The Pavilion of Ten Thousand Scrolls was not a building; it was a hollowed-out mountain.
Inside the cavernous interior, floating platforms drifted like lazy clouds, carrying disciples between shelves that stretched upward into the gloom. The air smelled of old paper, rotting bamboo, and the metallic tang of preservation arrays.
"Young Master Feng," the captain of the guards bowed low, sweat beading on his forehead. "The Patriarch has granted you access to the First and Second Layers. However... you are three years old. Are you certain you do not require a servant to read to you?"
Xie Feng stood at the entrance, his small hands clasped behind his back in a mockery of an elder's stance. He wore a white robe embroidered with a single golden thread—the mark of the Direct Lineage.
"I can read," Xie Feng said, his voice piping but steady. "Wait outside."
The captain hesitated, then bowed again. "As you command."
Xie Feng stepped onto a floating stone platform. "Up," he commanded. The platform hummed and ascended.
As he rose past the rows of glowing jade slips, Xie Feng's eyes scanned the titles with a speed that would have terrified the guard.
'Flowing River Sword Art'... Trash.
'Iron Skin Manual'... Common garbage.
'Cloud-Walking Steps'... Flawed footwork. Leaves too many openings.
These were the foundational techniques of the Ancient Xie Clan. To the outside world, these were treasures worth dying for. To Xie Feng, who had once stood at the apex of the Tenth Era, they were children's scribbles.
I don't need techniques to gather Qi, he reasoned. My physique does that automatically—too well, in fact. I need a technique to lock the Qi.
His body was a bucket with a hole. He needed to plug the hole.
He steered the platform away from the brightly lit central shelves and toward the back of the cavern, where the light was dim and the dust was thick. This was the "Discarded Section."
Here lay the techniques that were incomplete, damaged, or deemed "useless" by the clan's ancestors.
Xie Feng hopped off the platform, his small boots kicking up clouds of dust. He walked down an aisle labeled 'Failed Experiments.'
He touched a bamboo scroll.
'The Sun-Eating Art'... Explodes the heart after three years.
He touched another.
'The Nine-Shadow Clone'... Fragments the soul, causing insanity.
He paused. Insanity?
His soul had survived the destruction of ten eras. It was harder than a diamond. Insanity was a risk for mortals, not for him.
He pulled the scroll out. It was brittle, covered in warnings written in red ink.
"Warning: Cultivating this requires splitting the consciousness. Of the 300 disciples who attempted this, 298 became vegetables. 2 died."
Xie Feng smirked. Perfect.
He opened it. His eyes flashed with a faint silver light—a remnant of a soul technique from his 4th Life: The Mind's Eye. He didn't read the words; he photographed them. In ten breaths, the entire manual was copied into his memory.
He put the scroll back.
Not enough. This is a utility skill. I need a Foundation Method.
He continued searching. Finally, at the very end of the row, hidden under a pile of rotting wood, he found a black iron book. It was heavy. Cold to the touch.
There was no title on the cover. Only a jagged scratch mark.
Xie Feng opened it. The text wasn't written; it was carved with a fingernail, desperate and jagged.
"The Corpse-Locking Art."
Summary: A technique created by a mad elder of the 7th Era. It treats the living body as a corpse. By inducing a state of 'False Death,' the cultivator halts all metabolic functions, locking every ounce of Qi inside the marrow. The body becomes cold, the heart beats once per minute, and the skin becomes as hard as dead wood.
Defect: If you stay in the state too long, you actually die.
Xie Feng's eyes lit up.
False Death. Metabolic Stasis.
This was exactly what he needed. His Devouring Void Physique burned energy because his metabolism was hyper-active, constantly trying to evolve. If he used this art to "kill" his own metabolism, he could trap the energy inside his bones.
It will make me cold and emotionless. It will make my skin pale as a ghost.
Even better. It fits the aesthetic of a ruthless young master.
He placed his hand on the iron book. Mind's Eye: Activate.
The complex diagrams of stopping the heart and reversing blood flow burned into his mind.
"Interesting choice."
The voice came from right behind his ear.
Xie Feng froze.
