Chương 55: 54. 900-Year Old Cold Case

The first shop I enter specializes in talismans. Paper charms with fire and protection motifs, some glowing faintly, most inert. The proprietor is a Qi Condensation woman who barely looks up from her work. The prices are fair but not cheap. I buy nothing. The second shop sells pill bottles and spatial storage artifacts. I browse, Gaze active, finding nothing undervalued. The owner is a Foundation Establishment man who watches me with the particular attention of someone who thinks I might steal something. I leave.

I check Elder Frostheart's map again, the parchment with its faded ink and outdated landmarks. I cross-reference it with a newer map bought from a street vendor. The streets have changed. The buildings have changed. The city has been rebuilt, expanded, renovated, layer upon layer. The location Frostheart marked for Wei Song's workshop could be anywhere. I find nothing. A teahouse occupies the spot where the map says the workshop should be. It is ordinary, unremarkable, hiding nothing special. I keep perusing.

The third shop catches my eye; a hammer and a stylized wave carved into the lintel. Spirit tools. I push open the door. The owner is a middle-aged man with the focused hands of someone who works with metal daily. His fingers are stained, his nails blunt, his palms calloused. He looks up from a sword hilt he's been repairing.

Spirit Tool Craftsman - Qi Condensation (Early Stage) Name: Ling Shuang Age: 44 Spirit Root: Earth/Metal (E-grade) Cultivation: Qi Condensation (Early Stage) - Stable Verdict: Unremarkable in every respect except his hands. He is good at his craft. Not great. Not legendary. Just good. I ask, carefully, about his training. Craftsmen usually talk when someone seems genuinely interested. He is no exception. His master's name means nothing to me.

His master's master died sixty years ago; a competent craftsman, Ling says. But the master's master's master—he has to think, counting generations on his fingers. Apparently studied under an old man in the eastern province. That old man was known for working on spirit tools that other craftsmen wouldn't touch. He taught dozens of disciples. And he had an odd ability to "hear" the weapon.

"Do you know," I ask, still casual, still browsing a display of unremarkable sword guards, "of anyone in the city who specializes in restoring ancient weapons? Damaged during a tribulation." He thinks.

"There's the Heavenly Craft Guild in the northern district. They take anything." He pauses.

"And there's one independent craftsman. Old man. Has a shop somewhere near the eastern wall—I've never been, but I've heard the name." He frowns, searching his memory.

"Wei something. Wei Zhen? Wei Zheng? He doesn't advertise. A bit eccentric. But he can fix anything." My expression does not move.

"Wei Zheng," I repeat.

"Somewhere near there. I couldn't tell you exactly." He shrugs.

"He mostly turns people away. Very selective. Only takes work that interests him." I thank him, buy a small set of formation flag connectors for Lian at a fair price, and leave. Outside, I stop and breathe the city air. Wei Song. A style of work attributed to a founder. A lineage that traces its name back.

'Wei Zheng. Near the eastern wall. The names could be just a coincidence. I can't be too sure until I see him for myself.' I set the name beside Frostheart's map in my mind. I'll find him tomorrow. For now, I need information of a different kind.

"I need to find someone who trades in information. Discreetly." He studies me for a moment. Then he jerks his chin toward the eastern end of the street.

"Two streets that way, past the baker's stall with the blue awning. Look for a door with a red lantern."

"The kind that's lit?"

"If you have to ask more questions, you're not the kind of customer they want." I don't ask more questions. The street is narrow, the buildings old, the lanterns few. I find the baker's stall and turn east. The doors blur together after a while. Wood, paint, iron handles. Then I see it. A red lantern, hung beside a door, turned so the color faces the wall. Barely visible. Deliberately hidden. I knock. Three quick. Two slow. One more quick. The door opens. The woman inside is plain.

