Leaving the prosperous commercial enclave behind, Shen Jietian adjusted his faded robes and headed back toward the familiar, coarse alleys of the South District.
His footsteps were notably slower than usual, his mind humming like a strained array under the weight of his thoughts.
One by one, the scattered clues he had meticulously compiled floated through his consciousness: the sudden, volatile flashes of blood-red light; the unrecorded disturbances in the deep mountain quadrants; the chaotic, brief spiritual fluctuations; and the precise coordinates currently marked on his hand-drawn maps.
Every single piece of data was slowly but surely sliding into its proper groove.
The final deduction was close—so close that a subtle, instinctual knot of unease tightened in his stomach.
For months, he had been a silent ghost in the city, hoarding hundreds of rumors, cross-referencing dozens of witness accounts, and logging rare observations.
Now, the underlying truth of the Black Mist peaks was finally beginning to strip away its veil.
Shen Jietian turned down a narrow, mud-stained lane, navigating through a sequence of residential paths until the roaring chatter of the East Market completely dissolved behind him.
A quiet, orderly neighborhood emerged.
Most of the modest courtyard houses in this specific boundary belonged to retired, aging cultivators who heavily preferred tranquility over the frantic scramble for resources.
Eventually, he brought his boots to a halt before a simple wooden gate.
Raising his calloused hand, he knocked twice.
Knock.
Knock.
Before his knuckles could touch the wood a third time, a thoroughly annoyed, raspy voice bellowed from the interior of the compound.
“I have already stated this to your ears a hundred times!
The front gate is never locked!
If you have business inside, then display some basic coordination and enter on your own!”
Shen Jietian let out a soft, amused chuckle.
In the entirety of Black Mist City, there was only one eccentric old soul who spoke with such unvarnished, sharp irritability.
Pushing open the unlocked gate, he calmly stepped over the threshold, and the pristine interior of the courtyard immediately came into view.
It was clean—so unnaturally, meticulously clean that it bordered on absolute madness for a slum district.
Flourishing rows of spirit orchids lined both sides of the polished stone path, blooming beautifully beneath the afternoon sun without a single speck of dust on their petals.
Small ornamental shrubs had been trimmed into flawless geometric shapes, and several high-quality gardening tools rested in perfect alignment against the stone wall.
Not a single stray weed could be found creeping through the soil, and the stone pavers looked as though they had been freshly washed with water only a few minutes prior.
Everything was perfectly ordered; everything was systematically maintained.
The voice echoed from beneath a shade pavilion ahead.
“If your hands have finally brought a broom to help me scrub these stone pavers, your presence is welcome at any hour of the day.”
Shen Jietian laughed openly, walking deeper into the courtyard.
“Elder Wu, your sense of humor remains as sharp as ever.”
“You have been using that exact same flattery for half a year, kid,” the man grumbled, not looking up.
“And you have been actively refusing to touch a broom for half a year.
An old man’s bones deserve some filial assistance.”
Seated comfortably beneath the pavilion structure was the master of the house.
By all chronological metrics, he should have appeared as a withered, decaying mortal, yet Elder Wu possessed the physical countenance of a robust man firmly established in his late fifties.
His thick black hair was only lightly streaked with silver threads, his robes were flawlessly neat, and his healthy, unblemished complexion radiated a stable vitality.
There was absolutely nothing about his appearance that suggested the resource-sparse neglect typical of the South District slums.
A steaming cup of premium tea rested on the stone table beside his elbow, but his entire focus was utterly locked onto a thick stack of handwritten papers.
Shen Jietian recognized the format instantly.
It was his own specialized creation—or more accurately, the highly customized “entertainment edition” that Elder Wu had explicitly commissioned him to produce every week.
Unlike the standard market bulletins peddled to the gathering parties to track herb variances, this private version was packed with a ridiculous assortment of absurd social gossip, domestic scandals, and bizarre human antics harvested from the tea houses.
Shen Jietian’s eyes casually scanned the top sheet, his gaze landing on a massive, bold headline:
Merchant Family Son Flees Wedding Chamber in Utter Panic
The text detailed a prominent merchant’s direct scion who had spontaneously bolted from his bridal chamber in the middle of his wedding night.
The terrified servants had spent the entire night frantically sweeping the compound with lanterns, eventually discovering the young master shivering inside a dark grain storage room.
According to the internal household testimonies, the boy had become so thoroughly paralyzed by performance anxiety regarding his marital duties that he convinced his own mind he would fail catastrophically, prompting a full tactical retreat before the veil was even lifted.
Elder Wu offered a deep, slow nod of supreme intellectual satisfaction.
“An incredibly profound, educational narrative.”
