### Chapter 33: The Treasure Pavilion
Dawn broke clear, and the peaks of Lingwu Mountain were wrapped in a thin, ethereal mist, making the sect look like a realm of immortals.
Lin Yi rose early, practicing a few Iron Sand Palm strikes in front of his quarters to loosen his muscles. Just as he finished, a young outer disciple appeared, carrying a tray with two steaming buns, a cup of fruit nectar, and three ripe fruits.
"Senior Brother Lin, your breakfast," the disciple said respectfully, bowing slightly as he held out the tray. He hadn't even reached the 1st level of Qi Refinement, his posture stiff with deference.
"Breakfast for me?" Lin Yi was taken aback. No one had ever fetched him food before.
"Yes, Senior Brother. Elder Qiao ordered me to attend to your daily needs from now on. My name is Pan Yu," the disciple replied, his voice steady but tinged with nervousness.
*Elder Qiao?* Lin Yi realized. Inner disciples were the only ones with personal attendants, and among outer disciples, only Mu Rongfeng—at Level 4—enjoyed such treatment. Now that Qiao knew Lin Yi was Level 4, he was clearly currying favor, using this gesture to strengthen their ties.
Lin Yi saw no reason to refuse. After years of scraping by, a little pampering felt earned. He'd spent too long eating cold buns and sleeping on a hard cot; it was time to taste the perks of progress.
He picked up a bun, its warmth seeping into his palms, and took a bite, washing it down with sweet fruit nectar. It was a far cry from his usual fare—no more stale bread or lukewarm water.
*Power really does change everything*, he thought, savoring the meal. The better treatment only fueled his drive to climb higher: first core disciple, then beyond.
In minutes, he'd polished off both buns, the nectar, and all three fruits. Pan Yu, eyes downcast, took the empty tray and retreated, bowing again before leaving.
Watching Pan Yu's retreating back, Lin Yi thought of himself six years ago—freshly initiated, running errands for higher disciples, a nobody in the crowd. He'd endured that for three years, until he started peddling goods and schmoozing with deacons to carve out a better life.
A sigh escaped him, but he quickly refocused. Today was for the Treasure Pavilion.
Dianxuan Sect allowed each disciple three chances to select a technique before reaching Foundation Establishment. Lin Yi hadn't used any yet. Once chosen, a disciple was expected to master that technique for life—though exceptions existed: core disciples earned an extra pick, and true disciples (the sect's elite) gained access to most of the pavilion's secrets.
True disciples were rare, though. Most Foundation Establishment elders took only one, too focused on their own cultivation to mentor more. Only the most exceptional talents tempted them to take a second.
Lin Yi headed for the pavilion, its spires visible against the mountain's misty backdrop.
The Treasure Pavilion stood ten stories tall, its stone walls carved with ancient runes that glowed faintly in the sunlight. The second floor bore a massive plaque: *Treasure Pavilion*, its characters bold and fluid, as if written by a sword.
Rumors whispered that the ninth and tenth floors were reserved for the sect's two Nascent Soul ancestors—revered, reclusive, and all-powerful. But that was none of Lin Yi's concern. He'd come for a sword manual, and nothing else.
He stepped inside. The air smelled of old paper and faint spiritual energy. A gray-robed elder, around sixty, lay on a wooden recliner, hands folded over his chest, legs crossed, eyes shut. Morning light slanted through the windows, gilding his white hair.
"What do you seek?" he asked, voice lazy, eyes still closed.
"A sword technique," Lin Yi replied.
The elder flicked a hand, and a jade token sailed through the air. Lin Yi caught it—warm to the touch, etched with a sword symbol surrounded by swirling runes. "Third floor, third room," the elder said, yawning.
"Thank you, Elder," Lin Yi nodded, studying the token. Its back bore two characters: *Three-Three*.
He headed down a corridor lined with numbered rooms, each sealed by a faint barrier. At the end, a circular teleportation array hummed softly. He stepped onto it, injecting a trace of spiritual energy into the token.
A flash of light, and he stood on the third floor. Unlike the first, its layout was a T-shape, with rooms branching off two corridors. He followed the numbers, finding Room 3 easily—its door sealed by a shimmering barrier.
Lin Yi pressed the jade token two inches from the door, channeling more energy. The token glowed, and the barrier rippled, sliding open to reveal a small, dimly lit chamber.
Inside, shelves lined the walls, holding hundreds of jade slips—each containing a sword technique. Dust coated some, hinting at disuse; others glowed faintly, their power still palpable.
Lin Yi ran his fingers over the slips, reading their labels: *Basic Swordplay*, *Mountain-Cleaving Strike*, *Swift Breeze Form*… Most were low-tier, suitable for outer disciples but useless against core disciples.
