The Scripture Library sat at the edge of the outer sect district, a three-story wooden structure with upturned eaves and gray-tiled roofs, red pillars rising from stone foundations. Compared to the crude wooden huts where outer disciples lived, it carried an air of grandeur—but also of age. Large patches of plaster had peeled from the walls, exposing gray brick beneath. The columns bore wormholes like tiny gaping mouths. The stone lions flanking the entrance were missing an ear, the remaining one cracked, wild grasses sprouting from the crevices and swaying in the breeze.

  Li Ming reached the entrance just as two figures emerged. A man and a woman, both in outer disciple robes, but newer fabric than his, the gray deeper and richer from many washings.

  "Well, well. If it isn't Li Ming?"

  The man stopped, smiling in a way that wasn't quite friendly, eyes carrying that particular gleam of someone watching a show. "Three months without touching Qi Refinement Layer One, and today you finally remembered the library exists?"

  Li Ming recognized him—Zhao Kun, Qi Refinement Layer Three, small fry in the larger sect but a "somebody" in this corner of the outer district. The original's memories held plenty of his mockery, always the same script: "mixed five-element trash," "just give up," "go home and farm."

  "Here to borrow a book." Li Ming kept his voice flat, no interest in engaging.

  "Borrow a book?" Zhao Kun's laugh came out exaggerated. "You can actually read? Don't take the *Qi Introduction for Beginners* home and cry when you can't understand page one."

  The female disciple beside him tugged at Zhao Kun's sleeve, whispering: "Come on, don't waste time on him."

  "What's the rush." Zhao Kun shook her off, stepping forward to block Li Ming's path. "Li Ming, I'm not trying to be mean, but with mixed five-element roots, stop torturing yourself. Be a good outer disciple, do some chores, collect your spirit stones each month. Why force cultivation when you'll just exhaust yourself with no progress? Look at me—Layer Three in six months. You? Three months, not even a fart."

  Li Ming looked at him, saying nothing.

  The original had indeed spent three months drowning in shame about his mixed roots, head down and silent during every encounter, heart aching with humiliation. But now...

  "What? Not convinced?" Zhao Kun raised an eyebrow. "How about we test it? I'll give you three moves. Touch my robes and I'll watch your back in this district. Deal?"

  "Not necessary." Li Ming moved to step around him.

  Zhao Kun reached to block, hand half-raised, then suddenly froze.

  The smile on his face slowly vanished, replaced by something... puzzled? Like he was confirming something, or doubting his own senses.

  "You..." Zhao Kun stared at Li Ming, looking him up and down. "You broke through?"

  Li Ming's heart tightened.

  After fixing the technique bug, he'd gained 10 cultivation points, but the system still showed "Mortal 10/100"—nowhere near Qi Refinement Layer One. And this guy could tell? Layer Three cultivators had senses that sharp?

  "No." Li Ming's voice remained calm, no trace of panic.

  "Impossible." Zhao Kun shook his head, suspicion still clouding his eyes. "I clearly sensed just now..." He paused, something shifting in his expression—from doubt to... caution?

  "Last night, did you..."

  A bell tolled from within the library.

  Dong—

  The long note echoed across the outer sect district, like a reminder of something.

  Zhao Kun immediately clamped his mouth shut, glaring at Li Ming: "Watch yourself. Keep your nights quiet, no funny business."

  He grabbed the female disciple and hurried off, walking fast, like he was escaping something.

  Li Ming stood there, watching their backs disappear around the corner, that unease in his chest growing heavier.

  What did Zhao Kun mean by that last sentence? "Last night, did you..." What came after? Did he mean cultivation? Or something else?

  And that expression on Zhao Kun's face—the shift from mockery to doubt to caution, too fast for Li Ming to process.

  "What did he sense?" Li Ming frowned.

  Ten points of cultivation, ninety short of Layer One, impossible to detect. So what he sensed was... spiritual energy fluctuation? Or something else?

  He drew a deep breath, pushing the thoughts aside. Priority one: enter the library, find more techniques, fix bugs, raise his cultivation.