Shen Jietian nearly choked on his own saliva, his eyes wide.
“Educational?
Master Wu, the boy literally hid in a rice sack out of sheer cowardice.”
“Naturally, it is educational,” Elder Wu countered with absolute seriousness, taking a slow sip of tea.
“It proves a foundational law of the mind: Excessive overthinking invariably leads to structural deviation.”
Shen Jietian rolled his eyes toward the sky, completely defeated by the old man’s logical gymnastics.
He cast his eyes down to the next recorded article, which was arguably even more degenerate:
Unexpected Family Reunion Shocks East District Neighbors
A middle-aged retail merchant had quietly tracked his wife to a secluded courtyard, discovering her in a secret rendezvous with a significantly younger independent cultivator.
However, upon violently confronting the parameters of the betrayal, a secondary ledger was exposed: the merchant himself had been secretly renting a separate courtyard to meet with that exact young cultivator’s widowed mother.
After several days of chaotic, high-decibel domestic arguments that disrupted the entire street, all four involved parties had somehow arrived at a stable mutual understanding.
Local neighbors reported that the quad now regularly shared large, cheerful evening meals together in the main compound.
No one in the district understood the structural arrangement—including the confused neighbors who wrote the report.
Elder Wu gently stroked his neat beard, his face a picture of deep philosophical appreciation.
“A truly remarkable, textbook example of advanced conflict resolution and boundary balancing.”
Shen Jietian stared at him in utter, unblinking silence.
“Elder Wu…
I beg of you, please cease your high-tier array interpretations of common street trash.”
The old man completely ignored the plea, happily flipping to the subsequent pages.
The rest of the sheets were scattered with the usual city nonsense:
A spiritual chicken that had somehow managed to escape the butcher’s cleaver six consecutive times.
A heavily inebriated loose cultivator who had spent three hours aggressively challenging his own reflection in a puddle to a life-or-death martial duel.
An independent merchant who had accidentally sold his own primary spatial storage pouch to a traveling buyer for a fraction of its contents.
Elder Wu devoured every single handwritten line with far more pure, unadulterated joy than a respectable cultivator should ever derive from mortal folly. The source of this chapter is novelping . com.
Finally, the old man lowered the papers, his deep, intelligent gaze shifting upward to evaluate the youth.
He scanned Shen Jietian’s twice-patched robes, his wild beard, his untamed long hair, and his scuffed leather boots.
Elder Wu clicked his tongue in profound disapproval.
“Every single time your shadow enters my courtyard, you look more like a common mortal beggar crawling through a famine.”
Shen Jietian grinned widely, sliding onto the stone bench opposite the master.
“Oh?
That is an interesting comparative metric, Elder Wu.
Have your esteemed eyes encountered many mortal beggars within the borders of Black Mist City?”
The vibrant courtyard suddenly fell into a deathly, ringing silence.
Elder Wu’s fingers froze mid-air as he reached for his teacup.
The pause lasted for only a microsecond, his expression smoothing out instantly before he calmly lifted the porcelain and took a composed sip.
“I merely recall seeing their forms when I was a very young, impressionable child.”
Shen Jietian offered an incredibly deep, exaggeratedly serious nod of his head.
“Of course, of course.
That makes perfect sense.”
A subtle muscle near the corner of Elder Wu’s left eye twitched imperceptibly.
Both men sat perfectly still, thoroughly understanding the hidden contradiction of the statement.
The boundary lines of the sovereign mortal kingdoms were located exceptionally far away from this region—separated from Black Mist City by thousands of miles of ancient forests, jagged mountain ranges, highly lethal spiritual beast territories, and lawless wilderness zones.
For an ordinary Qi Refinement cultivator, attempting such a cross-provincial journey on foot was an act of pure, unmitigated suicide.
It simply wasn’t worth the statistical risk.
Only established Foundation Establishment masters possessed the capability to comfortably make the trip by flying on high-conduction spiritual artifacts, and they traditionally only traversed the mortal borders during the triennial spirit-root selection cycles to harvest fresh children.
Yet somehow, this “ordinary” South District resident knew exactly what a destitute mortal beggar looked like, and could recall their physical profiles with perfect mnemonic clarity—despite currently appearing as a man who had lived his entire life within city limits.
Neither man pushed the issue further.
This was far from the first highly suspicious detail Elder Wu had accidentally leaked during their casual tea sessions, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
Finally, Shen Jietian waved his hand dismissively, breaking the tension.
“Fine, let us log it as the truth.
You were apparently an exceptionally observant, worldly child who traveled widely in your dreams.”
Elder Wu let out a sharp snort, setting the old document down.
