of you or desperately want to bear your children. There's no in-between."
She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial, flirtatious purr. "I mean... looking at you now, I wouldn't mind too much myself."
Lin Feng listened, the weight on his shoulders a constant, grinding counterpoint to her frivolity. A flicker of memory surfaced—Meixiu, in their old world, curled up with a book, her fondness for the brooding, overpowered demon lord characters she found so compelling.
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips as he cast a sidelong glance at the three women. "Reincarnation of an ancient demon sounds good," he said, his tone flat yet deliberate.
The two disciples behind Feng Yan gasped softly, their eyes widening. Feng Yan herself blinked, her flirtatious grin faltering for a heartbeat before widening into something more genuine and intrigued. "Oh?" she said, her purr returning, laced with new curiosity. "Is that a confirmation, Senior Brother Lin? Should I start calling you 'My Lord'?"
Lin Feng held her gaze for a silent moment, the void-dark embers in his eyes seeming to drink the light from the air between them. He offered no denial.
Feng Yan, finding his non-answer more unnerving than any confirmation or refusal, smoothly pivoted as if the entire exchange had never occurred. "Anyway!" she began, rolling her eyes with dramatic flair. "Let's talk about something actually important. Elder Ru! Ugh." She held out her hand, presenting her wrist. The skin was flawless, pale and smooth like polished moonstone. "She's started me on this brutal new body cultivation art. 'The Unbreakable Jade Physique.' It's supposed to make my bones as strong as spirit-jade and my skin... well, you see. It feels incredibly strange—like my skeleton is being tempered in a forge while my skin is being dipped in liquid silk."
She looked at him earnestly, batting her long eyelashes. "Do you think it's working? It feels softer, doesn't it? A man of your... discerning taste must have an opinion."
Lin Feng's eyes flicked down to her proffered wrist. His gaze was purely analytical, scanning the texture and qi-flow with the detached focus of an appraiser assessing ore. It was utterly devoid of the admiration or flirtation she so clearly expected.
'A woman with a flirty, volatile nature like hers… is practicing a technique for flawless skin,' he thought, the absurdity of the priority striking him with force. 'The world is an incomprehensible place.'
A faint, barely audible snort of disbelief escaped him.
From behind them came two quickly stifled giggles from the female disciples. Feng Yan's head snapped toward them. "What are you two laughing about?" she demanded, though her eyes held more amusement than true annoyance.
She then pulled her hand back as if stung, her painted lips forming a perfect, feigned pout. "Hey! What was that for?" she huffed, placing her hands on her hips. "A woman can be both devastatingly powerful and impeccably groomed! This is a legitimate, high-level art from the clan archives!"
In her mock offense, she playfully swatted at his arm. The impact was light, a tap meant for teasing. But to Lin Feng, whose body was a straining pillar of will, it was a jarring disruption. The contact sent a subtle but distinct shudder through his already overtaxed muscles.
The internal counter in his mind ticked upwards, the numbers cold and heavy.
'60 kg… 80 kg… It feels like I'm carrying a full suit of iron armor. Walking is becoming a conscious calculation.'
His focus narrowed further, his world reducing to the physical poetry of motion itself.
'Balance. Distribution of weight.'
His breathing remained perfectly even, a steady rhythm against the mounting pressure. But the control behind it was now a sharp, focused effort, a silent battle fought with every step he took.
The path curved, revealing the continuation of their journey ahead. Feng Yan's chatter finally stilled as she followed his unwavering gaze forward, her playful demeanor giving way to genuine awe.
"So, where are you headed, anyway?" she asked, her voice losing its teasing edge. "This path doesn't lead to much except..." Her eyes widened slightly as the realization dawned. "...the Sacred Vault?"
Lin Feng didn't look at her. He simply raised his hand, the cold, unadorned jade token held perfectly still between his thumb and forefinger. It seemed to drink the daylight around it.
Feng Yan let out a low, impressed whistle. The two disciples behind her gasped in unison, their previous giggles utterly forgotten. "Three items," Feng Yan breathed, the rumor confirmed. "You really did shake the world, didn't you?"