  Li Ming stepped through the entrance.

  Inside, the light was dim, only a few oil lamps hanging from columns, flames flickering and stretching the bookshelves' shadows into long black giants standing silent guard. The air held a musty scent—paper and wood and dust mixed together, making his nose itch, carrying also the particular ink fragrance of old pages.

  An old man sat behind a counter near the door, hair white and unkempt, clearly unwashed for ages. His eyes were half-lidded, dozing, head nodding like it might fall off any moment. Hearing footsteps, he lifted his eyelids, glancing at Li Ming with cloudy, unfocused eyes.

  "Outer disciple. Once per month, two hours." The old man's voice was hoarse, like he hadn't spoken in ages, something stuck in his throat. "Token."

  Li Ming produced the original's outer disciple token. Copper, surface worn, engraved with "Qingyun Sect" and a small "outer" character.

  The old man took the token, swiping it across a small device on the counter. The machine looked ancient, wooden, gears meshing with clicking sounds—click click click. Finally it beeped, a green light flaring, conspicuous in the dim library.

  "Go." The old man returned the token, yawning. "First floor has basic techniques, second floor advanced, third floor closed to outer disciples. Don't wander where you shouldn't, or..." He paused, a meaningful smile revealing yellowed teeth. "Consequences are on you."

  Li Ming nodded and moved toward the shelves.

  The first floor didn't have many shelves—maybe twenty or thirty, each packed with books and manuals. Some were paper, yellowed pages crumbling at the touch; some were jade slips, crystal clear, information sealed within; and some were actually... metal plates? Covered in dense runes, gleaming faintly in the lamplight.

  Li Ming picked up a *Foundation Qi Circulation Technique*, flipping through it. Same content as the original's memories—the technique he'd practiced for three months without progress. Dense text, crude illustrations, margins crowded with handwritten notes in tiny characters, dizzying to read.

  "If the technique itself is the problem, what about the others?"

  He started checking them one by one.

  *Spiritual Energy Circulation Detailed Explanation*, *Meridian Diagrams*, *Qi Refinement Beginner's Guide*, *Five Elements Basics*...

  After a dozen or so, Li Ming noticed a pattern—these books were all too "complete." Complete to the point of... deliberately avoiding any mention of problems.

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Like a programming tutorial that only taught you to write hello world without explaining exception handling. No memory leak solutions, no deadlock troubleshooting, no concurrency conflict resolution...

  "Something's wrong."

  Li Ming frowned, fingers unconsciously tapping the page—tap tap tap—softly.

  "If these are all techniques Qingyun Sect gives outer disciples, then..."

  He closed his eyes, trying to call up the code view.

  System notification: [Function Available]

  The air before him rippled like disturbed water. Books on the shelves began displaying lines of semi-transparent code, pale green, flickering faintly in the dim library. But not every book had it—only a few showed complete code. Most displayed... fragments?

  Like someone had deliberately deleted portions, leaving empty shells with only comments remaining, content hollowed out.

  Li Ming approached an *Advanced Qi Circulation Method* on the second floor shelf. He'd walked too deep in concentration, not noticing where he'd ended up. This book's code was relatively complete—still fragmented, but better than the others. He focused, beginning to examine.

  ```

  [Advanced_Qi_Circulation.py]

  def absorb_energy():

  # spiritual energy filtering logic should go here

  pass

  def circulate():

  while True:

  absorb_energy()

  # where's the error handling?

  if meridian_blocked():

  # no solution provided

  break

  ```

  The more Li Ming read, the more his heart chilled.

  This wasn't negligence. This was... deliberate?

  Every technique had empty error handling sections. Just a pass, nothing else. What did that mean? It meant when cultivation problems arose, the technique wouldn't handle them—you just had to endure. Endure it or...

  "Someone tampered with these techniques."

  The thought sent cold sweat down his back, a chill spreading across his skin. If that was true, then Qingyun Sect...

  "What are you doing?"

  A voice spoke suddenly from behind.

