The atmosphere within the Myriad Tomes Pavilion grew deathly still. Each dust mote floating in the slanted shafts of sunlight seemed to cease its motion. Killing intent—a pure killing intent tempered through life-and-death struggles—silently radiated from Tran Kien's lean frame. He was like a young wolf cornered against a wall; even when facing a fierce tiger of unknown depths, he refused to take a single step back.
Facing that surge of killing intent, the elder surnamed Wei showed not the slightest reaction. He remained seated upon his ancient armchair, his crystal-clear, deep eyes gazing at the youth—not with hostility, but with compassion and a hint of nostalgia.
"Do not be so tense, young one," the elder sighed softly—a sigh that seemed to drag with it the vicissitudes of countless ages. "Your killing intent is pure, and your will is resolute. But if I wished to harm you, do you truly believe you would have the chance to circulate the power within your body?"
As he spoke, he lightly flicked his sleeve. A gentle breeze drifted past. Yet, to Tran Kien, it felt as if an invisible mountain had collapsed upon him. All the killing intent he had condensed, all the strength surging within his body, was instantly blown away like thin smoke. He felt his entire body go limp, a terrifying sense of helplessness seizing his mind. He realized with horror that the gap between himself and this elder was wider than the distance between Heaven and Earth.
"This... this is..." Tran Kien stammered, his forehead beaded with cold sweat.
"This is not Spiritual Qi," Elder Wei shook his head. "This is 'Potency.' The Potency of knowledge, the Potency of history. This Myriad Tomes Pavilion is a neutral ground, a sacred land for the written word. Here, martial force is the most useless of things."
To prove his words, the elder slowly stood up and walked toward a nearby shelf, pulling out a scroll of yellowed rice paper and gently unfurling it upon the tea table. "Come and see."
Tran Kien hesitated for a moment before stepping forward. Upon the scroll were not words, but ink-wash paintings rendered with incredible vividness. The first painting depicted a dark forest. The second showed a youth setting traps. The third depicted the slaying of demon hounds... The final painting showed a youth standing at the forest's edge, using pebbles to arrange an endgame board of chess. Every detail, every action of his confrontation with the Black Dragon Stronghold, was recorded without a single error.
"Why... why?" Tran Kien was so shocked he was speechless.
"The Myriad Tomes Pavilion is more than just a place to store books," Elder Wei spoke, his voice becoming profound. "It is also an 'Eye,' silently observing and recording every story worth noting upon this land. Your story—as a descendant of the Lac Viet on a path to reclaim a lost legacy—is one of the most noteworthy tales recorded in the past hundred years."
He rolled back the scroll and looked directly into Tran Kien's eyes. "I know what you have come here seeking. You wish to find the mnemonic mantras for the Lac Viet Heavenly Cycle Array, do you not?"
Tran Kien nodded.
Elder Wei sighed again. "Do you think a heaven-shaking absolute art such as that could be recorded simply within a single book? If that were the case, it would have long ago been seized by the great powers."
"Then... where is it?"
"It is everywhere," Elder Wei replied, pointing toward the upper floors shrouded in shadow. "It is not a complete set of mantras. It was fragmented by the Lac Viet ancestors during their most perilous hour and hidden within countless different ancient texts. A single line might be found within a folk song. A passage might be encoded within a book of military strategy. A core concept might be hidden as a metaphor within a fairy tale..."
"To find it again, one cannot rely on strength alone. You must understand the 'Soul' of the Lac Viet people. You must understand how your ancestors thought, how they felt joy and sorrow, how they fought and how they loved. You must read. Read and feel."
Pointing to the sparse first floor around them, Elder Wei continued, "This is the Entry Level. The books here are copies of myths, unofficial histories, and poetry—things that high-and-mighty cultivators deem useless. But for you, they are the most vital foundation."
"The rules of the Myriad Tomes Pavilion are simple," he added. "You may stay here and read for as long as you wish. However, to ascend to the second floor, where the true codices on cultivation and ancient arrays are kept, you must complete a trial."
"What trial?" Tran Kien asked.
"Within one month," Elder Wei said deliberately, "you must read every book on this floor and find me a single story. A story that is not true, one that someone has intentionally inserted amongst thousands of true tales, and explain to me why it is false."
Tran Kien was astonished. This was a strange trial, not of strength or cultivation base, but of discernment, analytical ability, and a deep understanding of culture. Yet, he felt no fear; on the contrary, he was filled with intense interest. He knew this was the path Elder Wei was pointing him toward.
"I agree," Tran Kien replied without a hint of hesitation.
Elder Wei nodded, a rare, satisfied smile appearing on his face. He said nothing more, returning to his old armchair and sinking back into his own world.
Tran Kien stood alone in the center of the Myriad Tomes Pavilion's first floor. He looked at the shelves covered in the dust of ages, smelling the scent of old paper, dried bamboo, and history. He knew that a new game, a new trial—far more arduous and silent than the hunt in the deep forest—had officially begun. He stepped toward the first shelf, carefully pulling out a bamboo scroll engraved with the characters "Strange Tales from Lĩnh Nam." Finding a spot with light, he sat down and began to turn the first pages of his nation's history.