He frowned, deeper into the room. Then his eyes fell on a slip tucked behind a dusty manual. It bore no fancy name—just *Silent Rain Sword Art*—but its surface pulsed with a quiet, sharp energy, like raindrops cutting through mist.
Curious, he picked it up, infusing spiritual energy. The slip warmed, and words flooded his mind: a technique focusing on speed and precision, its moves flowing like water, striking where enemies least expected. It wasn't flashy, but its lethality was undeniable—perfect for duels.
"This is it," he murmured.
As he turned to leave, another slip caught his eye: *Shadow Step*, a movement technique that let the user blend into shadows, moving without a sound. Useful for ambushes, he thought, slipping it into his sleeve. He'd return it later—no need to waste a pick on it.
Back in the main hall, the elder was still napping. Lin Yi placed the jade token on a nearby table. "I've chosen *Silent Rain*," he said.
The elder grunted, waving a hand. "Recorded. Two picks left."
Lin Yi nodded, heading out. The sun was higher now, casting long shadows over the sect's courtyards. Disciples hurried past, some bowing when they recognized him—a novelty he was still getting used to.
"Senior Brother Lin!"
He turned to see Pan Yu hurrying toward him, a scroll in hand. "Elder Qiao sent this—rules for the tournament," the boy said, handing it over.
Lin Yi unrolled it: outer disciples would compete in a single-elimination bracket; the top ten could challenge any disciple, with the winner inheriting their rank.
"No holds barred," he muttered, smiling. Perfect.
That evening, Lin Yi sat cross-legged in his room, practicing *Silent Rain*. His sword moved in a blur, leaving afterimages like silver threads. Each strike grew smoother, more instinctive, as if the technique had been part of him all along.
Pan Yu brought dinner—roast meat, steamed rice, and a jug of wine. "Elder Qiao says to eat well, Senior Brother. The tournament starts in three days," he said, bowing.
Lin Yi nodded, waving him off. As he ate, he thought of Mu Rongfeng—the outer disciple prodigy. Word was he'd mastered *Thunderclap Sword*, a mid-tier technique with explosive power.
"Let him come," Lin Yi said, lifting his sword.
Three days later, the tournament grounds buzzed with energy. Outer disciples packed the stands, their voices rising in excitement. Inner disciples watched from a platform, their expressions cool, while core disciples lounged on cushions, sipping tea, as if the outcome was already decided.
Lin Yi stood among the competitors, his sword at his waist, *Silent Rain* and *Shadow Step* etched into his mind. When his name was called, he stepped into the ring, facing a nervous Level 3 disciple.
"Forfeit," the boy said, backing away.
Lin Yi shrugged, moving to the next round. By afternoon, he'd advanced to the quarterfinals, his victories swift and silent—*Silent Rain* making short work of opponents.
In the semifinals, he faced a burly disciple wielding a hammer. The man roared, swinging with all his strength, but Lin Yi danced around him, his sword flicking out to nick the man's wrist. The hammer clattered to the ground.
"Yield," Lin Yi said.
The man glared, then spat, storming off.
The final match: Lin Yi vs. Mu Rongfeng.
The crowd fell silent. Mu stepped into the ring, his sword glowing with faint lightning. "I've heard of you, Lin Yi. A nobody who lucked into Level 4," he sneered. "Today, I'll put you back in your place."
Lin Yi said nothing, drawing his sword.
Mu struck first, *Thunderclap* roaring to life. His blade crackled with electricity, slamming toward Lin Yi with the force of a storm.
Lin Yi didn't dodge. He let the sword come—then, at the last second, used *Shadow Step*, vanishing. Mu's strike hit empty air, sending a shockwave through the ring.
"What—" Mu began, spinning.
Lin Yi reappeared behind him, *Silent Rain* whispering. The tip of his sword pressed against Mu's neck.
The crowd gasped.
Mu froze,脸色惨白. "I… yield," he muttered.
Lin Yi lowered his sword, the stands erupting in cheers and disbelief.
A voice boomed from the elders' platform: "Lin Yi, outer disciple champion! Choose your challenge."
Lin Yi looked up, meeting the eyes of the core disciples. His gaze settled on a sneering youth—Level 7, known for cruelty.
"I challenge Xiao Liang," he said.
The crowd went wild. Xiao Liang, a core disciple with a Level 7 cultivation, laughed. "A Level 4? This'll be amusing."
Lin Yi smiled. Let them laugh. Tomorrow, they'd learn better.
That night, he polished his sword, the glow of *Silent Rain* reflecting in his eyes. From a mocked outcast to a challenger of core disciples—all in two months.
The path ahead was steep, but for the first time, Lin Yi felt ready to climb it.