"It was a necessary disturbance," Lin Feng replied, his voice flat, a simple statement of fact as if commenting on the need for rain.
"Necessary for what?" one of the trailing disciples dared to ask, her voice hushed with reverence.
Lin Feng did not answer. His focus was ahead.
"But what's it like inside?" the other girl blurted out, her curiosity overcoming her fear. "I heard it's a realm of its own, with treasures floating in a sky of condensed starlight!"
Feng Yan nodded, her own flirtatious pretense completely abandoned for raw curiosity. "Yes, what will you even look for? A sword? An ancient manual? They say the vault itself chooses for you, that the treasures resonate with a cultivator's destiny."
Lin Feng continued walking, the weight on his shoulders a brutal counterpoint to their soaring imaginations. He processed their questions with the same detached analysis he applied to everything.
"The purpose of a vault is to hold items," he stated, his tone utterly devoid of wonder. "I will enter. I will see what is held there. Then I will choose."
His simple, crushing pragmatism seemed to suck the mythical air right out of their speculations. Feng Yan stared at him, a complex look crossing her face—part disbelief, part fascination. Here was a man granted a privilege legends were made of, and he approached it with the demeanor of a man selecting a tool from a shed.
"You are the most strange and wonderful person I have ever met," she said, the words leaving her lips not as a flirtation, but as a genuine, bewildered confession.
Lin Feng offered no reply. The path stretched onward, and his entire world had narrowed to the act of placing one heavy foot in front of the other.
The path finally opened. The trees thinned to reveal a breathtaking vista.
They stood at the edge of a natural amphitheater of stone. It was cradled between the sheer faces of two mountain peaks. A fine, ethereal mist clung to the air, shimmering with latent energy.
In the center of this sacred space lay a perfectly circular pond. Its waters were perfectly still, reflecting the mist and peaks like a sheet of darkened jade.
Rising from the very center of the pond was the Sacred Vault. It was connected to the shore by a single, narrow bridge of white jade.
It was a majestic, multi-storied pagoda. It was built of a wood that seemed to drink the light and a stone that glowed with a soft, internal luminescence. Its architecture was ancient and imposing.
Each upward tier was smaller than the last. Their upturned eaves were adorned with silent, bell-less chimes. A low, profound hum permeated the air. It was a tangible frequency of power that seemed to intensify with each imagined floor.
The scene was one of profound isolation and power. And at its threshold, a single, stark contrast.
At the base of the short flight of stairs leading to the massive door, a figure sat. He was draped in simple, unadorned grey robes that seemed to blend into the stone.
His face was completely obscured by a perfectly smooth, featureless white bone mask. It was devoid of even the suggestion of eye slits or a mouth.
He lounged against the steps in a posture of utter leisure. One knee was raised. In his hand, he held a long, intricately carved hookah pipe. He took a slow, unhurried draw. A wisp of fragrant smoke curled into the still air.
He did not move. He did not turn his head. He gave no indication that he was aware of their presence.
Yet an aura radiated from him. It was a pressure as deep, vast, and immovable as that of any top elder of the sect. He was a silent, unmoving sovereign guarding the gate to legend.
Lin Feng moved past the still pond. Each step was a conquest over the crushing weight within him. He crossed the white jade bridge, its surface cool and humming underfoot.
Feng Yan and her followers did not dare follow onto the bridge. They halted at its edge, their presence now small and insignificant before the towering pagoda and its silent guardian.
The masked figure took a final, long draw from his hookah. The embers in the bowl glowed a deep crimson. He then lowered the pipe, resting it gently beside him.
The smooth, blank bone mask turned. It was a slow, deliberate motion. The empty sockets fixed upon Lin Feng, and a pressure condensed in the air, dense and silent.
A hand emerged from the grey robes. The fingers were long and pale, like carved jade. The palm lay open, an unspoken command.
"Token?" The word was a dry whisper, devoid of curiosity.
