"What a poor child…. Your parents should not have left you in the crucible of this war. You are fortunate that this old man noticed you."
Apart from Zhuquan De pulling him away from that battlefield, those words were the only thing Yang Lujia could remember from the day he entered this world.
He could no longer remember the declarations exchanged between the two sides. The screams, the blood, and the enormous creatures fighting above him had also disappeared from his memory.
Perhaps his body had been too young to properly record any of it.
He had only been an infant. His mind might have buried the experience before it could become something he would continue remembering throughout his life.
'Natural instinct, perhaps.'
Fifteen years passed.
The war that once shook a large portion of the Verdant Archive eventually became another event recorded inside old historical manuscripts. People still spoke about it, but most of them only knew what had been written by those who survived.
The infant Zhuquan De rescued had also grown.
Yang Lujia was now fifteen years old.
He wore a simple black robe made from thick silk. Several traces of dried Ink remained near the ends of his sleeves, mostly because Zhuquan De continued ordering him to write manuscripts even though he had not begun cultivating.
His black hair reached past his shoulders and was usually left untied unless he needed to work. His face did not appear particularly threatening, but his eyes often caused people to look at him for longer than they intended.
They did not resemble the eyes of an ordinary fifteen-year-old.
Even when Yang Lujia remained silent, it sometimes felt as though he had already understood more than what the other person was willing to say.
A gust of wind passed across the porch.
Several old sheets of paper were carried from the roof and flew beside his face. Yang Lujia raised one hand, caught the nearest page, and looked at the unfinished characters written upon it.
They belonged to one of Zhuquan De's older manuscripts. Most of the words had already faded.
Yang Lujia returned the page to the pile beside the wall.
Fifteen years inside the Verdant Archive had allowed him to understand a small part of the world he had entered.
He had also learned that the Verdant Archive was not the entire world.
It was only one of the Archives that existed within a much larger Reality.
How many Archives existed beyond it, how large each one was, or who had first divided them remained unclear. Even Zhuquan De rarely gave him a direct answer whenever he asked.
Wars were common.
Some were fought over territory. Others began because of resources, old grudges, sect rivalries, or disagreements that had already existed for so long that neither side remembered how they started.
Yang Lujia had once read about two sects that destroyed three cities because one of their founders claimed that the other had copied a single character from his technique.
He still did not understand how one character could become worth that many lives.
After rescuing him, Zhuquan De brought him to the Dragon Brush Sect.
It was considered one of the stronger forces within the surrounding region. The people living nearby treated its disciples with respect, while smaller sects rarely challenged anything decided by its upper ranks.
According to Zhuquan De, however, the Dragon Brush Sect remained insignificant when compared with the true powers of the Verdant Archive.
"A drop of Ink within an unfinished manuscript," the old man had called it.
The cultivation practiced by the people of this world was also different from what Yang Lujia remembered from the stories of his previous lives.
Cultivators here were collectively called Pages.
They did not gather qi or attempt to become immortals by absorbing the energy of heaven and earth. They absorbed Ink into their bodies and used it to strengthen their existence.
"Ink is the foundation from which Reality is written," Zhuquan De had explained to him several years ago. "Everything possesses it. The earth, the sky, the creatures walking upon the land, and even the thoughts that continue affecting people after the person who created them has already died."
Pages gathered that Ink and used it to complete the Ink Manuscript within their bodies.
The farther they cultivated, the deeper their existence became written into Reality.
At least, that was how Zhuquan De described it.
This same knowledgeable old man was currently sitting upon an old wooden bench while drinking directly from a script-covered gourd.
Their dwelling stood near one of the quieter sections of the Dragon Brush Sect.
Calling it a normal house would not have been accurate.
Several large books had been stacked vertically to support the porch roof. Their leather covers had hardened with age, while faded golden characters continued glowing across their spines.
Old manuscripts overlapped one another above the house and served as roof tiles. Some of their pages had already become yellow and brittle, although none of them fell apart even during heavy rain.
The lanterns hanging from the roof had been made from hollow book spines. Light passed through the thin pieces of vellum placed around them, giving the porch a warm glow whenever night arrived.
Even portions of the floor had been made from thick book covers placed between the stone tiles.
Whenever the wind passed through the house, hundreds of pages moved at the same time.
Yang Lujia had grown accustomed to the sound.
He leaned against one of the supports and watched Zhuquan De drink another large amount from the gourd.
"Grandfather."
Zhuquan De continued drinking.
"You have spent fifteen years teaching me about Ink," Yang Lujia continued. "You have also repeatedly explained how Pages write themselves deeper into Reality."
The old man lowered the gourd. "And?"
"When will I actually begin cultivating?"
Zhuquan De wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "You will understand when the proper time arrives. To cultivate is to write, and to write is to live. A person who cannot gather Ink is merely an unfinished error waiting for Reality to remove him."
Yang Lujia looked at the gourd in his hand. "A typographical error, you mean."
Zhuquan De stared at him.
Yang Lujia pointed toward the gourd. "Also, is that not the Dragon Ink Drip stored by the sect for important ceremonies?"
The old man looked down at what he was holding. "It resembles it."
"You took it from the ceremonial storehouse yesterday."
"You saw me?"
"I saw you return while trying to hide the gourd inside your robe."
Zhuquan De sighed. "You misunderstood what happened."
