Night had fallen completely by the time Shen Moxin returned to her cramped teaching assistant dorm room.
She placed the stack of manuscripts titled *Case Analysis of Low-Rank Spirit Power Flow Anomalies* on her desk and lit the oil lamp.
The dim yellow glow illuminated the yellowing pages and dense, tiny script.
These were dusty old records from the academy’s archives that she had spent half a month compiling, intending to use them as supplementary material for next month’s basic theory class.
Yet the more she organized them, the more futile it felt.
Most cases recorded in the manuscripts were vague in detail and dogmatic in conclusion.
Sentences like “Innate defect of martial soul, untreatable,” or “Sluggish spirit power flow caused by impure bloodline.” They seemed authoritative on the surface, but in truth, they were empty and superficial.
She removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
In her mind, the image of the child she had seen at the library steps that afternoon resurfaced.
Skinny, shabbily dressed, looking up at the bronze plaque reading “Entry Restricted to Certified Spirit Masters.” It wasn’t envy, nor anger, but a kind of…
scrutiny.
As if he were calculating something.
And his calm, deliberate gesture of dusting off his shoulder after being bumped.
Shen Moxin put her glasses back on, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk.
That child was unlike any ordinary village boy.
*** The next afternoon, Lu Yuan appeared near the library again.
He didn’t approach the steps this time, merely standing at the mouth of the alley across the street, his gaze sweeping over the stream of people entering and leaving.
Most were teenage boys and girls in various academy uniforms, along with a few adults wearing Spirit Master badges.
Everyone walked briskly, driven by a clear purpose.
He was observing the rules.
The library’s opening hours, peak traffic times, the gaps during guard shifts.
He even memorized the faces and habitual movements of several people who looked like administrators.
This was an old habit of his—when facing a wall, first map out its structure and cracks.
As he watched, footsteps sounded behind him.
Light, but steady.
Lu Yuan stepped aside to yield the alleyway, catching a glimpse of a blue-gray robe hem out of the corner of his eye.
He looked up.
It was the woman carrying the books from yesterday.
Shen Moxin wasn’t carrying books today, only a leather notebook.
She stopped in her tracks, her gaze landing on Lu Yuan’s face, her eyes narrowing slightly behind her lenses.
“You again,” she said.
Her tone was calm, devoid of clear emotion.
Lu Yuan didn’t speak, only offering a nod.
“Want to go inside?” Shen Moxin tilted her chin toward the library.
“Yes,” Lu Yuan answered straightforwardly.
“Why?” “To look up information.” “What kind of information?” Lu Yuan paused for two seconds.
“Spirit power basic theory.
Martial soul mutation cases.
And the ecological habits of low-rank spirit beasts.” Shen Moxin’s brow twitched slightly.
This answer was too specific—and far too professional.
It didn’t sound like the inquisitive direction a child should have.
She sized him up.
A thin, small frame, coarse clothes faded from washing, but eyes that were terrifyingly calm.
There were subtle calluses at the joints of his fingers, as though left by prolonged holding of a pen or tools.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Seven.” “And your martial soul?” Lu Yuan paused briefly.
“Blue Silver Grass.” Shen Moxin showed neither surprise nor contempt, simply nodding.
“Innate spirit power?” “Half a level.” Silence settled over the air for a moment.
Shen Moxin closed the notebook in her hands, her fingers tapping lightly against its cover.
“Library regulations require a Spirit Master certificate or an official academy recommendation letter to enter.
You’re not a Spirit Master, nor are you enrolled.
By the rules, you can’t go in.” Lu Yuan didn’t reply.
He already knew.
“However,” Shen Moxin shifted her tone, “I am a teaching assistant at Notting Junior Spirit Master Academy.
Temporarily bringing someone in to look up research materials and assist with studies falls within my scope of duties.” She looked down at Lu Yuan.
“I can take you inside, but only for half an hour.
Furthermore, you must stick close to me, no running around, and no damaging the books.
Can you do that?” Lu Yuan’s eyes lit up slightly.
It was subtle, but Shen Moxin caught it.
“I can,” he said.
“Let’s go then.” Shen Moxin turned and walked toward the library, with Lu Yuan half a step behind her.
The two crossed the street and stepped onto the marble stairs.
The guard at the entrance glanced at them, saw Shen Moxin, and nodded to let them pass.
The interior was even larger than it looked from the outside.
High vaulted ceilings, rows of dark wooden bookshelves stretching to the edge of sight, and the air rich with the scent of aged paper and ink.
Sunlight slanted down from high windows, forming silent beams of light amidst drifting dust motes.
At the front desk sat an administrator in his fifties—balding, sallow-faced, looking down as he flipped through a ledger.
Hearing footsteps, he raised his head.
“Assistant Shen.” He squeezed out a formulaic smile, his gaze sweeping to Lu Yuan.
“This is…” “He’s with me,” Shen Moxin said calmly.
“Assisting me in organizing research material and looking up temporary references.” The administrator’s smile faded slightly.
