Calming his growing excitement, Jin took a deep breath and reached for the next book.
"History of the LingLong Continent."
The text carried an ancient scent —as if the dust of centuries had mingled with the essence of sages who once turned its pages.
When he opened it, the words seemed to hold weight, as though each line contained fragments of forgotten eras.
The LingLong Continent was a vast land surrounded by endless mountains, deep seas, and regions still unknown to most cultivators.
It was said to be one of the seven continents encircling the Central Continent —each with its own balance of power— yet LingLong was remembered for its special connection to the ancient dragons.
As Jin read, his mind sank into the history of that world.
Mountains that breathed fire, oceans where Qi formed golden whirlpools, and dragons soaring across the heavens with divine majesty.
Era of Awakening: when humans first learned to perceive Qi, following the path of the Sages of the Mist —the first to open the way of cultivation.
Era of Celestial Fire: a time when spiritual beasts ruled the land and humanity, weak and defenseless, united merely to survive. Some managed to inherit fragments of dragon and phoenix blood —their lineages still lingering among ancient families.
Era of the Hundred Sects: splendor and chaos. Refinement, alchemy, and spiritual forging reached their peak. Sects flourished, and clans fought endlessly for dominance over the world's Qi.
Era of Golden Silence: peace born from a thousand wars. Order was restored… but natural talent began to wither. Peace brought stagnation.
Closing the book slowly, Jin rubbed his temple.
"Too much information… and still nothing that answers my questions," he muttered.
The lamp's flame wavered, casting dancing shadows over shelves crowded with scrolls.
He took a sip of water, and for a moment, silence enveloped the room. Outside, the chirping of crickets and nocturnal insects formed a soft, almost meditative melody.
Jin turned his gaze toward the remaining books and picked one at random.
"Myths of the Ancient World."
The pages were worn, some letters drawn more by faith than by ink.
Jin flipped through them without hurry, letting the stories flow like a calm river: heroes ascending to the heavens, beasts devouring suns, kingdoms collapsing under the weight of their own greatness.
"I guess this is just to keep my mind entertained," he murmured with a faint smile. "Nothing useful for cultivation yet."
Still, he noticed a pattern hidden between the lines —an invisible thread connecting every myth.
The world was vast, unfathomable. And what people now called legend might once have been as real as the air he breathed.
He closed the book and leaned back, watching the lamplight dance over the covers.
"Interesting. Some of these definitely aren't mere myths… but my current self has no way to prove it."
With that thought, he took the last volume.
"The Great Holy-Demonic War."
The title alone weighed like stone.
The opening lines spoke of a conflict so ancient that even dragons hadn't witnessed its beginning.
Over one hundred thousand years, before the continents took their current form, a war erupted that split heaven and earth.
The forces of justice clashed against entities born from corruption, and the balance of the world hung by a thread.
The records were fragmented, the names faded, yet the magnitude of the tale was undeniable.
Beings known as saints descended onto the battlefield, wielding weapons that shone like suns.
Demons roared from rifts in the void, their steps shaking the mountains.
One of those saints —a man who walked among gods— fell in the final battle.
His death sealed the fate of the conflict, and his sacrifice marked the end of an era.
The book also spoke of the aftermath: lands torn apart, seas evaporated, continents reshaped by divine energies.
Some said the descendants of that war still walked among the living.
The echoes of that conflict still pulse through this world. Those who ignore history are doomed to repeat its mistakes.
Jin closed the book with a soft thud.
The sound lingered in the empty room, like a distant echo of what he had just read.
"one hundred thousand years… saints, demons, gods," he whispered with an ironic smile. "Sounds more like a bedtime story than a historical record."
He frowned. "Although… if even one of those beings truly existed…"
He fell silent, eyes fixed on the flickering flame. Something in those words made his skin crawl.
Finally, he leaned back and let out a weary chuckle.
"Great… just what I needed to feel even smaller."