He hadn't sensed anyone. Not a breath, not a heartbeat, not a ripple in the air.
His instincts screamed DANGER. In his past life, he would have instantly spun around and severed the speaker's throat.
But he was three years old.
Xie Feng suppressed the killer instinct. He forced his body to jump in a clumsy, startled way, dropping the iron book on his toe.
"Ouch!" Xie Feng cried out, clutching his foot and looking up with teary eyes.
Standing behind him was an old man.
The man looked like a dried-up corpse. He held a broom made of twigs. His robes were grey and stained with dust. He looked like a servant, but his eyes were milky white—blind.
The Library Guardian, Xie Feng realized. A hidden expert. At least... Saint Realm. Maybe higher.
The old man chuckled, the sound like dry leaves rubbing together. He tapped the iron book with his broom.
"Little Young Master. That book is not for playing. It is for people who want to die."
Xie Feng rubbed his foot, putting on a pout. "It looked strong. It's made of iron."
"Strong things are often brittle," the old man wheezed. "Why are you in the trash pile? The shiny golden scrolls are over there."
Xie Feng looked at the golden section, then back at the dark corner. He decided to test the old man. Sometimes, showing a little "eccentricity" was good for a genius persona.
"The golden ones are too loud," Xie Feng whispered, pointing at the bright shelves. "They buzz. It hurts my head. It's quiet here."
The old man's broom stopped moving.
The "buzz" Xie Feng referred to was the Dao Resonance of the high-tier techniques. Only someone with a powerful soul could hear it as a noise.
To a three-year-old, it should be impossible to detect.
The blind eyes seemed to focus on Xie Feng's face. A silent pressure descended—a probe.
Xie Feng let the Nameless Tablet absorb the pressure instantly, showing no reaction. He just blinked innocently.
"Quiet..." the old man muttered. "Yes. Silence is the root of the Great Dao."
He reached out a withered hand and picked up the iron book. "You cannot take this one. It is forbidden. But..."
He reached into his dusty robe and pulled out a thin, blue book. It looked remarkably ordinary.
"Take this instead. It is also quiet. It is a breathing exercise. It will not make you strong, but it will help you sleep."
Xie Feng took the blue book.
"The Turtle-Snake Breath."
A common longevity exercise. Completely useless for combat. But excellent for hiding one's cultivation level.
This old monster saw through me, Xie Feng realized. He knows I want to hide. He is helping me.
Why?
"Thank you, Grandpa," Xie Feng bowed politely.
The old man waved his broom, turning away. "Go. The darkness here is heavy. Not good for growing bones."
Xie Feng didn't linger. He clutched the blue book and ran back to the floating platform.
As he ascended, he looked back. The old man was sweeping the dust in a rhythmic pattern.
Sweep. Sweep. Sweep.
Xie Feng's pupils constricted.
The dust wasn't moving randomly. The old man was sweeping the dust into the shape of a Runic Formation.
He is reinforcing the seal on the mountain.
The Ancient Xie Clan... truly, dragons and snakes are hidden everywhere.
Xie Feng clutched the blue book tight.
He had secured:
The Corpse-Locking Art (To stop the energy leak).
The Nine-Shadow Clone (To create mental decoys).
The Turtle-Snake Breath (To hide his progress).
Three years of foundation, Xie Feng thought as he exited into the sunlight.
Now, I cultivate.
That Night.
Xie Feng sat in the center of his bed. He had dismissed the maids.
The room was dark.
Step 1: The Corpse Lock.
He reversed the flow of Qi in his meridians.
Pain. Absolute, searing pain. It felt like his veins were being filled with ice water.
His heart rate slowed.
Thump... thump... thump...
Thump........ thump.
His skin turned a pale, sickly white. His body temperature dropped to match the room.
The hunger of the Void Physique screamed, but the "lock" slammed shut. The energy from the Blood Bodhi he had eaten earlier was trapped. It had nowhere to go but into his bones.
Crack.
Blood Tempering: Stage 4.
He didn't stop. He had ten years of resources to burn.
By the time I am ten, Xie Feng vowed in the silence of the room, I will not just be a genius.
I will be a monster in human skin.