“Assistant Shen, you know the rules.
Non-academy staff and students require official documentation to…” “I know,” Shen Moxin cut him off.
“But Article 7, Supplementary Clause of the *Academy Library Regulations* clearly states: Teaching assistants and higher faculty members may temporarily bring individuals inside for research or instructional needs to consult materials, for up to one hour per session, provided they accompany and take full responsibility for them throughout.” She paused, staring at the administrator.
“I bear full responsibility.” The administrator was choked into silence.
He stared at Shen Moxin for a few seconds, then glanced back at Lu Yuan.
The child was far too small, his clothes far too shabby; no matter how one looked at him, he didn’t seem like someone who could be involved in ‘research.’ However, Shen Moxin had cited the exact library bylaws.
He opened his mouth, but ultimately just waved his hand.
“Half an hour.
If you go over, I’ll have to report it.” “Thank you.” Shen Moxin nodded and led Lu Yuan further inside.
After passing two rows of bookshelves, she stopped and lowered her voice.
“The materials you’re looking for are in Section C, shelves seven to nine, for spirit power basic theory; Section E, shelf three, for martial soul mutation cases; and the side section of Section A for low-rank spirit beast ecology.
Remember the locations and make good use of your time.” Lu Yuan looked up at her.
“You’re not following?” “I’ll be nearby organizing materials,” Shen Moxin said.
“Just don’t wander off.
We meet back here in half an hour.” “Alright.” Without asking further questions, Lu Yuan turned and walked straight toward Section C.
His steps were brisk, but he didn’t run.
Shen Moxin watched his small, thin back vanish between the bookshelves before turning toward a long table nearby and opening her notebook.
Yet she didn’t write right away.
Instead, her gaze quietly tracked him through the gaps between the bookshelves.
*** Section C, shelf seven.
Lu Yuan looked up at the labels on the shelf.
*An Initial Exploration into the Nature of Spirit Power*, *Outline of Basic Meditation Methods*, *Hypotheses on Spirit Power Flow and Meridian Correlation*…
all of them were the most rudimentary introductory theories.
He pulled out a copy of *An Initial Exploration into the Nature of Spirit Power* and flicked through it quickly.
Dense lines of text and simplified diagrams flashed past his eyes.
Most of the contents were explained far more deeply and systematically in his mind’s knowledge repository.
But he needed to verify—to confirm what the “common sense” version of this world looked like, and where cognitive biases or gaps existed.
Flipping to Chapter Three, he paused.
This chapter discussed “The Relationship Between Spirit Power and Life Energy,” concluding vaguely by simply attributing it as “Martial souls are the external manifestation of life energy.” Lu Yuan frowned.
Too broad and vague.
He closed the book, put it back in place, and pulled out another.
His fingers moved rapidly across the book spines, eyes scanning the table of contents to judge which chapters held value.
Then he opened and read.
His speed was exceptionally fast.
Watching through two rows of bookshelves, Shen Moxin was slightly dazed.
The child didn’t look like he was “reading”; he looked more like he was…
searching.
His gaze jumped across pages, occasionally lingering for a few seconds, while his fingers traced invisible lines in the air as if sketching a structural diagram.
Then he flipped the page and continued.
There was no marvel, no confusion—only a cold, almost surgical focus.
She had seen many children entering the library for the first time—they were either overwhelmed by the vast sea of books or excitedly flipped through everything, wanting to read it all yet processing nothing.
But Lu Yuan was different.
He had a clear objective and operated with extreme efficiency, like executing a long-planned mission.
Shen Moxin withdrew her gaze and wrote a line in her notebook: “Subject: Suspected civilian child, martial soul Blue Silver Grass, innate spirit power rank 0.5.
Behavioral traits: Reading efficiency far exceeds peers, clear goals, suspected of possessing a foundational theoretical framework.
To be verified.” Her pen paused.
She added another line: “Areas of interest: Spirit power fundamentals, martial soul mutations, low-rank spirit beast ecology.
Atypical.” *** Lu Yuan had already moved to Section E, shelf three.
Fewer people came here, and the books were older.
The text on many spines was faded and blurred, the pages yellowed and brittle.
He carefully drew out a copy of *Continental Martial Soul Mutation Records (Fragment)* and opened it.
Most cases recorded inside were incomplete.
“Star Luo Empire border, son of a farmer named Li, hoe martial soul mutated, blade gleams gold, sharpness increased, but spirit power consumption escalated, martial soul collapsed three years later…” “Heaven Dou City suburbs, daughter of a craftsman named Wang, embroidery needle martial soul mutated, capable of guiding threads to pierce through air, but mental burden proved too heavy, currently mentally unstable…” “West of Notting City, descendant of a Spirit Master named Zhao, Iron-Backed Ape martial soul underwent a benign mutation, power amplified by thirty percent, no significant side effects…” Lu Yuan read rapidly.
The style of these case records was riddled with subjective assumptions and attribution fallacies.
