The Great Elder, Xiao Li, stared at me, his weathered face a canvas of stunned silence. My demand for unrestricted access to his clan's ancestral library hung in the air between us, a far more audacious and perplexing request than any demand for gold or resources. He had come here prepared to bargain with a mysterious powerhouse, but he had found himself negotiating with an insatiable scholar.
For a long moment, I thought he would refuse. A clan's library was its memory, the repository of its accumulated wisdom and failures. To grant an outsider access to its deepest secrets was a profound risk. I could see the internal struggle in his sharp, intelligent eyes as he weighed the potential danger against the immense, tantalizing promise of our alliance. He saw before him a young woman of unfathomable knowledge and a guardian of terrifying, incomprehensible power. He was not just dealing with us; he was dealing with the legendary "Master Bai Zemin" who stood behind us. The desire to curry favor with such a figure was a powerful motivator.
Finally, he let out a slow, deliberate breath, his gaze hardening with decision.
"The Xiao Clan has always valued its allies," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "And your actions have already proven more beneficial to us than a thousand gold coins. Your price… is steep. But it is one we are willing to pay."
A wave of relief and triumph washed over me, but I kept my expression a mask of serene gratitude.
"However," he continued, adding a condition of his own, "there must be terms. The access will be granted to you, Young Miss Bai, and to you alone. The restricted archives contain the very soul of our clan's history. It is not a place for outsiders. Your guardian, while his strength is undeniable, must wait outside the library's premises."
It was a reasonable, almost predictable security measure. "That is perfectly acceptable, Great Elder," I agreed without hesitation. My work in the library required focus and solitude. Ming's role was to ensure I could perform that work without interruption.
Satisfied, Xiao Li reached into his robes and produced a small, intricately carved token of dark, heavy ironwood. It was shaped like the Xiao Clan's insignia, a stylized character for 'Xiao' (萧).
"This is an Elder's Token," he explained, placing it on the table. "It will grant you passage through any part of our clan's manor, save for the ancestral shrine itself. The librarians and guards have already been instructed. Show them this, and they will unseal the archives for you. You may come and go as you please."
He stood, the deal now sealed. "We have placed our trust in you, Young Miss Bai. We hope it is not misplaced."
"An alliance built on trust is the only kind that endures, Great Elder," I replied, rising to see him out. "You will not regret this."
After he departed, Ming picked up the ironwood token, flipping it in his hand. "So, we're officially in bed with the Xiao Clan," he said, a smirk in his voice. "Never thought I'd see the day."
"We are not in bed with them," I corrected, my tone serious. "We are using them as a shield and a listening post while we hunt a far greater monster. This token isn't a symbol of friendship. It's a key. And I intend to find which lock it opens."
The very next morning, we returned to the Xiao Clan manor. Our arrival was, once again, a completely different experience. We were not just guests; we were allies. The guards at the gate bowed respectfully. Disciples whispered as we passed, their expressions now a mixture of awe, fear, and intense curiosity. With the Elder's Token in hand, we were untouchable.
We were led to a quiet, secluded courtyard in the deepest part of the manor. At its center stood an old, stone building, its architecture ancient and severe. This was the ancestral library.
As per the Elder's terms, Ming took up a position near the entrance, leaning casually against a stone pillar. His very presence was a deterrent, and the disciples who had been eyeing the library from a distance quickly found other places to be. He was the perfect, silent guardian.
I presented the token to the two elderly, stern-faced librarians who guarded the entrance. They examined it, their eyes widening slightly, and bowed deeply before unbarring the heavy, iron-bound doors.
"As the Great Elder commanded," one of them said, his voice raspy with age. "The archives are open to you, Honored Guest."
I stepped inside, and the doors boomed shut behind me, plunging me into a world of dust and silence.
The library was not the grand, magical repository of knowledge I might have imagined. It was a reflection of the clan that housed it: old, proud, but showing the clear signs of a long, slow decline. The air was thick with the scent of aging paper, dry ink, and dust. Rows upon rows of tall, dark wooden shelves stretched into the gloom, laden not with leather-bound books, but with thousands of bamboo slips tied with faded cords and scrolls yellowed with immense age.
