The first three months of the journey were not a battle of strength, but a battle of attrition.
Long Chen had left the lush, mist-covered peaks of the Cloud-Mist Sect behind. The green forests turned into scrubland, then into rocky canyons, and finally, into the vast, shimmering nothingness of the Ghost-Salt Desert.
This wasn't a desert of sand. It was a desert of dead salt. The ground was a jagged, white crust that cracked like glass under his feet. The air was so dry it felt like drinking dust, and the silence was so absolute it made his own heartbeat sound like a drum.
The Weight of Longevity
Long Chen didn't use a horse or a carriage. He walked. Every step was a meditation. He carried the black box given to him by the Sect Master, which contained a rusted compass that didn't point North, but toward "Weight."
"Koda, look at the horizon," Long Chen whispered. The ferret's fur had turned a pale, dusty silver to blend in with the salt. "The Sect calls this a wasteland. But do you see the logic of the ground?"
Using his Origin Sight, Long Chen saw that the salt wasn't random. It was laid out in massive, miles-long geometric patterns—the remains of an ancient Continental Array. This entire desert was once the floor of a Great Ocean that had been "boiled" away by a celestial war.
The First Trial: The Thirst of the Spirit
By the fourth month, his water was gone. His spirit stones were spent. Most cultivators would have died here, their Dantians shriveling like raisins.
But Long Chen sat in the center of a salt flat during the "Noon-Fire," when the temperature hit 65°C. Instead of seeking shade, he used the Second Pulse. He didn't look for water; he looked for the Hydrogen-Logic trapped within the salt crystals.
CLANG.
His marrow rang. He wasn't drinking water; he was "absorbing" the elemental essence of the desert. His skin began to take on a translucent, crystalline sheen. He was no longer just a boy from the kitchens; he was becoming a Construct of the World.
Chapter 12: The Scrap-Iron Lizard
In the sixth month, the ruins began to appear—towers of blackened glass leaning at impossible angles, half-buried in the white crust. It was here that Long Chen heard the first sound of another living soul.
Chug-chug-clatter.
A strange vehicle, looking like a cross between a lizard and a steam-engine, crested a nearby dune. It was made of rusted plates and powered by glowing blue crystals. Atop the beast sat a man wrapped in heavy leather bandages, his eyes covered by brass-rimmed goggles.
This was Hanzo, the Junk-Smith.
Hanzo stopped his mechanical beast ten paces away. He didn't draw a sword. He pulled out a strange device—a Tuning Fork made of copper. He struck it against the side of his lizard.
Ping.
The vibration hit Long Chen. Usually, this sound would cause a person's Qi to fluctuate, making them dizzy. But when the vibration hit Long Chen's Dual-Polarity Marrow, it simply disappeared.
"Well, well," Hanzo said, his voice raspy from years of inhaling salt dust. He pushed his goggles up. "I've seen many 'Envoys' sent here to die. Usually, they scream when the Salt-Madness hits them. But you... you have the resonance of the Deep Foundation."
Long Chen looked at the mechanical lizard. "Your engine is misfiring in the fourth cylinder," he said calmly. "The crystal is cracked because the vibration frequency is too high for the copper housing."
Hanzo froze. He looked at his engine, then at the rags-covered boy. "A 'Smart' one. I haven't met a Smart one since the last Librarian died."
"I'm looking for the Sunken Library," Long Chen said, stepping forward. "And the man who built it."
Hanzo let out a dry, hacking laugh. "The Library isn't a building, kid. It's a Memory. And to get inside, you don't need a key. You need to be able to survive the Glass Sentinels."
Hanzo patted the seat behind him. "Get on. If we stay out here past sunset, the salt starts to sing. And believe me... you don't want to hear the song."