"Perfectly, Elder," Yoriichi replied.
The old man grunted in approval. He formed a quick, complex hand seal, pressing his palm against the heavy brass lock. With a deep clack, the locking mechanism disengaged. The heavy doors swung inward, releasing a wave of cool, ancient air.
"Go on, then," the elder muttered, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes.
Yoriichi stepped over the threshold. The doors shut heavily behind him, sealing him in absolute silence.
The interior of the Dou Ji Pavilion was vast and magnificent. The air here was noticeably thicker, rich with a higher concentration of ambient Dou Qi that felt incredibly soothing to the lungs. It smelled of aged sandalwood, dry parchment, and the lingering scent of generations of profound knowledge.
Tall, meticulously carved wooden bookshelves stretched across the massive hall, forming a labyrinth of martial history. Glowing moonstones embedded in the ceiling cast a soft, even light over the thousands of jade boxes and bamboo scrolls.
The Pavilion was completely empty. Breaking through to Dou Zhe was not an everyday occurrence; it was a rare milestone, meaning Yoriichi had this sanctuary entirely to himself.
The Pavilion was completely empty. Access was strictly limited to those who had just broken through to Dou Zhe, and in a frontier clan, that was a rare, celebrated occurrence, not a daily event.
Yoriichi began his walk down the first aisle.
He noticed the security measures immediately. Each scroll, whether made of jade, parchment, or bamboo, was encased in a faint, shimmering barrier of energy.
'Mother-Son Spiritual Bamboo,' Yoriichi deduced, recognizing the rare material binding the scrolls.
It was a brilliant security measure. The bamboo slips binding the scrolls were the "Son" pieces. A corresponding "Mother" piece was kept securely with the Patriarch. If anyone tried to forcefully break the seal or steal the contents without the elder's unlocking technique, the Son bamboo would snap, instantly shattering the Mother piece and alerting Xiao Zhan.
With his Transparent World mastery, Yoriichi could easily peer through the spiritual barriers. He could see the exact flow of Dou Qi diagrams inked on the scrolls inside. However, he didn't dare to try reading them fully.
First, he was a man of honor; cheating the clan that had sheltered him violated his samurai code. Second, engaging his profound visual prowess might inadvertently trigger the delicate spiritual seals. Risking an alarm and losing the Patriarch's trust was a fool's gamble.
He relied on the rules. He walked through the aisles, reading the basic information etched onto the wooden placards beneath each scroll.
Naturally, he started in the Flame section. The Xiao Clan was famous for its fire-attribute fighters.
"Raging Rhino Flame - Middle Huang Rank. Focuses on explosive bursts of energy through the arm meridians. Warning: Extended use causes severe strain on the liver."
"Volcano Sea Mantra - High Huang Rank. Draws ambient heat to coat weapons in fire. Slow circulation rate."
Yoriichi read dozens of them. They were mostly Huang (Yellow) rank, with a few highly guarded Xuan (Black) rank scrolls locked in the deeper shelves. To a normal cultivator, these were treasures. To Yoriichi, who possessed the peerless, flawless biological rhythm of Sun Breathing, these Qi Methods looked like leaky buckets. They were inefficient, crude, and full of bottlenecks.
He sighed, leaving the Flame section.
He wandered to the Water section. 'Xiao Yu uses a Water method,' he thought, scanning the titles. 'Fluid River Mantra... Azure Drop Technique. I should ask her which one she practices. With my Inner Vision, I could probably help her correct the flaws in her circulation.'
He moved on. He checked the Earth section, the Wind section, and the Metal section. He even found a small shelf dedicated to rare, mutated attributes like Ice and Lightning. He was genuinely surprised that a frontier clan possessed at least one method for every single element. It spoke to the deep, hidden history of the Xiao family.
Yet, after an entire hour of searching, a heavy sigh of defeat escaped his lips.
None of them were suitable. The ranks were simply too low. They would bottleneck his monstrously dense cyclone, restricting his true potential.
'The Di (Earth) or Tian (Heaven) ranks are the stuff of legends,' Yoriichi mused, crossing his arms. 'I suppose I can only dream of stumbling upon one in a place like this. I will have to settle for a High Huang Fire method and attempt to heavily modify it with my Sun Breathing.'
His next hour passed in the same meticulous, agonizing search, trying to find the "least flawed" scroll. He sighed in disappointment again and again.
Outside the Pavilion, the guarding elder casually took another sip from his wine gourd.
He glanced up at the sun, which was now beginning its descent toward the western peaks.
"Is that kid doing meditation in there?" the elder chuckled to himself, wiping a drop of wine from his beard.
Usually, a newly advanced Dou Zhe was so overwhelmed with excitement that they grabbed the first High Huang scroll they saw and ran out within thirty minutes. It had been over two hours.
"What is that boy cooking up inside?" the elder muttered, shaking his head. "Well, not my matter. I will check on him before night falls. The Patriarch ordered me not to interfere with his choice. Geniuses always have their quirks."
Inside the grand, silent hall, Yoriichi had reached the very back of the Pavilion.
He was preparing to turn around and grab the Scorching Heat Mantra when his keen eyes caught a discrepancy in the architecture. Tucked away behind a massive pillar, in a dead, unlit corner that no one would ever purposefully look at, sat a small, rotting wooden stool.
On top of the stool was a haphazard stack of old, decaying segments of worn-out scrolls, loose papers, and cracked parchments. It looked like a pile of garbage—rejected, ruined texts waiting to be thrown out.
Driven by sheer curiosity, Yoriichi walked into the dusty corner.
He began sifting through the pile. Most were indeed ruined; half-burned ledgers from centuries ago or Qi Methods that had faded into illegibility.
But at the very bottom of the stack, his fingers brushed against a simple, worn-out black parchment.
It was heavy. Unnaturally heavy for its size.
There scrawled on the outside of the blackened parchment in bold, arrogant, blood-red calligraphy, was a basic introduction.
But it wasn't a description of a technique. It was a tale. An old, defiant poem.
Yoriichi narrowed his crimson eyes, blowing the dust off the surface. In the dim light, he read the words aloud, his voice barely a whisper in the silent hall.
"The heavens dictate the elements, binding mortals to a single thread.But the man who truly rises, shatters the firmament,Creates his own path,And reigns supreme over all beneath the sky."