"How?"
"The human body is the most important form of parchment. I am merely using the Dragon Ink Drip to strengthen my internal structure."
Yang Lujia waited.
Zhuquan De raised the gourd again. "Something along those lines."
"You are drunk, Grandpa. I do not even know what you are saying anymore."
"I prefer to call it being well-read."
"That does not make it better."
Zhuquan De pointed one slightly unsteady finger toward him. "You should concern yourself with your own body. You are already fifteen years old, but your organs, bones, and inkways remain as dry as a Blank Page."
"You have reminded me of that many times."
"Because you keep asking when you can cultivate."
"And you continue refusing to answer."
"The answer has not changed."
Yang Lujia crossed his arms. Then, he remembered something and looked toward the distant buildings of the sect. "Do you not have somewhere to be today?"
Zhuquan De's expression changed slightly.
Yang Lujia rarely softened his voice unless the subject involved the old man's position within the sect.
"I have several matters to attend to," Zhuquan De replied. "But the time has not arrived yet."
"What matters?"
"Matters that do not concern a child."
"I am fifteen."
"You are still a child."
"You began calling me an old man when I was ten."
"That was because you complained like one."
Yang Lujia did not answer.
Zhuquan De smiled before placing the gourd beside him. "Did you finish the task I gave you?"
"Yes."
"All of it?"
"You made me copy twelve manuscripts and write responses to every question placed beneath them."
"And?"
"Most of them contained strange ideas that did not appear useful."
The smile disappeared from Zhuquan De's face.
Yang Lujia paused. "I did not say they were entirely useless."
The old man smiled again.
"See? I do not make you write without reason. The stories contained inside those manuscripts—"
"Were interesting," Yang Lujia interrupted. "They contained enough information that my head felt as though someone had repeatedly struck it with a book."
"You are exaggerating."
"I am not. It genuinely hurt."
"But you learned something."
"I learned several things."
Yang Lujia looked toward the many buildings of the Dragon Brush Sect.
"However, everything I have seen remains limited to this sect. I have read about regions, empires, and organizations beyond this place, but reading their names is not the same as seeing them."
"You wish to leave?"
"Eventually."
Zhuquan De's fingers stopped near the opening of the gourd.
Yang Lujia continued before the old man could misunderstand him. "I am not saying I will leave today. I only know that remaining here forever will not allow me to understand the world."
"You have not even begun cultivating."
"That is why I asked when I could begin," Yang Lujia retorted.
Zhuquan De looked at him for several breaths.
"For someone your age, you speak as though you have already lived several lives."
Yang Lujia's expression remained unchanged. Zhuquan De raised the gourd and took another drink.
Yang Lujia looked away. "No, Grandpa. Living in this world simply makes it difficult to continue behaving like a child."
Zhuquan De studied him quietly.
He did not believe that was the entire reason.
The infant he rescued had been lying in the middle of a War Battleground. Even if Yang Lujia could no longer remember the things that happened around him, his body might still have carried something from the experience.
The constant caution. The way he observed every entrance whenever he entered an unfamiliar room. The fact that he rarely allowed anyone to stand behind him for too long.
Zhuquan De had noticed all of it.
Perhaps the battlefield had changed the child before his mind became old enough to understand what fear was.
If Zhuquan De had arrived even one moment later, Yang Lujia would not have survived.
The two of them continued staring at one another.
Yang Lujia refused to look away first.
Zhuquan De eventually raised one eyebrow. "What?"
"You are using your position as my grandfather to intimidate me."
"I am only looking at you."
"You are releasing a small amount of pressure."
The pressure immediately disappeared.
"I do not know what you mean."
Yang Lujia did not expose him further.
Instead, he moved toward the pile of manuscripts near the wall and removed one of the notebooks placed on top.
"I also noticed several strange terms written inside your notes."
Zhuquan De's hand stopped before the gourd reached his mouth.
"Strange terms?"
"Typographical error. Chief Executive Officer. Finance. There were several others." Yang Lujia looked at the old man. "I have never found those words inside any manuscript belonging to the Dragon Brush Sect."
For a moment, Zhuquan De did not move.
The unfocused expression created by the wine disappeared from his eyes. His gaze became clear enough that the atmosphere surrounding the porch changed with it.
Yang Lujia noticed the difference.
That reaction lasted only briefly.
Zhuquan De laughed and raised the gourd again.
"They may be fanciful terms from an older era."
"Which era?"
"One that has already been forgotten."
"You remember the terms."
"I remember many useless things."
"And you wrote them beside descriptions of organizations, money, and methods of managing people."
Zhuquan De looked toward the distant horizon. "Perhaps they were only the confused writings of an old man attempting to remember a world that no longer exists."
Yang Lujia became silent.
The answer sounded careless.
However, Zhuquan De had not denied recognizing the words.
Yang Lujia lowered the notebook.
He had intentionally mentioned only several terms. There were others inside the old man's notes, including words that should not have existed anywhere within the Verdant Archive.
Zhuquan De took another drink as though their conversation had already ended.
Yang Lujia continued watching him.
For fifteen years, the old man had answered most of his questions with stories, incomplete explanations, or another question.
This time was no different.
However, the brief change in Zhuquan De's eyes had already given Yang Lujia an answer.
His grandfather knew more than he was willing to explain.