“Did your lazy hands actually manage to compile this week’s fresh issue, or are you here merely to inspect my orchids?”
Shen Jietian reached smoothly into his wide sleeve, retrieving several neatly folded sheets of premium paper.
“Naturally, I brought the latest chronicles, Elder Wu.
If I delayed the delivery by a single day, I calculate your eyes would completely wear a physical hole straight through that old copy from rereading it.”
He handed over the sheets.
“I estimate you have scanned that wedding chamber report at least twenty times.”
Elder Wu accepted the fresh papers without a single shred of personal shame, his face smooth.
“Reading about the absolute, unbridled folly of others is a valuable spiritual exercise, kid.
It continuously reminds my old soul that the mundane wheel of life still moves forward.”
His deep eyes briefly drifted away from the text, tracking the vibrant colors of the orchids before looking up at the vast blue sky above the compound walls.
“When a person reaches my age, individual days begin to blur together into a singular, formless haze.
Sometimes, a small, ridiculous street story…
a completely baseless rumor…
or a prideful fool thoroughly embarrassing himself before the public…
it serves as a necessary anchor.
It reminds a man that the world is still vibrant, chaotic, and very much alive.”
Shen Jietian blinked in brief surprise, his analytical mind parsing the statement.
The old man’s tone had suddenly shifted, sounding surprisingly profound and tinged with an ancient, weary wisdom.
It was a rare occurrence for the eccentric hermit.
Shen Jietian nodded slowly in respect, then began to methodically arrange his own files, spreading several hand-drawn geographical maps across the stone table.
The elderly master cast a sidelong glance at the array of charts.
“What exactly are your hands plotting now, kid?
You have been staring fixedly at those exact mountain coordinates for months on end.”
“At this stage of your hyper-focus, a passing stranger would easily deduce you have uncovered some legendary, heaven-defying ancient cultivation manual hidden in the dirt.”
Shen Jietian let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he adjusted his notes.
“Our collective karmic luck is far too mediocre for such a grand destiny, Elder Wu.
Sovereign secret techniques and ancient inheritance domains belong exclusively to the favored children of the great righteous sects.
We are merely ordinary loose vagrants crawling through the margins.”
As he spoke, he reached deep into his storage pouch, retrieving several cracked, heavily degraded iron array plates, placing them onto the table with a series of sharp metallic clicks.
“I require your immediate assistance with these.
They need comprehensive structural repairs.”
In a fraction of a second, the entertaining gossip newspaper was completely, utterly forgotten.
Elder Wu’s eyes lit up with a brilliant, near-manic intensity as his hands snatched the damaged array plates off the stone table.
The old man began to inspect every single hairline fracture, every faded rune, and every disrupted energy channel with a level of absolute, terrifying concentration.
The behavioral transition was almost comically absolute; a mere breath ago, he was a lazy scholar chuckling over a cuckolded merchant, and now, the rest of the physical world had completely ceased to exist within his perception.
Shen Jietian watched the display in silent fascination.
It was always the exact same reaction, down to the last micro-expression.
This old man genuinely, purely loved the intricate mechanics of formations—perhaps far more than he loved life itself.
And watching those calloused fingers deftly trace the runic lines inevitably dragged Shen Jietian’s memories back to the comical parameters of their very first historical meeting.
It had occurred exactly six months prior.
A wealthy, high-volume merchant client in the commercial district had approached Shen Jietian’s information stall, offering a respectable sum of spirit stones if he could locate a low-profile expert capable of executing rapid repairs on several damaged, proprietary array formations.
Locating a suitable array master within the lower rings of Black Mist City had immediately proved to be an exercise in extreme logistical frustration. You are reading on novelping . com, the official source.
The vast majority of certified array masters were permanently retained by the grand clans, some lacked the actual technical skill to handle custom array work, and the rare independent practitioners demanded absurd, extortionate prices that would completely obliterate the client’s profit margins.
Eventually, through a series of casual inquiries with a weary caravan porter, Shen Jietian harvested a minor lead regarding an obscure, old array master quietly living a hermit-like existence deep within the South District.
Intrigued by the information, he had immediately conducted a personal field visit to the coordinates.
The very first variable Shen Jietian registered upon approaching the courtyard had struck his mind as profoundly bizarre.
There was absolutely no protective spiritual formation established around the exterior of the house.
None whatsoever.
Within the cultural framework of the Azure Cloud World, array masters were universally notorious for being hyper-cautious, paranoid eccentrics; the vast majority of them systematically surrounded their private properties with overlapping layers of high-tier defensive arrays, lethal trap formations, and sensory barriers just to ensure their privacy.
Yet, this mysterious old man possessed absolutely nothing—not even the most basic, dirt-cheap warning array carved into his wooden gate post.
