The promotion to an Elite Inner Disciple brought immediate, tangible changes to Ye Chen’s daily existence.
The very next morning, two lower-court servants arrived at his ruined courtyard, their postures deeply bowed, their eyes glued to the dirt in a display of absolute terror.
They did not speak.
They did not dare to.
They simply placed three items on the cracked stone step and retreated as if fleeing a plague.
Ye Chen stood in the doorway, his arms folded, watching them scurry away like frightened mice.
They heard what happened in the valley, he thought calmly.
Good.
He looked down at the items.
A new set of robes crafted from deep-blue moon-silk, soft and cool to the touch.
A heavy leather pouch containing fifty low-grade spirit stones, each one faintly glowing with condensed Qi.
And a rare, velvet-lined jade case containing a three-hundred-year-old Blood-Ginseng.
Ye Chen picked up the ginseng and held it to the light.
The root was crimson, veined with golden streaks, and it radiated a dense, medicinal warmth that made his fingers tingle.
This is the exact monthly allocation my father once commanded, he thought.
The same resources the Third Elder’s faction has been embezzling for five years.
A cold, quiet fury stirred in his chest.
He did not spare the groveling servants a single word.
He simply closed the newly repaired wooden door of his house and sat cross-legged on his woven mat.
The silver Qi inside his dantian throbbed with anticipation as his dark eyes locked onto the Blood-Ginseng.
To a former Sovereign, a three-hundred-year-old mortal herb was nothing more than common weeds.
But to his current Second Layer foundation, it was the exact fuel he required to broaden his pathways.
Father, Ye Chen thought, his fingers tightening around the root.
You left me nothing but a broken name and a ruined core.
But I will take back everything they stole from you.
Starting with this.
He popped the bitter root into his mouth and chewed slowly.
The dense, crimson medicinal essence dissolved down his throat like liquid fire.
It was hot—almost unbearably so.
It burned through his esophagus, his stomach, and then exploded outward into his meridians like a tidal wave of molten lava.
Nine Heavens Monarch Scripture, refine!
Silver Qi surged from his dantian, wrapping around the crimson energy like chains of liquid metal.
The two forces clashed violently.
The ginseng’s essence was wild, chaotic, and resistant—it did not want to be tamed.
It wanted to burn.
But Ye Chen’s will was stronger.
For four straight hours, he remained motionless.
Sweat beaded on his forehead.
Blood seeped from his nose.
His meridians screamed in protest as the roaring crimson energy was violently seized, crushed into pure spiritual liquid, and systematically driven into the walls of his pathways.
The glass-like pathways of his foundation expanded by another fraction.
The silver Qi inside him grew denser, purer, more refined.
By the time the last trace of the ginseng was absorbed, his Second Layer cultivation was anchored so deeply that his raw physical strength now surpassed that of an ordinary Third or Fourth Layer cultivator.
When he opened his eyes, the twilight had already blanketed the estate.
The room was dark, save for the faint silver glow radiating from his skin.
“The foundation is solid,” Ye Chen whispered, his voice slicing through the silence.
He stood up slowly, flexing his fingers.
The silver lightning beneath his skin crackled softly, eager and hungry.
“But to crush the inner sect geniuses in the Great City Tournament, basic physical dominance is a shallow tool. It is time to harvest the true secrets of this minor clan.”
He donned his new deep-blue inner disciple robes, tied his basic iron sword to his waist, and walked out into the cool night.
The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and mountain frost.
The moon hung high and pale, casting silver light across the stone paths of the Lin Clan estate.
Most disciples had already retired to their quarters, and the courtyards were empty and silent.
Ye Chen walked alone.
His destination was the Martial Pavilion.
But this time, he was not bound to the dusty, lower-grade shelves of the first floor.
The black pine pagoda loomed ahead, even more imposing under the silver moonlight.
Its ancient wooden eaves cast long, distorted shadows across the stone courtyard, and the faint hum of protective arrays vibrated in the air like the breathing of a sleeping beast.
At the entrance, the blind, withered elder—Lin Mo—sat in the same position on his bamboo mat, looking as though he had not moved an inch in centuries.
His milky-white eyes were closed, his hands folded in his lap, his breathing so slow and shallow that he might have been mistaken for a corpse.
But the moment Ye Chen’s boots tapped against the stone steps, the blind elder’s ear twitched.
A strange, fleeting expression passed over his wrinkled face.
His milky-white eyes opened by a fraction.
“The champion of the valley harvest,” Lin Mo’s raspy voice echoed through the quiet night air, carrying a heavy, analytical weight.
