The next morning, as the first rays of dawn filtered through the window slats, bringing with them the bustling clamor of a city awakening, the Myriad Treasures Merchant Caravan prepared to depart. Their cargo had been delivered, and new journeys awaited them on the horizon.
In the courtyard of the Dragon Gate Inn, Van Tam Thong stood before Tran Kien. The old merchant no longer wore the majestic air of a master, but rather that of an elder counseling a younger kinsman before a long parting.
"Tran Kien, remember well my words," he spoke, his voice deep and resonant. "In this Thanh Chau City, the waters run deep. Until you possess sufficient strength to protect yourself, always remain in the shadows. Do not reveal your brilliance, and do not easily grant your trust to anyone." He placed a large, calloused hand upon Tran Kien's shoulder—a light tap, yet one brimming with confidence. "I believe that with your wisdom and iron will, one day, the name Tran Kien will echo far beyond the reaches of Thanh Chau. Live well. Until we meet again!"
"Senior Van, take care!" Tran Kien bowed deeply, a gesture born of sincere respect and gratitude.
The Myriad Treasures carriages slowly rolled away, merging into the early morning throngs. Tran Kien stood there, watching until the final carriage vanished around a street corner. A familiar sense of solitude washed over him once more, but this time, it was not accompanied by confusion. He knew exactly which Path he had to tread.
He did not rush to find the Myriad Tomes Pavilion immediately. Instead, he spent the entire day traversing the various streets of Thanh Chau City. This was no leisurely stroll, but a strategic survey. He observed.
He passed through the eastern district, where massive martial arenas and weapon emporiums stood. The air here was perpetually charged with a martial fervor. He saw disciples of the Azure Cloud Sect—clad in robes of azure clouds and white mist—walking with prideful countenances. Yet, he also saw groups of cultivators in the robes of smaller sects, their gazes tempered by a degree of endurance. This place worshipped martial prowess, yet the hierarchy of power was clearly delineated.
He moved toward the central market, the most prosperous and chaotic area. There, he saw beggars, rogues, and those dressed in black with silver centipede tattoos lurking in the dark alleys. They were like sewer rats, dwelling in the filthiest corners of the city. This was the domain of the underworld.
Finally, as the sun began its descent into the west, he headed toward the southern part of the city. The raucous noise and bustle gradually faded behind him. This area was profoundly quiet. Narrow paths were paved with bluestone, flanked by high walls draped in climbing vines. Occasionally, he heard the sounds of rhythmic chanting and literary discussions drifting from various libraries. This was the district of scholars and seekers of knowledge.
After inquiring with an old tea vendor by the roadside, Tran Kien finally found his destination. The Myriad Tomes Pavilion was not a magnificent or grandiose structure. It sat at the end of a small alley, so quiet that one could hear the falling of a leaf. It was a three-story pavilion crafted entirely from ebony wood, appearing ancient beyond measure. Time had left mottled scars upon the wooden pillars, yet there were no signs of decay; instead, it exuded an aura of steadfastness and solemnity. There was no grand signboard, only a small wooden plaque hanging above the slightly ajar doors, upon which three characters were carved in ancient seal script: "Myriad Tomes Pavilion."
Tran Kien stood before the entrance for a long moment, taking a deep breath to compose himself. He sensed a strange aura emanating from the building. It was not Spiritual Qi, nor was it Killing Intent; rather, it was an aura of knowledge, of history, and of the passing ages. He pushed the door lightly. A faint "creak" echoed.
The space within revealed itself. The first floor of the Myriad Tomes Pavilion was quite sparse. Natural light filtered through the rice-paper windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. In the center of the room sat an aged tea table, beside which was an equally ancient armchair. And upon that armchair sat an old man.
This elder appeared utterly ordinary. His silver hair was tied back casually with a wooden pin. He wore a coarse gray robe that had long since faded, and his unkempt beard and hair obscured most of his face, leaving only his eyes visible. Yet, it was those eyes that shook Tran Kien to his core. They were not the eyes of an old man. They were crystal clear and as deep as a bottomless abyss, seemingly capable of peering through the past and future, and seeing through every secret within a person's heart.
The elder did not look up, his hands still holding a volume of bamboo slips. His voice was hoarse yet resonated throughout the chamber. "You have arrived? I have been waiting for you for quite some time."
Tran Kien froze. His heart hammered against his ribs. Who was this elder? How could he know he was coming?
The elder slowly turned a page, still not looking at him, and continued, "The one who carries the lost legacy of the Lac Viet, and possesses the body-tempering mnemonic mantras of the Iron Stampede Army... tell me, where else could someone like you go, if not to this Myriad Tomes Pavilion?"
Each of the elder's words was like a clap of thunder exploding in Tran Kien's ears. His greatest secrets—secrets he had sworn to protect with his life—were spoken by the man before him as casually as if discussing the weather. In an instant, Tran Kien's entire body tensed. The power within his frame began to circulate, ready for a life-and-death struggle.
The elder seemed to sense Tran Kien's killing intent. He let out a soft sigh, finally setting down the bamboo slips and looking up. "Do not be so tense, young one," he smiled kindly. "If I wished to harm you, you would no longer be standing here. Allow me to introduce myself; my surname is Wei, and I am the caretaker of this old storehouse of books. As for how I know those secrets..."
He pointed toward the thousands of bamboo slips, beast-hide scrolls, and rice-paper tomes resting silently upon the shelves of the second and third floors. "Because everything that has happened and is happening upon this land," he said, his voice becoming profound and mysterious, "has all been recorded within these tomes."