  Li Ming spun around. A young man in inner disciple robes stood not far away, arms crossed, eyes coldly fixed on him. Early twenties, slender build, handsome features, but those eyes were too cold—like he was looking at an ant. The spiritual energy fluctuation around him was strong, at least Qi Refinement Layer Five or higher, far beyond any outer disciple.

  "Reading." Li Ming kept his voice steady.

  "Reading?" The youth walked over, picking up the *Advanced Qi Circulation Method* Li Ming had been examining, flipping through two pages with long, pale fingers. "Outer disciples may only read first floor books. This is on the second floor. Who let you up here?"

  Li Ming's heart tightened.

  He'd been too absorbed in reading, never noticing where he'd wandered. This was... getting distracted?

  "My apologies, I..."

  "Enough."

  The youth cut him off, voice devoid of emotion. "Rules are rules. Outer disciples trespassing on the second floor—by sect regulations, three days confinement, ten spirit stones fine."

  Li Ming fell silent.

  Ten spirit stones—an outer disciple's monthly allowance. The original had saved for three months to accumulate five. Three days confinement meant three days without cultivation, without taking missions, without... doing anything. Worse, during confinement his cultivation might regress, spiritual power dissipating without constant circulation.

  "Or..." The youth's tone shifted, "you could choose another punishment."

  "What kind?" Li Ming asked, watching him warily.

  The youth smiled, something playful in the expression. "Forget everything you just saw. Never mention it to anyone. And then..." He paused, eyes locking onto Li Ming's, "each month when you come to the library, bring me something."

  "What thing?"

  "You'll know when the time comes."

  The youth returned the book to the shelf, patting Li Ming's shoulder—light, like patting a disobedient dog. "Come find me when you've decided. I'm Chen Feng, inner disciple. Remember, three days to respond. Otherwise..."

  He didn't finish, turning and leaving, footsteps soft, quickly vanishing up the stairs.

  Li Ming stood there, watching his back disappear, that unease in his chest growing heavier.

  Zhao Kun's unfinished sentence, Chen Feng's threat, the fragmented technique code...

  These fragments pieced together, pointing to a conclusion that made his back run cold.

  "Qingyun Sect has problems."

  And these problems were likely bigger than he'd imagined. Not just bugs in techniques, but... someone deliberately covering something up.

  Li Ming drew a deep breath, forcing himself calm. Now wasn't the time for speculation. He needed more information.

  He continued moving through the first floor shelves, checking books one by one. The two-hour limit was approaching—he had to hurry. Every minute, every second was precious.

  Finally, in a corner shelf, he found a different book.

  Thin, gray cover, no title, no author, nothing. In his hand, it felt like... some kind of animal skin? Rough texture, carrying a faint fishy smell, slightly nauseating to touch.

  Li Ming opened to the first page. Only one line of text, ink dark like it was written in blood:

  "If you can read this, it means you can also see 'that thing.'"

  Li Ming's heart jumped—thump thump thump.

  He continued reading.

  "The techniques have bugs, not from negligence, but from seals. Seals hiding 'the truth.' Mixed five-element roots aren't trash—they're the only key to unlocking the truth. Beware of 'them.' 'They' are watching you."

  "If you want to know more, go to the back mountain cliff, midnight, bring a piece of obsidian."

  "Don't tell anyone. Anyone."

  Li Ming's hands began to shake.

  This book... who left it? What was "that thing"? Who were "they"? What was the truth?

  He closed the book, quickly stuffing it inside his robes against his chest, ice-cold against his skin.

  "Time's up."

  The old man from the counter had somehow approached, footsteps so soft Li Ming hadn't heard him. He stood behind Li Ming, looking at him strangely—like watching prey about to step into a trap. "Two hours. Not a minute more."

  Li Ming nodded, handing over the token, palm sweating so much the metal felt slippery.

  The old man took it, swiping it across the machine. Green light flared.

  "Next time, remember not to wander." The old man's voice carried weight. "Some books aren't for everyone to read. Reading them... sometimes costs lives."

  Li Ming's heart tightened: "What do you mean?"