“The First Elder’s decree has reached my ears, boy. Elite Inner Disciple Ye Chen… you now possess the right to ascend to the second floor.”
He paused.
His sightless eyes seemed to pierce through Ye Chen’s flesh.
“But remember my warning from before—the pressure inside the second floor is maintained by an ancient gravity formation. If your foundation is hollow, the spatial weight will force you back down onto your knees.”
Ye Chen looked at the old man for a long moment.
He knows, he thought.
He can sense something.
But Ye Chen did not flinch.
“Thank you for the guidance, Elder,” he said smoothly, his posture relaxed as he placed his new gold-trimmed identity token on the low table.
He did not wait for permission.
He stepped past the heavy bead curtains and walked straight toward the wooden staircase at the back of the hall.
As he bypassed the first floor, dozens of outer disciples looked up from their books.
Their eyes were wide with envy, resentment, and a deep trace of awe as they watched the famous ‘waste’ effortlessly ascend the stairs that they were forbidden from ever touching.
Ye Chen ignored them all.
The moment his foot touched the first step of the second floor, a sudden, heavy pressure slammed down onto his shoulders.
The air grew thick, vibrating with a dull, humming resonance as the protective gravity array attempted to test the density of his spiritual energy.
It was a crushing weight—the kind that made ordinary cultivators gasp for breath and buckle at the knees.
To an ordinary Second Layer cultivator, it would feel as though they were carrying a heavy iron chest on their back, making their breathing ragged and their steps sluggish.
But to Ye Chen, this minor array was a laughable joke.
The silver Qi within his veins did not even need to flare.
The sheer density of his frost-tempered bones absorbed the pressure without a single twitch.
He walked up the remaining steps with a calm, unhurried stride, his face an absolute mask of indifference.
This gravity formation is crude, he thought.
In the Celestial Sovereign Realm, they use star-core arrays that can crush a Foundation Establishment expert into paste.
This?
This is nothing.
He reached the top of the stairs and stepped onto the second floor.
The second floor was vastly different from the chaotic rows of the floor below.
The air was cool, saturated with the rich scent of expensive preservation oils and ancient parchment.
Instead of crowded shelves, there were only twelve massive pillars of polished obsidian.
Each pillar was carved with hollow alcoves that held high-grade mortal and low-grade Earth-rank jade slips.
The lighting was dim, provided by faintly glowing spirit lamps embedded in the ceiling.
The silence was absolute, broken only by the soft hum of the gravity formation.
Only three other elite inner disciples were present, sitting in quiet corners, their faces pale as they constantly channeled their Qi to fight off the heavy gravity pressure of the room.
When they saw Ye Chen walk in with perfectly steady breathing and completely relaxed shoulders, their concentration cracked.
“Ye Chen… he actually walks through the second floor formation as if it doesn’t exist,” one of them whispered, his eyes narrowing in calculated malice.
This was Lin Bowen, a trusted ally of the Third Elder’s faction and a prominent combatant at the peak of the Fourth Layer of Qi Condensation.
He had been preparing to challenge Ye Chen the moment the valley trial ended, but the brutal fate of Lin Hao had forced his hand into caution.
Now, watching Ye Chen stroll through the gravity array like it was a summer breeze, that caution was rapidly turning into fear.
How is he doing that?
Lin Bowen thought, his fingers tightening around the jade slip in his hand.
Even I can barely stand straight in here.
And he’s only at the Second Layer!
Ye Chen did not spare them a single glance.
He walked past the obsidian pillars, his fingers brushing against the jade slips.
He looked over the Heaven-Splitting Saber Art, the Nine Shadows Footwork, and the Crimson Lotus Shield.
Clumsy, he thought, dismissing each one in turn.
Flawed.
Incomplete.
Written by minor ancestors who only understood the surface of combat.
He kept moving, driven by an instinctive pulling sensation deep within his soul awareness.
It was faint—barely a whisper—but it was there.
Something was calling to him.
He walked past the twelfth pillar and entered the deepest, darkest corner of the room.
The gravity pressure here was at its absolute peak.
The air was so heavy it felt like walking through water.
Even Lin Bowen, at the peak of the Fourth Layer, would have struggled to stand in this corner.
But Ye Chen’s steps did not slow.
Resting against the cold stone wall was a small, neglected wooden cabinet.
It was sealed shut by a thick layer of rusted iron chains and a faded yellow talisman.
The talisman was drawn with weak, amateurish script—clearly meant to warn disciples of danger rather than actually contain anything.