Shen Jietian found the structural anomaly incredibly odd, but choosing to trust his lead, he stepped forward and knocked firmly on the wood.
The door had swung open a fraction, revealing the sharp, unblinking eyes of the master.
“What do you want?” the old man had barked coldly.
“My client requires the immediate services of an expert array master,” Shen Jietian had replied politely, cupping his hands.
“No.”
SLAM.
The heavy wooden door had been violently slammed shut right in his face, the impact throwing up a puff of dust.
That had been the absolute entirety of their first professional conversation.
Drawn by his unyielding persistence, Shen Jietian had returned the following morning for a second visit.
Knock, knock.
The door swung open once more.
“What do you want now, kid?”
“My client requires the services of an array master.”
“No.”
SLAM.
On the third consecutive morning, the result was entirely identical.
Knock, knock.
“What?”
“I need an array master.”
“No.”
SLAM.
By the fourth morning, Shen Jietian altered his tactical parameters.
Instead of leading with verbal negotiation, he arrived at the gate carrying two severely shattered, low-grade array plates he had purposefully borrowed from the merchant client.
The gate swung open on schedule, and the old man’s irritable mouth opened to bark his standard refusal—but his gaze accidentally clipped the broken runic engravings resting in the youth’s hands.
Elder Wu’s eyes had locked onto the metal, his fingers twitching violently before he reached out like a striking viper, snatching the plates out of Shen Jietian’s grip.
“Come back tomorrow morning at the exact same hour,” the old man had commanded hoarsely.
SLAM.
Shen Jietian had remained standing outside the closed gate for a very long time, his mind completely, thoroughly confused by the eccentric behavioral patterns of the hermit.
Later on, as their interactions consolidated into a stable routine, he eventually uncovered the hilarious, foundational truth behind the old man’s personality.
Elder Wu hated leaving the boundaries of his home.
He absolutely, fundamentally loathed stepping foot outside his clean courtyard.
If a wealthy commercial client requested a high-paying formation to be installed on-site at their estate?
Refused without a second thought.
If a transport caravan offered a premium retainer for him to travel as a technical consultant?
Refused.
If a prominent merchant patriarch invited him to a lavish banquet to discuss a partnership?
Refused.
If he had to meet more than two new people in a week?
Refused.
But…
if an independent broker simply brought the physically damaged array plates directly to his stone table, bypassing his agoraphobia?
He would happily, near-manically repair the runes for a very reasonable fee.
The old man behaved exactly like a fragile mortal hermit trapped inside his own self-engineered prison cell.
Yet, despite this thoroughly ridiculous, comical personality deficit, Shen Jietian’s Earth-trained filter had gradually logged several highly irregular, terrifying details regarding his craft.
On one occasion, Elder Wu had casually repaired a highly complex, high-grade Tier One array plate in less time than it took for a single standard stick of incense to burn down to ash.
On a secondary occasion, while skimming through a client’s blueprints, he had casually and lazily pointed out three separate foundational design flaws that had been completely missed by three entirely independent, highly paid array masters in the commercial district.
Furthermore, whenever Shen Jietian intentionally dropped an abstract, obscure theoretical question regarding formation structures into their conversation, Elder Wu would answer instantly, without a single second of calculation—as if this knowledge was nothing more than an obvious, basic multiplication table.
Most suspicious of all…
the old man possessed absolutely zero historical background within the regional registries.
He had spontaneously materialized within the South District slums only a few brief years ago.
He claimed no ancestral family ties, nurtured no young disciples, maintained zero professional friends, and owned no formal qualifications.
It was as though his physical body had simply fallen directly from the sky onto the mud of Black Mist City.
After a sufficient mountain of anomalous data points had accumulated within his mental files, Shen Jietian had reached a definitive, absolute logical conclusion: Elder Wu was indisputably hiding something monumental.
A massive amount of hidden history.
That was precisely around the chronological window when Shen Jietian had deliberately began addressing him with the honorific title of “Elder Wu.”
The old hermit had aggressively rejected the status at first, grumbling about overstatement, but over the months, he eventually ceased his attempts to correct the youth’s tongue.
Neither of them ever dared to openly discuss the true parameters of his past; some variables in the cultivation world were simply better left unsaid.
For the time being, at least.
And now, as Shen Jietian sat quietly beneath the pavilion, watching Elder Wu happily muttering to himself as he deftly realigned the delicate spiritual paths of the iron array plates while simultaneously peeking at the ridiculous city newspaper gossip, his internal certainty solidified into iron.
This eccentric old man was anything but an ordinary, low-level slum resident.
End of Chapter 24
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