Chapter 15 ( into the library )

  The library loomed ahead like a slumbering beast—massive, quiet, and layered in age. Its walls were dark stone etched with golden runes that pulsed softly, like a heartbeat only the building could hear. Mist hung low around its base, clinging to the steps as if even the air refused to rise too quickly here.

  Adam stepped onto the first stair.

  Immediately, a ripple ran through the disciples loitering nearby. Conversations faltered. Scrolls paused mid-unfurling. A few heads turned, subtle at first—curious glances over shoulders, eyes narrowing.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Another outer disciple?”

  “No… he doesn’t have a sect token.”

  “…The entrance test’s still going. He shouldn’t even be inside yet.”

  Adam didn’t respond. His footsteps were steady, deliberate. With each step, the pressure around the library intensified—not a spiritual pressure, but a social one. He was a wrong piece on the board, and everyone could feel it.

  A pair of inner disciples leaning by the gate exchanged glances. One of them pushed off the wall and took a slow step toward Adam.

  “Hey. You lost?”

  Adam met his gaze but said nothing. There was no hostility in his expression—only tired curiosity, as though the world was a puzzle he was slowly solving and this interruption was just another edge piece.

  The disciple blinked, unsettled. Something about Adam's eyes... it wasn’t arrogance or fearlessness. It was detachment. Like a man visiting a museum of ghosts.

  Inside the library, the temperature dropped a few degrees.

  He pushed open the doors.

  Dusty silence greeted him, thick with the scent of ancient parchment and oils used to preserve scrolls. Endless shelves spiraled upward like ribs of some long-dead beast. The air was still, reverent.

  Behind him, whispers stirred again.

  “Did anyone see how the formation didn’t stop him?”

  “He didn’t even flash a token.”

  “I’ve never seen him before.”

  Adam didn’t care.

  He walked into the aisles like he belonged there, eyes scanning, fingers lightly trailing the edges of shelves. Somewhere, deep inside, a presence stirred. Books watched. Something turned a metaphorical page.

  The deeper Adam walked, the more the shelves seemed to stretch into infinity. Rows upon rows of books towered above him, categorized not by labels, but by the subtle pressure each section emitted. Some exuded heat, others cold, some thrummed with spiritual resonance that tingled his skin.

  Eventually, past a corridor veiled in shimmering formations, he found a small circular chamber tucked behind stacks of ancient jade tablets. A single lamp floated mid-air, casting gentle golden light over a low desk made of blackwood, covered in scrolls, ledgers, and small hovering ink brushes scribbling on their own.

  Behind the desk sat an old man in grey robes—plain, but well-kept. His hair was tied back in a neat bun, and his presence was like an undisturbed pond—still and deep. Despite the piles of paperwork dancing around him, his hand remained idle, flipping slowly through a worn booklet.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Without looking up, the old man spoke in a gravelly tone:

  “You’re new here. State your standing in the sect.”

  Adam stepped forward, unbothered. “I am a disciple of Crimson Peak.”

  The brush paused mid-stroke. The librarian’s eyes didn’t lift immediately, but his lips curled into the faintest smirk.

  “Elder Guo’s younglings…” he muttered, then finally looked up.

  His gaze settled on Adam—and lingered.

  A moment passed.

  “Did you have a good sleep?”

  Adam blinked. “Yes,” he said carefully.

  The old man raised a brow. “Then why do you look like you haven’t slept for weeks?”

  Adam tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

  Without a word, the librarian reached into a drawer and pulled out a polished bronze mirror, sliding it across the desk with two fingers.

  Adam leaned forward—and froze.

  His reflection stared back with hollow, shadow-ringed eyes. The whites of his eyes had dulled to a greyish hue, and faint, purplish veins curled from the corners like withered roots. He looked… drained. Sick. But he felt fine.

  No. He felt powerful.

  And suddenly, he understood.

  The upper dantian.

  The Death element.

  It had already begun to influence his physical body.

  As Adam’s gaze lingered on his reflection, the shadows around his irises seemed to ripple slightly—an illusion, maybe. Or not.

  The librarian’s voice broke the silence.

  “Hmm… curious. Elder Guo sure knows how to pick them.”

  He leaned back, watching Adam closely.

  “Be careful with that one, boy. Death isn’t known for being gentle.”

  The librarian’s gaze remained on Adam, as if waiting for something. His expression was unreadable, but there was a sharpness to his eyes, like a predator sensing prey.