A small wooden plaque beside the cabinet read: Forbidden Archive.
Incomplete demonic fragment.
Do not touch.
Ye Chen’s eyes narrowed into sharp slits.
Incomplete demonic fragment, he thought, his lips curling into a faint sneer.
That’s what they call it?
He approached the cabinet, his hand slowly reaching out toward the rusted chains.
The pulling sensation in his soul grew stronger.
It was not malicious.
It was not hungry.
It was…
familiar.
What is this? This story is hosted at g.com.
he wondered.
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you, Cousin Ye Chen.”
A soft, clear voice broke the silence of the archive.
Ye Chen did not jump.
He slowly turned his head.
Lin Xinyue stood a few paces away.
She had traded her vibrant crimson robes for a sleek, dark-purple tunic that accentuated her sharp, graceful frame.
Her long hair was tied back, and her jade-like face carried a tense, cautious expression.
“The Forbidden Archive contains a broken manual that was plundered from a destroyed demonic sect fifty years ago,” she said, stepping closer, her eyes locked onto his hands.
“Three inner sect geniuses attempted to study it in the past.”
She paused, her voice dropping.
“Two of them had their dantians violently exploded by the chaotic energy lines. The third lost his mind, wandering into the mountains as a raving lunatic. The First Elder ordered it sealed forever.”
“A demonic fragment?” Ye Chen looked back at the chains, a low, cold smile forming on his lips.
“The elders of this clan call everything they cannot comprehend ‘demonic.’ They are like blind men sitting in a cave, terrified of the sunlight outside.”
“You are being arrogant, Ye Chen,” Lin Xinyue hissed, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper as she glanced toward the other disciples who were watching them from a distance.
“I know you fixed your roots, and I know you possess a strange combat instinct. But the energy inside that cabinet is alive. It feeds on the spiritual energy of anyone who tries to read it. Do not throw your life away over a broken relic.”
Ye Chen turned his body completely to face her.
His dark, ancient eyes locked onto hers.
She is afraid, he realized.
Not for herself.
For me.
That was…
unexpected.
For a brief moment, the cold, ruthless Sovereign inside him hesitated.
He had spent a thousand years learning to trust no one.
Everyone was a potential betrayer.
Everyone had a price.
But Lin Xinyue had warned him twice now.
She had no reason to.
She gained nothing from it.
Interesting, he thought.
“Lin Xinyue,” he said softly.
His voice was quiet—but it carried a weight that made her entire world tilt.
For a single, terrifying millisecond, she felt as though she were standing before an ancient primordial deity who could erase her entire existence with a single thought.
Her knees trembled, and she had to grip the nearby obsidian pillar just to stay upright.
“You look at the cosmos through a tiny keyhole, thinking you see the entire sky,” Ye Chen whispered, his voice echoing directly inside her mind.
“What is dangerous to a mortal clan is nothing more than a tool to me. Stay out of my path.”
He turned back to the cabinet.
Lin Xinyue’s breath caught in her throat.
Her heart was hammering against her ribs.
Every instinct in her body screamed at her to run—to get as far away from this boy as possible.
But she didn’t move.
She couldn’t.
Because deep down, beneath the fear and the confusion, she felt something else—something she didn’t want to admit.
Curiosity.
Ye Chen pressed his right palm against the heavy iron chains.
A concentrated burst of his backward-flowing silver Qi flooded the lock.
It was not a normal cultivation technique.
It was the Shadow-Sunder force—a vacuum so absolute that it consumed all resistance.
Snap.
Snap.
The rusted iron links fractured silently, crumbling into pieces of dead metal that hit the stone floor without a sound.
Ye Chen casually ripped the yellow talisman away.
The cabinet’s wooden doors creaked open.
And then—
BOOM.
A wave of ancient, terrifying pressure exploded from inside the cabinet.
It was dark, hungry, and impossibly deep—a presence so vast and so alien that the entire second floor shook.
The three elite disciples in the corners screamed and collapsed, their Qi scattering like startled birds.
Lin Bowen slammed into the obsidian pillar, his face white with terror.
Lin Xinyue stumbled backward, her hands flying to her spiritual whip.
Only Ye Chen stood still.
The pressure crashed against him like a tidal wave—and then stopped.
It curled around him.
It probed him.
It recognized him.
And then, from inside the cabinet, a voice whispered directly into his mind.
“You… you carry the scent of the abyss…”
Ye Chen’s pupils contracted.
His blood-red sigil pulsed.
And the forbidden archive began to laugh.