They casually threw around phrases like “impure bloodline,” “innate deficiency,” or “coincidental opportunity.” They lacked systematic observational data, let alone any concept of controlling variables.
Even so, he carefully noted down several key points of information: mutation triggers (mostly vaguely recorded), key traits, and subsequent developments.
He then pulled a small stack of rough straw paper and half a stick of charcoal from his bosom.
These were bought with the remaining copper spirit coins from yesterday—the cheapest kind available.
On the straw paper, he quickly jotted down several keywords: “Mutation direction (benign/malignant),” “Triggers (environmental/spirit power stimulation/unknown),” “Stability.” Beside them, he drew a simple flowchart, marking out several potential nexus points.
His handwriting was neat, his logic crisp.
Once finished, he folded the straw paper, stuffed it back inside his clothes, and returned the book to its place.
Fifteen minutes had passed.
He turned and walked toward the side of Section A, where the low-rank spirit beast ecology section was located.
*** Shen Moxin closed her notebook and followed him over.
She didn’t draw close, staying around the corner, concealed in the shadow of a bookshelf.
Lu Yuan stood before the shelves in the low-rank spirit beast area.
There weren’t many books here, mostly illustrated introductory volumes.
He pulled out *Illustrated Guide to Common Spirit Beasts Around Notting City* and flipped it open.
His gaze swept across the color illustrations page by page: Spiny Rats, Iron-Claw Badgers, Wind-Patterned Rabbits, Grass-Vine Snakes…
On the “Bristle-Rat” page, he lingered a bit longer.
His finger lightly tapped the text explanation beside the illustration: “Pack creatures, afraid of bright light, stiff fur can shed as an attack method, vulnerable to fire.” He recalled those grayish-brown figures on Wild Rat Slope.
And the samples of stiff fur he had collected.
Next, he flipped to “Iron-Claw Badger.” The entry read: “Solitary or active in pairs, sharp claws capable of crushing rock, nocturnal, keen sense of smell.
Nests often located in soil banks or rock crevices along riverbanks.” Lu Yuan narrowed his eyes.
This matched the tracks he had noticed near the rocky beach that night.
He continued flipping through, occasionally writing down a word or two on his straw paper: “Behavioral patterns,” “Weaknesses,” “Usable characteristics.” Rather than studying “spirit beast knowledge,” it looked more like he was…
building a database.
Shen Moxin observed his profile.
The oil lamp light cast from the side threw a sharp shadow across his still-childish face.
His brows were faintly knit, his lips pressed into a fine line, his gaze focused to the point of sharpness.
What was this child’s background, really?
*** Time was almost up.
Lu Yuan closed the illustrated guide and returned it to the shelf.
He turned to walk back, but his gaze brushed past an inconspicuous corner nearby.
Several scattered stacks of old manuscripts lay there, loosely bound with hemp rope, covered in dust.
They appeared to be pending disposition or discarded records.
His steps paused.
Prompted by some unexplained impulse, he walked over and squatted down.
Untying the topmost bundle of hemp rope, he pulled out the topmost manuscript.
The paper was yellowed and fragile, the handwriting rushed, resembling hastily taken lab notes.
The title read: *Martial Soul Energy Fluctuation Records (Draft)*.
Lu Yuan opened it.
The first few pages consisted of chaotic data logs: On such-and-such date, spirit power injected into a certain martial soul, energy fluctuation curve observed, recording peak values and decay rate…
The records were crude, the units non-standardized, and some data were visibly erroneous.
Yet Lu Yuan read with intense concentration.
Turning to a page in the middle, a hand-drawn energy decay curve caught his eye.
The horizontal axis represented time, while the vertical axis represented spirit power intensity.
The curve plummeted from its peak, leveling out smoothly.
Beside it was a line of small handwritten notes: “Model fit: Exponential decay.
Decay constant α = 0.15.” Lu Yuan stared at the curve, his brow knotting tighter and tighter.
His fingers subconsciously traced an imaginary calculation in the air.
His lips moved, his voice hushed to a whisper, barely louder than a breath: “Wrong…” “This energy decay curve…
the model is wrong.” He looked up, his eyes unfocused, as though immersed in some deep calculation.
“It ignored the environmental spirit power field interference factor.
If the environmental spirit power density fluctuation exceeds the threshold, the decay constant α becomes a variable, not a constant…
The error in this fit is far too large.” The words fell into the air.
Around the corner of the bookshelf, Shen Moxin’s hands, which were busy organizing materials, froze.
She snapped her head up, her eyes widening behind her glasses.
Separated by several rows of shelves, she couldn’t see Lu Yuan’s face, but every single word of that whisper had entered her ears with crystal clarity.
Energy decay curve?
Model is wrong?
Environmental spirit power field interference factor?
Decay constant is a variable?
Shen Moxin stood frozen in place, a manuscript she had just drawn out still gripped in her hand.
Her fingers unconsciously crumpled the paper’s edge.
She slowly turned her head toward the corner where Lu Yuan was standing.
In her eyes, for the very first time, genuine astonishment surfaced.