  “So, tell me. What all elements do you have?” the librarian asked, his voice more like a command than a question.

  Adam hesitated. He didn’t want to reveal everything just yet, especially not the full scope of his strange cultivation. But the old man’s piercing gaze made him feel as if the truth was already laid bare.

  “I have Light, Metal, and... Death.”

  The librarian’s eyes widened for a brief moment. Then, with a slight cough, he leaned back in his chair, muttering under his breath.

  “Light, Metal, and Death… I see. Quite the… combination.”

  Adam shifted uncomfortably.

  “What dantian did you use for them?” the librarian pressed, his tone still calm, but there was something expectant in it.

  Adam hesitated again, but only for a moment. There was no point in hiding it now.

  “Death in the upper dantian, Light in the middle, and Metal in the lower.”

  The librarian’s eyebrows shot up, his lips parting slightly as he processed the information. Then, with a faint chuckle, he shook his head.

  “Are you a masochist?” His voice carried the weight of disbelief.

  Adam blinked. “No.”

  The librarian leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scrutinized Adam.

  “Then why the hell would you choose all three?”

  Adam’s gaze shifted uncomfortably, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

  “It was... some circumstances.”

  The librarian sighed deeply, clearly unimpressed.

  “Circumstances. Hmph.” He leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “Well, good luck with that. You're going to need it.”

  The air around them seemed to hum with tension as the librarian’s gaze remained fixed on Adam, his thoughts unreadable.

  Adam straightened up, feeling the weight of the librarian’s scrutinizing gaze.

  “Do you have a book on internal harmonization for elements? I want to understand how to better control them.”

  The librarian’s lips twitched into a small, dry smile, as though amused by Adam's apparent determination.

  “Are you really not a masochist?” The librarian leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing with incredulity. “First, you tell me you use three dantian, and now you want an internal harmonization method? To align all three of them at once?”

  Adam stiffened slightly, but he met the librarian’s gaze without backing down.

  “I need to learn how to manage them. It’s... going to get harder to control.”

  The librarian sighed, rubbing his temples as though dealing with an especially troublesome child.

  “Considering you have the Death element, I suppose that makes sense. Without proper control, it’s likely to consume you from the inside.” The librarian muttered, shaking his head. “Fine. I’ll get you a book on it. You’re really digging your own grave, though.”

  With a wave of his hand, the librarian’s fingers glowed faintly. The air around them seemed to shimmer, and a book levitated off one of the towering bookshelves, floating gently over to Adam.

  The book had no title on its spine, just a worn leather cover, though the edges of the pages seemed ancient, as if they had been written eons ago.

  “Here,” the librarian said, handing the book to Adam. “It’s on internal harmonization—just don’t say I didn’t warn you. You’re playing with forces that could tear you apart if you're not careful. You’d better read that carefully.”

  Adam took the book, feeling its weight in his hands. He could sense that it wasn’t an ordinary text.

  “Thanks,” Adam muttered, a little uncertain but grateful nonetheless.

  The librarian nodded once, his expression unreadable.

  “Don’t waste it. Go ahead and start now, before you end up as a cautionary tale.”

  Adam begins his read.

  Adam takes a deep breath, speaking carefully as he recounts the internal harmonization method.

  "The way I understand it, each dantian is like a big box, and it can only hold one element at a time. But with the harmonization technique, you can create small compartments, or 'nodes,' inside these boxes. Each node can hold one element—just like a ball in a small compartment. The key is that each element must be placed carefully into its own node without overflowing into the other parts of the dantian. This method lets you balance multiple elements in one dantian, but it’s risky. You can’t just throw anything in there. If the balance shifts or the elements clash, it could throw everything off and harm your body. Plus, it takes a lot of concentration to keep everything in harmony. It’s not something most people attempt unless they’re ready to handle the strain."

  The librarian watched Adam close the book with a quiet snap, the weight of what he had just read settling behind his eyes.

  “Good,” the old man said, his voice a low rumble. “Now find a place to cultivate. All of them.”

  Adam looked up.

  The librarian’s gaze was sharp now—no longer mildly amused, but serious. “And do it carefully. But fast. You’ve got three months—maybe less—befor

  e the symptoms start. After that…” He trailed off, eyes narrowing.

  Adam didn’t need him to finish the sentence. He already understood.

  The Death element wasn't known for waiting.