Gray robes, pinned hair, unremarkable face. She could be anyone. Information Broker - Foundation Establishment (Middle Stage) Name: Su Lin Age: 55 Spirit Root: Water/Wind (D-grade) Cultivation: Foundation Establishment (Middle Stage) - Concealed to Qi Condensation (Second Stage) by the ring on her finger. Verdict: She wants you to underestimate her. Most people do. That is how she stays alive in this business.

"Come in. Sit." The room beyond is small, well-lit, deliberately neutral. No decorations. No personal touches. Just a desk, two chairs, and a woman who looks like an accountant.

"What are you looking for?" No preamble. No password. The knock pattern was enough. I settle into the chair.

"Golden Vein Trading Company." She doesn't react.

"Legitimate business. Trading routes across the eastern provinces. Offices in Celestial Jade City and three satellites."

"I know that. What I don't know," I say, "is what's not in the public records." She tilts her head.

"That depends on how deep you want to go." This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"The deeper the better." She names a price. I pay. She takes the stones, counts them once, sets them aside and begins to speak. She gives me trade routes and shipping patterns. Useful noise. Then she says the thing that matters.

"--The company was founded by a disciple of the Violet Sky Sect." My chest tightens. I keep my face neutral.

"Which branch?"

"That costs more." I pay again.

"The Southern branch," she says.

"The disciple has since moved to the main branch as an elder, having been promoted due to their contributions." My region. The Coiling Dragon Sect's region. The tributes we pay, the authority we answer to. She says nothing else. There is nothing else to say. I thank her and leave. Outside, I stop and breathe. Golden Vein is affiliated with Violet Sky. So does that mean the Violet Sky Sect is involved? Why would they need a trading company to hire bandits? They're the dominant power.

They could send a Core Formation expert to the Coiling Dragon, take whatever they wanted, and nobody would say anything. A land deed is nothing more than paper to cultivators with power. So why the subterfuge? I run through possibilities. Theory one: a rogue disciple. Or at the very least, someone who wants to use the sect's name to gather resources without alerting the higher-ups. Theory two: the Violet Sky is expanding. Trying to swallow up minor sects for their resources.

But if that were true, they'd do it directly. That's how power works in this world. Theory three: someone in the Violet Sky is watching the Coiling Dragon for a different reason. Not wealth. Something else. Something that requires discretion. I don't like any of these theories. The person behind the attack isn't powerful enough to act openly. That's clear. The bandits were a test. When the test failed, the factor was silenced.

Two things are true: the person behind this wants our resources, and they don't want to be seen taking them. I sigh, and run my fingers through my hair. I wish it were straightforward. I wish I could identify the enemy, sic Ling'er on them like an attack dog, and focus on growing the sect. But that's how you bring Nascent Souls down on your head. That's how you lose everything. Nuance. Subtlety. Patience. I turn back toward the inn. I'm tired. The day has been long; the shops, the crowds, the information broker…

the weight of everything I've learned pressing against my skull. The sun is setting, the city shifting from gold to amber to blue, and all I want is to sit in my room and not think for a while. The inn is still several blocks away. I walk slower now, letting the crowds thin around me, letting the noise fade into background hum. Then I see it. A row of wooden boards near the intersection, plastered with advertisements. Most are for techniques or pills or services I don't need. But one catches my eye.

Large characters, red ink, a seal I don't recognize. Celestial Ascension Tournament I stop.

Where: Central Arena Eligibility: Under 100 for Qi Condensation and Foundation Establishment, Under 250 for Core Formation Format: Brackets by realm (Qi Condensation, Foundation Establishment, Core Formation) Prizes: Winner (each realm bracket): Access to Ancient Inheritance Site + 1/5/10 high-grade stones (respective for each bracket) Runner-up: 50/150/300 mid-grade stones + technique from Violet Sky library Semi-finalists: 10 mid-grade stones Special: Core Formation winners receive audience with Nascent Soul elders from the sect of their choosing.

