Zhao Xunan pursed his lips, and Song Tuzi, noticing his disdain, glared back. "I told you—I only know bits and pieces. Be grateful for what I shared!"
"Want me to make up a story for your amusement?" Song Tuzi's face flushed with irritation.
Zhao Xunan shrugged helplessly. Song Tuzi's frustration was understandable; if everyone knew the old Taoist was a peak cultivator, the Martial Arts Academy wouldn't be in such disrepair. By now, it'd probably be trampled flat by curious crowds. The people of Yujing loved gossip—everyone knew that.
"Just having the jade tablet makes you Head? That's too easy. Here, take it—I'll be the new Head!" Zhao Xunan grinned, holding out the tablet. He didn't care about official titles; his goal was martial and literary mastery, not political games.
Song Tuzi's eyes bulged. "A Second Grade Pure official rank—given up so casually?!"
Though he'd leave for the secret realm in two years, such a title was a dream. Even a Second Grade vs. Third Grade gap was enormous.
"It's yours. Where's the harm?" Zhao Xunan retorted. "But I need a formal appointment letter for the teaching post—I value that title."
Song Tuzi snorted, tossing the tablet back. "You're too naive. Check the bottom of the tablet—those three dots."
Zhao Xunan squinted. Three tiny characters, no larger than rice grains, were carved there: Zhao Xunan.
"Since when?!" He flipped the tablet, stunned.
Song Tuzi's tone softened. "Don't underestimate this. It's the core of the Azure Dragon Formation. If Yujing ever faces danger, it could hold back an army."
Zhao Xunan stiffened. Such responsibility was way beyond his casual ambitions.
"My father heard it from the Marshal, who heard it from old tales. Take it seriously—or not. Your choice."
Song Tuzi smirked, but Zhao Xunan's expression hardened. A family secret? This tablet's importance…
"Enough chit-chat. Critical news: You need to recruit disciples—only those with Martial Scholar or Prodigy status. No top students, no progress. Hurry!"
"Since when is this a rule?!" Zhao Xunan's head throbbed.
"Announced this morning. You're the last to know—typical for this dump." Song Tuzi turned to leave. "Oh, and register with the Ministry of Rites within three days. Your Head title means nothing without it. Gotta go—family guests await. Farewell, 'Head'!"
"…Thanks a lot!" Zhao Xunan called after him, voice dripping with sarcasm. Song Tuzi's horse vanished in seconds.
Sighing, Zhao Xunan pocketed the tablet and reentered the pitch-black Martial Arts Academy. All buildings were locked except a thatched hut with a vegetable patch—likely the old Taoist's quarters. Inside was sparse: a wooden bed, nothing more. He pocketed the keys by the bed and left.
Two hours later, he'd toured most of the academy. A chill crept up his spine. For a millennium-old, unmaintained school, the buildings were too well-preserved. Dust coated every surface, but beneath it, stone, metal, and wood were pristine. Even the paper window coverings were intact—no tears.
He picked up a dusty steel spear from a weapon rack. With a flick of his wrist, dust flew, revealing a razor-sharp tip—no rust, no decay.
"What is this place?" Zhao Xunan muttered. The academy felt alive, like a sleeping giant watching him.
Shaking his head, he headed to the library—the heart of any academy. Its bronze lock was corroded, but a key from the hut opened it. As he pushed the door, a gust of wind swept through, kicking up dust and revealing…
Lights flickered to life. Vast halls stretched endlessly, lined with spotless bookshelves and polished desks. Time seemed frozen; he could almost hear students flipping pages.
In the center lay a massive rune array, glowing faintly. Zhao Xunan's breath hitched. Time arrays—common in secret realm sects to resist aging. But they require spirit stones and celestial rules… impossible in the mortal realm.
This array was larger than the one at his past sect's headquarters. How did it sustain itself without spirit stones?
Stepping inside, he studied the runes, then sighed. His past life had been too narrow; he'd only glimpsed a sliver of the cultivation world.
Pulling a scroll from the shelves, he read: "True Qi transforms into emptiness, then solidity, then change—ultimately, golden mercury. The path to immortality isn't distant… but blocked by mountains."
The author, a martial artist named He Zudao (Tiger Hero), wrote of insights beyond Zhao Xunan's current realm. Even a lowly Ninth Grade martial artist's notes had unlocked clarity for him.
By dusk, he'd read a dozen scrolls. These "Tiger Heroes" of old had vision far beyond today's cultivators. Generations pass, but genius fades.
"Tch. Each generation's worse than the last," Zhao Xunan scoffed.
Dinner with Zhao Ping'er passed quickly. Over pickled vegetables and congee (his mouth still sore), he shared the day's events. Her worry melted into pride.
"Master, we should move in!" she said, eyes sparkling. "The academy has rooms and a garden—better than renting!"
Midnight found Zhao Xunan awake, tossing. He took out a divination coin and turtle shell, seeking answers.
"Darkness before light, a hero rises from mountains. When tigers and rabbits bring news, ambition meets success."
Relieved, he drifted to sleep. In the next room, Zhao Ping'er mumbled in her dreams: "Heaven favors us… with him by my side, all is well."
The next morning, they moved into a second-floor room near the hut. Zhao Ping'er marveled at the academy's size, calling it "a fairy's abode." Zhao Xunan, though, wondered: Does every building here have a time array? Even the Mountain Sect can't match this.
While she explored, he returned to the library. Two days of study later, his Qi Refining Realm neared breakthrough—all that remained was the final push.
But time pressed. He rode to the Ministry of Rites, his scholar's token in hand.
An official glared as he entered. "Late again? The archive closes in two hours—careless with your future!"
Zhao Xunan bowed. "Apologies. Which academy?"
"Martial Arts Academy. Name: Zhao Xunan."
The official froze, then snorted. "You're that 'genius' who chose martial over literary? Why bother with a dead academy? No students, no funding—you'll starve!"