"So, Young Master Xiao Ning," the guarding elder asked casually, dipping his brush into the inkwell, fully expecting to hear the name of a top-tier Fire method. "What did you finally decide, and land your eye on?"
Yoriichi did not speak immediately. He simply raised his right hand and presented the object he had retrieved from the depths of the Pavilion.
The elder's casual smile froze instantly. The brush hovering over the ledger stopped dead in mid-air, a single drop of black ink falling from the bristles to stain the wooden desk.
The elder stared at the item in Yoriichi's hand. It was not a glowing jade slip. It was not a pristine scroll bound by Mother-Son Spiritual Bamboo. It was a heavy, blackened, rotting piece of ordinary parchment that looked like it had been chewed on by a low-level magical beast and left to decay in a damp basement.
The old man blinked once, twice, his Da Dou Shi mind struggling to process the visual information. 'This boy... the most monstrous talent the Xiao Clan has seen in a century... spent three hours inside the Pavilion for this?'
The elder slowly lowered his brush, taking a deep, calming breath to suppress the sudden urge to smack the genius youth upside the head.
"Ah, youths," the elder sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in sheer exasperation. "Such reckless, impulsive things. Young Master, I think you have picked up the wrong item in the dark. That is not a Qi Method. I can let you go back in there to choose properly, but you should sit out here and cool your head for a few minutes first."
Yoriichi did not withdraw his hand. His crimson eyes remained perfectly calm and unyielding.
"No, Elder," Yoriichi replied, his voice level and entirely devoid of hesitation. "This is what I choose. There is no misunderstanding."
The elder's face hardened, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening as he shifted from a casual observer to a stern guardian of the clan's future.
"Xiao Ning, listen to me," the elder said, his tone dropping an octave, carrying the heavy weight of his decades of experience. "I know that scroll. It may look mysterious, covered in dust and hidden away, but it contains nothing but ancient poems and arrogant songs. It is a piece of historical trivia, not a Dou Qi Method that can be cultivated. You saw where it was. It was in the pile of trash."
The elder leaned forward, lowering his voice. "If it were not for the Patriarch's strict orders to maintain all writings of our ancestors, no matter how useless, that piece of parchment would have been thrown into the incinerator decades ago. You have a golden path ahead of you. Do not waste your one opportunity on a piece of useless fiction."
It was sound, incredibly pragmatic advice from a man who genuinely cared about the clan's foundation.
But Yoriichi was not a normal youth who could be swayed by the conventional wisdom of the Dou Qi Continent. He had seen the microscopic meridian labyrinth hidden beneath the ink. He had felt the primordial resonance of the Origin Qi.
Yoriichi bowed his head slightly, a gesture of respect for the elder's genuine concern, but when he looked back up, his eyes were like forged steel.
"Elder, your guidance is appreciated, but this is final," Yoriichi said softly, yet persuasively. "I have taken the resource that I need. Please register this one for me."
The elder stared into the boy's crimson eyes for a long, silent moment. He saw no arrogance, no childish rebellion, and no greedy delusion. He saw only absolute, unshakeable certainty.
The old man slumped his shoulders slightly and let out a long, weary sigh.
'Ahh, he got carried away by the domineering tone of those old poems,' the elder thought to himself. 'He probably thinks he has stumbled upon some secret, heaven-defying legacy because it was hidden in the trash. Typical arrogant genius syndrome.'
As the guarding elder of the Pavilion for over forty years, he possessed the most knowledge of the texts aside from the Patriarch himself. He knew for a fact that the scroll was completely unreadable and functionally useless.
'Hmm... well, let him take it,' the elder reasoned internally, a sly, almost amused glint replacing his frustration. 'He will take it home, try to cultivate with it, and hit an absolute brick wall. When he realizes he cannot gather a single drop of Dou Qi with poems, his pride will break. He will come back to me in a week, begging to choose again. I will bend the rules and let him pick a real High Huang method then. A little humility will be good for him. At least I can do this much for our clan's genius.'
Having rationalized his decision, the elder shrugged his shoulders. "Very well. Your funeral, kid."
He picked up his brush, dipped it in the fresh ink, and poised it over the thick ledger.
"What is the title written on the inside?" the elder asked.
"Battle Through the Heavens," Yoriichi answered smoothly.
The elder's brush paused for a fraction of a second. 'Ah, hearing this grand name again... it sounds so ancient, so incredibly dominant. But alas, it is attached to a completely useless piece of decaying paper.' With fluid, practiced strokes, the elder recorded the name in the ledger alongside Xiao Ning's signature. He blew on the ink to dry it, then closed the heavy book with a definitive thud.
Yoriichi remained completely silent, watching the elder's changing expressions. He easily deduced that the elder had agreed simply because he expected Yoriichi to fail.
The elder looked up, signing for Yoriichi to leave with a flick of his wrist. An amused, almost pitying smile played on his aged lips.
"It is done. You may go out now," the elder said, picking up his wine gourd once more. "Train properly, young man. And when you realize you need actual Dou Qi instead of poetry... you know where to find me."
"Thank you, Elder," Yoriichi nodded calmly. He was slightly confused by the elder's blatant amusement, but he didn't care enough to correct the old man's assumptions. Time and results would be the only proof he needed.
He secured the black parchment within the inner folds of his cyan robes, keeping it close to his chest, and turned his back on the Pavilion.
The sky above Wu Tan City had fully surrendered to the night. Millions of stars glittered like scattered diamonds across the dark, velvety expanse. Yoriichi walked out of the inner estate, the cool evening breeze rustling his hair.
He could have gone straight back to his dormitory to begin deciphering the impossible meridian map, but his stomach gave another loud, demanding rumble. The mental strain of the Pavilion had completely depleted his physical energy.
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