Lin Feng placed the cold jade token into the waiting palm. The contact was brief. The guard's skin was as cold as the token itself.
The masked head tilted down. He seemed not to look at the token, but through it, sensing the authority Elder Lan had imbued within. A moment of silence passed.
Then, a single, slow nod. It was a gesture of immense finality.
With a lazy flick of his wrist, the guard made a shooing motion towards the colossal door. It was a gesture of such casual power it felt almost insulting.
Yet, the door obeyed.
A soft, golden light ignited along its ancient seams. The intricate carvings seemed to swim with liquid energy. Without a whisper of sound, the massive door swung inward.
It revealed not an entrance, but an abyss. A darkness so profound it seemed to be a solid thing, waiting.
Feng Yan and the two disciples stared, their breaths caught in their throats. This was no simple opening of a door. It was the unveiling of a mystery. They watched, captivated and humbled, as Lin Feng stood alone before the consuming dark.
The guard's pale fingers extended once more, offering the jade token back. Lin Feng took it, the cold seeping into his palm. He tucked it into his robe without a word.
He did not glance back at Feng Yan or her wide-eyed followers. His world had narrowed to the threshold before him and the crushing weight upon his spirit.
'100 kg…' The internal measurement was a grim confirmation. 'It feels like a mountain is pressing down on me. I need a restorative pill. Now.'
He faced the short flight of stairs. Each one seemed like a cliff face. He placed a foot on the first step, the movement heavy and deliberate. His muscles corded with the strain, a stark contrast to the effortless grace he usually possessed.
He ascended, one laborious step after another. The profound darkness within the vault seemed to watch his approach.
Then, he crossed the threshold. The abyssal dark swallowed his form whole.
The moment he passed through, the massive door began to move. With the same silent, inexorable force, it swung shut. The golden light along its seams vanished, leaving the ancient carvings inert once more.
The sound of its closing was a soft, final sigh.
On the bridge, Feng Yan and her followers were left in the sudden, absolute silence. The Sacred Vault stood closed, its secret kept. The masked guard picked up his hookah, taking a long, unhurried draw as if nothing of consequence had occurred at all.
Having crossed the threshold, Lin Feng felt the world outside was instantly severed. The colossal door sealed behind him with a finality that echoed not in sound, but in the sudden stillness of the air. He stood in a circular anteroom, a space that felt both vast and intimate. The atmosphere was cool and heavy, saturated with the scent of ancient paper, oiled darkwood, and a profound, slumbering spiritual power that lay thick upon the tongue.
The only illumination was a soft, sourceless glow emanating from the walls themselves, casting no shadows but revealing everything. It caught on the countless motes of dust hanging motionless in the air, each one a tiny, frozen world.
His gaze was drawn forward, to the room's sole occupant. Behind a massive desk of polished darkwood sat the vault's attendant, a figure of arresting contradiction. Her chair was tilted back on two legs in a posture of pure, insolent leisure, her boots—elegant yet practical, and impossibly long—propped casually on the desk's edge.
She was tall and slender, yet the spiritual energy radiating from her was unnervingly dense, a pressure that felt comparable to the sacred, immovable weight of Elder Lan herself. Her skin was the color of pristine moonlight, a flawless, luminous pallor that seemed almost too perfect, smooth and soft like polished porcelain.
Her attire defied simple description. It was a second skin of matte black material that seemed to absorb the ambient light, composed of separate, interconnected pieces. A stiff collar framed her neck. Sculpted cups sheathed her modest, softly curved breasts, leaving her midriff and the elegant line of her cleavage bare.
A protective, triangular piece shielded her pelvis front and back.
Form-fitting sheathes covered her arms to the elbows and her legs from the knees down, meeting boots that seemed grown from the same strange fabric. These pieces were linked by a delicate, complex web of fine black threads, tracing a stark, ancient pattern against her skin.
Etched into the material in faint, silver lines was the flowing script of a forgotten language.
A wild mane of dark brown hair, streaked boldly with honey-blonde, cascaded over her shoulders. Her face was hidden behind a perfectly smooth, featureless white bone mask, identical to the guard's outside, yet on her, its blankness felt intensely watchful.
