Chapter Fourteen: Martial Scripture Pavilion

The next day, sunlight pierced through the thick fog enshrouding the small town, casting dappled spots of light on the branches and leaves of the trees, which in turn scattered across the ground through the gaps.

“Bang, bang… bang!”

“Ah Cheng, hurry up and open the door! Today’s the day the Scripture Pavilion opens!”

Inside the small cottage, a handsome young man rubbed his sleepy eyes, recalling the candlelit conversation he’d had with his grandfather the previous night. A smile involuntarily curved his lips. After a quick wash, dressed in a simple white robe, he pulled open the door.

Standing at the threshold was Ye Ming. Catching sight of Ye Cheng, Ye Ming grinned mischievously. “Heh, that’s more like it! Sleep until you wake naturally, that’s how life should be. Why wear yourself out with constant training? Sometimes you have to rest and adjust, you know?”

“Enough nonsense, let’s go.” Hearing Ye Ming’s words, Ye Cheng rolled his eyes, a few dark lines appearing on his face. He ignored the other’s complaints, clasped his hands behind his head, and strolled off toward the Martial Scripture Pavilion with Ye Ming in tow.

At the heart of the Ye family compound stood a towering building, several dozen yards high. Sunlight glinted off the undried droplets on the eaves, dazzling passersby. Above the entrance hung a horizontal plaque inscribed with three characters—“Martial Scripture Pavilion”—the calligraphy chaotic yet imbued with profound mystery. A closer look gave the illusion of the weight of ages. In front of the building, dozens of young men and women stood waiting.

Most cast yearning glances at the Martial Scripture Pavilion before them. As members of the Ye family, everyone here understood well: the pavilion had three floors, each housing countless advanced martial arts and techniques. The first floor alone contained tens of thousands of basic martial arts manuals—any one of which would make an ordinary martial artist green with envy.

In this small town, it was rare even for wealthy families to possess a single entry-level martial arts manual of recognized grade. Most martial artists practiced unclassified, piecemeal techniques, and their future achievements were correspondingly limited. Only a dominant power like the Ye family could amass such a trove of martial knowledge for its descendants to study.

The second floor housed intermediate martial arts manuals and techniques, though far fewer in number than those on the first floor. After all, a single intermediate technique could allow a talented practitioner to reach the peak of the Blood Qi Realm. Anyone with such power would be considered a notable figure in Luoyang Town; even among the Ye and Luo families, many elders had only reached the Blood Qi peak.

One could imagine the value of these techniques—over generations, the Ye family had only managed to collect a few hundred.

The third floor was the true heart of the pavilion, containing advanced martial arts and techniques that most people could only dream of glimpsing in a lifetime. Yet here, there were dozens of such manuals. The full depth of a great family’s heritage was on display. Of course, this third floor was open only to the family’s upper echelons—patriarch, elders, and the like. Ordinary disciples had no chance to enter, unless granted special permission.

Generally, the first floor was always open to the Ye family’s younger generation, but today, the second floor would be open as well.

“Look, Ye Cheng is here!”

Suddenly, someone called out, and all eyes turned to the end of a small path. In the next moment, gazes burning with anticipation were tinged with envy. Two figures had appeared at the far end; one was slim, with hands pillowed behind his head, completely unconcerned by the attention of the crowd. He walked at an unhurried, lazy pace. Everyone immediately recognized this recent rising star—Ye Cheng.

“Wow, to reach such strength in just two months—he’s a monster,” someone murmured, staring at him as if he were a prodigy.

“I heard from the Third Elder that the technique Ye Cheng used to defeat Ye Wei was a high-level intermediate martial art. Just thinking about that power makes me jealous.”

“Yeah, if only I could have a technique like that…”

All at once, a flurry of discussion broke out, shattering the previous silence.

Unlike the others, Ye Wei was biting his lip in the crowd, his eyes fixed on Ye Cheng with hatred. Judging by his appearance, the wounds from their previous battle had already healed, and his arrogance had been tempered somewhat by the blow he’d received.

Creak—

As Ye Cheng entered the crowd, the heavy and ancient doors of the Scripture Pavilion swung open with a groan. An elderly figure stepped out slowly. It was Elder Ye Mo, the pavilion’s guardian and the oldest senior in the Ye family.

With slow steps, Elder Ye Mo’s withered face betrayed no emotion as he emerged from the pavilion. Though already a hundred years old, he did not seem decrepit.

His cloudy old eyes swept over the assembled youths, and a timeworn voice sounded in their ears.

“Today, the Ye family’s Martial Scripture Pavilion opens. You may enter the second floor to select an intermediate martial technique. After registering with me, you may take the manual out for three days to transcribe your own copy. Return the original within three days. The second floor will be open for only three hours; if you fail to choose within that time, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for the next opportunity.

“Remember, before leaving, register your chosen technique with me—otherwise, it will be considered theft.”

With these instructions, Elder Ye Mo waved his hand. “Go on in. Remember, only three hours.”

At his words, many could no longer restrain themselves and surged toward the pavilion. Watching people disappear inside one after another, Ye Ming grew impatient and turned to Ye Cheng. “Ah Cheng, I’m going in first!”

With that, he hurried inside.

Intermediate techniques held great allure for Ye Cheng as well. Every time he asked Old Mu for a new technique, he was put off with the excuse that the available ones were too low-level or out of stock, leaving Ye Cheng helpless. As a result, his offensive techniques were meager—only “Thunder Dash” was worth mentioning.

“I wonder when Teacher will awaken,” Ye Cheng muttered with a wry smile. The crowd that had packed the area moments ago had vanished; only Elder Ye Mo remained, watching him intently. Ye Cheng hurriedly cupped his fists in a respectful salute and then entered the pavilion.

Watching Ye Cheng’s disappearing figure, a gentle smile softened Elder Ye Mo’s withered face. “This boy really does resemble Ye Shan in his youth.”