  The old man smiled, a few yellowed teeth showing, the smile eerie. "Nothing. Just reminding you—Qingyun Sect is large, the waters deep. Sometimes living long matters more than cultivating fast. Many who cultivated fast never lived past thirty."

  He turned, walking back to his counter, sitting down and closing his eyes like he'd fallen asleep again.

  Li Ming stood frozen for several seconds, then quickly exited the library.

  Outside, dusk had fallen, the setting sun painting the entire outer sect district in shades of orange. Distant birdsong drifted over, and the sounds of disciples practicing sword techniques—whoosh whoosh whoosh—blade energy cutting air. The smell of cooking wafted from somewhere—the outer sect cafeteria must have opened.

  Li Ming didn't return to his room. Instead he took the long way, heading toward the back mountain.

  He needed time to process what he'd seen today.

  Techniques had bugs, they were seals. Mixed five-element roots were the key. They are watching you.

  These words echoed in his mind like an unsolvable riddle. Each repetition made his heart colder.

  Halfway there, he suddenly stopped.

  Someone behind him.

  Not Wang Hu, not Zhao Kun, not Chen Feng. This presence... more concealed, more dangerous. Like night wind—you couldn't feel it, but you knew it was blowing, chilling you to the bone.

  Li Ming didn't look back, kept walking.

  But he could feel that gaze never leaving. Like an invisible thread tied to him, pulling him, tracking him.

  When he reached his room, the sky had gone completely dark. Li Ming shut the door, pulled the curtains, and drew the gray book from his robes.

  Under the oil lamp, he opened it again.

  The pages he'd seen in the library—the warning text was still there, ink dark like freshly written. But flipping further...

  Empty.

  The entire book, except for those few warning pages, was blank. No words, no diagrams, nothing.

  "What does this mean?" Li Ming frowned. "Just this much information? Then why tell me to go to the back mountain?"

  He concentrated, trying to call up the code view to examine the book's code.

  System notification: [Unable to parse unknown item]

  "Even the system can't parse it?"

  Li Ming closed the book, leaning against the headboard, eyes closed, head beginning to ache.

  Too much had happened today. Zhao Kun's probing, Chen Feng's threat, the old man's warning, and this mysterious book...

  And that presence watching him from the shadows.

  "Mixed five-element roots are the only key to unlocking the truth."

  This sentence echoed in his mind like a hammer, striking his heart again and again.

  The original had spent three months drowning in shame about his mixed roots, cultivation stagnant, mocked by everyone. His parents emptied their savings sending him here, hoping he'd bring honor to the family, yet three months without touching Layer One. That guilt, that inferiority, that despair—the original must have experienced it countless times.

  But now...

  "If this is true, then my talent isn't trash, it's..."

  Before he could finish, footsteps sounded outside his door.

  Light, but he heard them.

  He immediately blew out the oil lamp, hid the book under his blankets, hand reaching for the wooden sword at his waist.

  The footsteps stopped at his door.

  A moment later, a slip of paper slid underneath. White paper, black characters, conspicuous in the dark room.

  Li Ming waited a full minute, confirming no one remained outside, before rising to pick up the note.

  Only one line of text, handwriting messy like it was written in haste, every stroke carrying panic:

  "Don't go to the back mountain. It's a trap."

  No signature, no time, no clues.

  Li Ming held the note, palm sweating so much the paper was growing damp.

  Don't go to the back mountain. It's a trap.

  So the information in that book... was false? Or someone wanted to stop him from going? Or... the person who wanted him at the back mountain and the person who slipped him this note were the same group? What game were they playing?

  "Who's helping me, and who's harming me?"

  He found no answer to this question.

  Outside the window, the moon had risen. White and round, like a large plate hanging in the sky, its cold light spilling across the ground like frost.

  Midnight was approaching.

  Go, or not go?

  Li Ming stood at the window, gazing toward the back mountain. Darkness swallowed everything, invisible, like a gaping mouth waiting for prey to walk in. Occasional bird cries pierced the night, mournful and sharp.

  He clenched his fist, then unclenched it.

  His palm was sweaty, sticky.

  In the end, he made a decision.