In her hands, she held an open book. Its cover was plain, its pages a uniform, creamy parchment. They were completely, utterly blank. Yet she seemed utterly engrossed, her masked head tilted as if enraptured by a epic tale written in the void.
Lin Feng's heavy, deliberate footsteps broke the sacred quiet of the room. The sound echoed off the smooth walls, a stark intrusion. He came to a stop directly before her desk.
The Librarian let out a long, profoundly annoyed sigh. The sound echoed slightly within the hollow confines of her bone mask. With an air of deep reluctance, she slowly lowered her boots from the desk. The heels clicked softly on the darkwood.
She sat forward, placing a single finger between the blank pages of her book to mark her "place." Her movements were fluid, yet filled with a tangible sense of grievance.
The blank white mask tilted up, its empty eye sockets scanning him from head to toe. A weighted pause filled the room, thick with her unspoken irritation.
"Fine. Fine," she said, her voice a flat blend of boredom and deep-seated resignation. "Welcome to the Sacred Vault. First timer?" She didn't wait for a confirmation. "Yeah. I have to do this spiel. Don't interrupt."
She then launched into a rapid, monotone recital, the words flowing in a well-worn stream she had repeated thousands of times.
"Six floors," she began, her voice devoid of all inflection. "The first is for Outer Sect trash and trinkets to pacify new Inner Sect disciples. The second holds basic Inner Sect resources. The third has the actually decent stuff, reserved for the true elites. The fourth is for Inner Sect Elders and their direct disciples—that is your clearance. The fifth is for Elders only. The sixth is the Sect Leader's private collection." Her masked face seemed to sharpen its focus on him. "Do not even think about it."
She braced her elbows on the desk, the shift in her posture pulling the complex web of threads taut against her skin. Her voice dropped from its bored recital to a low, factual murmur that carried immense, chilling weight.
"And a few friendly rules," she said, the words crisp and clear. "Don't try to take more than your token grants. Don't attempt to bypass the restrictions to a higher floor." She tapped a single, pale finger on the darkwood. The sound was sharp in the stillness. "You'll get caught. By me."
She gestured with her thumb, a lazy flick over her shoulder into the deep, waiting shadows of the vault behind her. "Or by any of the several dozen other... things... in here that you can't see right now."
As the final word left her mask, Lin Feng's Qi of Nothingness stirred. It was a subtle, internal shift, a deep and silent resonance. He did not see anything move in the gloom. No shapes formed. But he felt them. Multiple points of absolute stillness and latent, razor-sharp intent, woven into the very fabric of the room itself. They lurked in the shadows between the distant, towering shelves. They were not alive, not dead; they were simply dangers, waiting. Their presence was a cold pressure against the edges of his perception.
Lin Feng processed the information and the sensory input with cold efficiency. The crushing weight on his spirit, his urgent need for a restorative pill, left no room for distraction or defiance.
He met the blank, white gaze of her mask. His own expression was equally unreadable. He gave a single, slight nod.
His voice was flat, a simple acceptance of the law of this place.
"Understood."
The Librarian's blank mask remained fixed on him for a single, extended heartbeat. There was a subtle tension in her posture, a stillness that felt different from her earlier bored repose. Perhaps it was surprise at his utter lack of reaction, his complete absence of fear.
Then, the moment broke. She gave a slight, dismissive shrug of one shoulder.
"Good," she said, the word clipped and final. "Now hurry up. Some of us are trying to read."
Immediately, she leaned back in her chair. Her boots found their previous spot on the desk's edge with practiced ease. She raised the book of blank pages, her masked head tilting as she fell back into a state of deep, feigned concentration. He was already forgotten, dismissed from her world.
Without another word, Lin Feng walked past her desk. His movements were still heavy, each step a testament to the immense drawback weighing down his spirit. He did not glance back.
He passed under a grand, unadorned stone archway. The anteroom fell away behind him, and he stepped onto the first floor of the Sacred Vault proper.
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