Li Yuan's steps came to a halt.
Before him stood a magnificent three-story building, surrounded by towering old pine trees—silent sentinels guarding the knowledge held within. The outer walls were made of aged gray stone, adorned with carvings of dragons and phoenixes. Above the entrance, an inscription read:
"Qinglong Shuwu – Where understanding surpasses strength."
Li Yuan gave a small nod. The air around him felt quieter, heavier, as if even the wind dared not disturb this place.
Calmly, he stepped inside.
As the door opened, the scent of old paper and ink greeted him. Rows of towering shelves lined the hall, filled with thousands of scrolls and ancient books. Blue candles floated gently in midair, burning without wicks, casting a soft, smokeless glow.
In the center of the main hall, a long wooden table stood, where a middle-aged man sat. His hair was streaked with white, and his neatly trimmed beard suggested discipline and care. He was writing something when he noticed Li Yuan's presence.
"What business do you have here, boy?" he asked, without lifting his head.
Li Yuan approached calmly. His gray eyes remained steady—serene, yet full of meaning.
"I want to read the world."
The man's hand paused. He looked up at Li Yuan—for a long moment—as if trying to read something unwritten on his face.
At last, he turned his gaze and gestured inward.
"First floor—fundamentals, theory, and history.
Second floor—strategy and martial arts.
The third floor…"
His voice lowered, becoming serious.
"…is off limits. Even to the instructors."
Li Yuan gave a respectful nod.
"I seek understanding, not secrets."
The man furrowed his brow slightly. He had never seen someone this young speak with such calmness and depth.
"Your name?"
"Li Yuan."
"…Very well, Li Yuan. Cause no trouble. And don't set foot on the third floor."
Li Yuan didn't respond. He simply bowed slightly in respect, then began walking down the aisles of the library.
Shelf by shelf, he passed. His fingers brushed along scrolls and spines, letting instinct guide him. Finally, his hand stopped on an old book titled:
"Roots of the Soul: On Breath and the Silence That Shapes the Heavens."
He pulled it gently from the shelf, opened to the first page, and began to read.