I bypassed the outer sections, which contained common Dou Techniques and cultivation histories available to all clan members. My goal lay deeper within. I found a second, sealed door, and after presenting the token to the guard within, I was granted access to the restricted archives.
This room was smaller, colder, and held an air of true antiquity. These were the clan's most precious records: detailed financial histories, personal journals of past clan leaders, hand-drawn maps of the surrounding region, and genealogical charts that went back centuries.
My hunt began. I was not looking for a Dou Technique or a secret cultivation method. I was a ghost, and I was hunting the trail of another ghost. I was searching for any mention, however veiled or obscure, of black-robed figures, strange spiritual phenomena, or unexplained disappearances in the history of Wu Tan City.
The work was slow and painstaking. I spent hours sifting through crumbling scrolls and delicate bamboo slips, my fingers quickly becoming coated in a fine layer of dust. Most of the texts were mundane: centuries-old records of trade disputes with the Primer Clan, bitter accounts of skirmishes with the Galeo Clan's ancestors, the proud memoirs of past Dou Shi experts.
I used my "Soul-Guiding Hand" as a divining rod. As I moved through the archives, I would gently scan the shelves, feeling for any residual spiritual energy. Most of the scrolls were inert, their authors' essences long faded. But occasionally, a scroll would hum with a faint, lingering power, the echo of a powerful ancestor who had poured their very soul into their writing. I prioritized these texts, hoping for a clue.
After what felt like an entire day of fruitless searching, I found it. Tucked away in a dusty, forgotten corner was a thin, leather-bound journal. It was unmarked, but the spiritual residue clinging to it was surprisingly strong. The author had been a powerful expert. I opened it, and the elegant, slightly faded script identified the author as Xiao He, a Xiao Clan ancestor from nearly three hundred years ago. He was not a warrior or a clan leader. He was an explorer and a cartographer.
I scanned through the journal. It was mostly filled with detailed descriptions of the flora and fauna of the Demonic Beast Mountain Range, along with beautifully drawn maps. But then, in the final pages, I found an entry that made my blood run cold. The script was hurried, shaky, a stark contrast to the meticulous writing in the rest of the journal.
Have returned from the Azure Serpent Gorge, a week's journey deeper into the mountain range than any of our hunters dare to venture. The expedition was a failure. The rare Starfall Ore I sought was not there. But I found something else. Something… wrong.
There is a valley, a day's travel north of the gorge, that is not on any map. The beasts shun it. The very air is still and silent, filled with a cold that has nothing to do with the temperature. It is a cold that devours the soul. I was drawn by a strange… pressure. A spiritual weight that pressed down on my very being.
I concealed myself and crept closer. In the center of the valley is a great, collapsed cavern. And before it… I saw them. Three figures, clad in robes as black as the void, their faces hidden by strange, swirling mists. They were performing some manner of ritual, their hands outstretched towards the collapsed cave, chanting in a language I did not recognize. The spiritual pressure emanating from that cave… it was ancient, terrifying. A slumbering god of death. I felt as though if I were to look upon it, my very soul would be unmade.
One of the figures turned its head, its gaze sweeping over my hiding place. I do not know if it saw me, but a terror unlike anything I have ever known seized me. I fled. I ran for two days without stopping. I have marked the location on my private map, not as a destination, but as a warning. A place of absolute evil. I pray that no descendant of our Xiao Clan ever sets foot in that valley of silent shadows.
I closed the journal, my hands trembling. This was it. A concrete location. A historical precedent. A chilling confirmation that the Hall of Souls' presence in this region was not a recent development. They had a long-standing interest here, a secret hidden deep within the mountains. Jia Lie Bi was not just an agent; he was the local warden of a slumbering, ancient horror.
I carefully tucked the journal into my robes and walked out of the dusty, silent library, blinking in the bright afternoon sun. Ming was still there, leaning against the pillar, looking as if not a moment had passed. He pushed himself off the pillar as I approached, his eyes questioning.
"Find what you were looking for?" he asked.
I didn't answer immediately. I turned my gaze towards the distant, hazy silhouette of the Demonic Beast Mountain Range that loomed on the horizon, a sleeping giant that now seemed infinitely more menacing.
"I think," I said, my voice a low, grim whisper, "I've found their nest."