I read the list of sponsors and supporting information. Violet Sky Sect. Crimson Sun Sect. Golden Lotus Monastery. Crimson Dragon Alliance. The same names everywhere. The powers that run this region. The Ancient Inheritance Site Hidden deep within the Veil of Heaven Mountains, east of Celestial Jade City. The entrance appears only once every seven years, when the protective formations weaken and the mountain reveals what it has guarded for millennia. Core Formation cultivators have entered and never returned.

The legacy of the Jade Sovereign, a Soul Transformation cultivator who vanished from history nine thousand years ago. His palace, preserved in stasis. His techniques, sealed in chambers that open only to those who prove themselves. His knowledge; millennia of study, of experimentation, of mastery over arts that the modern world has forgotten or never knew. Alchemy. Formation. Spirit tool forging. Cultivation paths that lead beyond the Lower Realm. Those who enter are tested. Those who pass are rewarded.

Those who fail are not remembered. Winners of the Celestial Ascension Tournament gain safe passage and exit from the realm. The mountain is waiting. I stare at the words. A Qi Condensation disciple could win their bracket and walk into something that has killed people a hundred times stronger than them. Why would the major sects sponsor this? Why not seal the mountain, send their own disciples, monopolize whatever the Sovereign left behind? I think about the obvious answers first.

Maybe the Sovereign's formations punish force. Maybe the tournament is the key. Maybe the sects are using outsiders as disposable scouts. Or maybe they know something about the site they are not advertising. I don't know which is true. Maybe all of them. Maybe none. The Gaze flickers. Celestial Ascension Tournament - Assessment Realm Brackets: Qi Condensation, Foundation Establishment, Core Formation Your Bracket: Foundation Establishment Estimated Competitors: Hundreds. Many at peak Foundation Establishment.

All with combat experience that far exceeds yours. Verdict: You would be crushed. Do not enter. I cannot help you against certain death. I shake my head. Of course. I'm Foundation Establishment Middle Stage, mediocre even by minor sect standards, with a half-learned ice manual and a sword I can barely use. I send a message through the sound transmission stone as I walk.

"Ling'er. I'll be back soon. How's cultivation?" The reply comes almost immediately. Her voice is crisp and clear.

"I've compressed about a tenth of my qi. It's... denser now. Feels heavier."

"Don't overdo it."

"I won't."

"Good," I say.

"We'll talk more when I'm back." The city's lights spread across the district below; more stars on the ground than in the sky. Lanterns, torches, glowing formations, the warm spill from thousands of windows. The noise has softened to a murmur, the crowds thinned to scattered figures moving through the streets like fish in deep water. Ling'er sits cross-legged on the bed, her meditation finished, her eyes clear. I pull the chair to the window and sit facing her. I tell her everything. Wei Zheng.

The Golden Vein Trading Company. The connection to Violet Sky. The southern branch. The tournament. She listens. Her face is still, her eyes steady. The Sacred Cosmic Bone works behind them, probably information, connecting threads, building a map I cannot see. When I finish, she nods. Slow and private, processing something she'll deal with in her own time.

"The tournament," I say.

"I've been thinking about it. It's coming in two weeks." She looks up.

"We're not entering." She doesn't react. Waiting.

"For you to win the Foundation bracket, you'd need to fight seriously. More than we can afford to show." I pause.

"From what I've seen, it would take a few peak Foundation Establishment cultivators to equal you. But winning would put your name in every major sect's records."

"What about you, Master?"

"I'd get crushed in the first round." I don't say it bitterly. It's just true.

"And even if I didn't, the same problem applies. Attention. Questions. People wondering why a mediocre sect leader from a backwater mountain is competing in a tournament he has no business being in." She tilts her head.

"So we do nothing?"

"I didn't say that." I lean back in the chair.

"The tournament is in two weeks. That's hundreds of Foundation Establishment and Core Formation cultivators gathering in one place and demonstrating their techniques. Revealing their weaknesses." I look at her.

"You can learn more from watching a fight than from fighting it yourself." Her eyes brighten slightly.

"And there are other ways to benefit from a tournament without competing." I pause.

"Have you ever heard of gambling?"