Chương 46: Fragments of the Past

The damaged jade slip did not give up its secrets quickly. Wei Chen spent three days with it, reading and rereading the legible portions, comparing the phrasing to the grammar in his memory, searching for the personal habits of the hand that had carved it. Slowly, the writer emerged: a disciple of the Primordial Sage lineage, perhaps a generation or two removed from the guardian who had overseen the secret realm.

The style was more hurried, less formal, the work of someone recording knowledge under pressure rather than teaching it. That impression grew stronger as he deciphered the references between the technique lines. The Thousandfold Palm was not the only subject. Scattered through the intact text were notes about places. Sanctuary of the Verdant Anchor, one passage read. Gate-seal intact. Record of the Third Migration stored within. Another: Hall of the Silent Lantern.

Approach from the north; the southern path was buried in the Long Collapse. A third: Vault beneath the Crimson Wall. Do not attempt alone. The guardian there remembers the war. Wei Chen copied each name into his notebook, then retrieved the legacy's continental map from the storage compartment where he kept it. The map was a mental image as much as a physical one, imprinted into his memory during the trials, but he had long since drawn a rough copy on parchment to make cross-referencing easier.

Ancient names sat beside rivers that had shifted, mountains that had eroded, coastlines that had risen or fallen. He began matching. The Sanctuary of the Verdant Anchor was the easiest. The legacy placed it on the eastern coast of a landmass the ancients called Aethere, near a river delta that no longer existed in any recognizable form. On a modern map, the same coordinates lay in the heart of the Scarlet Wastes, near a region now called the Dunes of Bone. A forbidden zone, according to the caravan masters.

A place where nothing grew and the dead did not always rest. The Hall of the Silent Lantern was harder. The name appeared in the legacy only as a small mark between two mountain ranges, with no surrounding geography preserved. He spent hours tracing mountain chains on the modern map, comparing shapes, until he found a match: a range in the northern Verdant March, Ashen Dragon Sect territory, where a ruined city known as Silentfall clung to the slopes. The approach from the north remained open.

The southern path had collapsed in a landslide centuries ago. The Vault beneath the Crimson Wall was the most disturbing. The legacy placed it beneath a fortress city called Crimson Wall that had guarded the empire's western frontier. On modern maps, the same location bore no city name at all, only a warning label: Cursed Land. Do Not Enter. Travelers who approached the ruins of Crimson Wall were said to vanish or return mad. Wei Chen sat back from the map and let the pattern form.

Every sanctuary the legacy mentioned corresponded to a place modern civilization had abandoned. Ruined cities. Cursed lands. Forbidden zones. The Primordial Sages had built their safe houses in locations that should have been defensible, and those same locations had become the wounds of the world. The Great Sundering had not simply destroyed the Sages. It had poisoned the ground they stood on. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

He thought of the secret realm where he had received his inheritance, hidden in the Endless Jungle and accessible only by chance. It had survived because it was small, obscure, and geographically distant from the empire's heart. The larger sanctuaries, the ones marked on maps and known by name, had been targeted. Their defenses had failed or been overwhelmed. Their guardians had been killed. Their locations had been rendered uninhabitable by whatever force had broken the old world.

And yet, the jade slip suggested that some records remained. Intact gate-seals. Stored migrations. Guardians that remembered. If the sanctuaries could be reached, their knowledge could be reclaimed. Wei Chen did not allow himself to feel excitement. Excitement led to plans made in haste. Instead, he assessed. The three locations formed a rough line across the eastern half of the continent, from the Scarlet Wastes in the west to the Verdant March in the east to the cursed frontier somewhere beyond.

Reaching any of them would require crossing multiple political boundaries, surviving environments hostile to modern cultivation, and facing guardians or remnants that had endured since the Sundering. He was not ready. The admission was clean and useful. Foundation Establishment, even on the True Path, was not enough. The Thousandfold Palm, even partially learned, was not enough. His alchemy was promising but still limited by the materials he could afford and the substitutes he could devise.

He needed time in Dragon's Rest. Time to consolidate. Time to build resources and reputation and skill. Time to grow strong enough that the path eastward became survivable rather than suicidal. But he also needed to keep moving forward. The city offered one obvious opportunity. Posters had appeared on the guild boards and temple walls over the past week, announcing the annual Summer Tournament: an open martial competition that drew cultivators from across Veritas and beyond.

The tournament was a spectacle, a marketplace of talent where noble houses scouted prospects and sects evaluated recruits. For Wei Chen, it was something else. A testing ground. A place to measure his progress against the kingdom's finest without leaving the safety of the capital's rules. A way to attract favorable attention without pledging himself to anyone. It was also dangerous. His minimal-motion style would confuse the judges and disappoint the crowds. House Vane would have representatives there.

The Ashen Dragon Sect sometimes sent observers. If he revealed too much, the hunters would begin to gather. But if he revealed nothing, he would remain small and poor and easily crushed. Wei Chen opened his notebook to a fresh page and wrote: Summer Tournament — objectives: test current capabilities, identify gaps, gather intelligence on eastern observers. Risk: exposure. Mitigation: restrict techniques, avoid lethal displays, maintain plausible bronze-rank performance ceiling. He would enter.

He would place well enough to matter, but not so well that he became a prize to be claimed. The balance would be difficult. Everything worth doing was difficult. He returned the jade slip and the map to their hiding place, then spent the evening preparing his workshop for departure. The tournament would require his full attention for several days, and he could not afford to leave his equipment unguarded.

He arranged subtle wards—low-grade formations that would alert him if anyone entered—and stored his most valuable materials in the hidden compartment. When he finished, he stood in the center of the small room and cycled his qi slowly. The golden markings appeared along his arms, faint but present, then faded as he lowered the intensity. He had learned to suppress them within moments now, a small but necessary discipline. The breakthrough had made him stronger, but it had also made him more distinctive.

Distinctiveness was a blade that cut both ways. He thought of the tablet fragment from the cistern, the catalyst substitute smoking in its basin, the jade slip humming beneath the floorboards. Each was a fragment of the past, and each fragment pointed east. The Primordial Sages had left their ruins scattered across the world like breadcrumbs. Wei Chen was following them, one careful step at a time, toward a truth that had been buried for ten thousand years.

Outside, the first day of the Summer Tournament dawned over Dragon's Rest, and the city stirred toward celebration. Wei Chen locked his door, pulled his gloves tight over his wrists, and walked toward the arena. The next test was waiting.