The sun was high now, a blazing disc of gold that banished the last remnants of the morning chill. Its rays poured through the tall, latticed windows of the Xiao Clan Archives, illuminating the floating dust motes that danced in the shafts of light like suspended memories.
The library was vast, a testament to a time when the Xiao Clan had more coin and influence. Rows of dark oak shelves stretched upward, filled with scrolls, bound tomes, and bamboo slips. The air smelled of dry parchment, ink, and the sweet, decaying scent of old paper.
It was quiet, but not empty. A few older disciples sat at the reading tables, studying low-rank technique theories, while a handful of adults—mostly clan deacons—browsed the administrative records.
Yoriichi pushed the heavy wooden door open.
Creeeeak.
The sound cut through the silence.
At the front of the hall, behind a large mahogany desk, an elderly man was dozing off, his head propped up on his hand. This was Elder Shu, the keeper of the archives. He was a man of middling cultivation but sharp memory, who had spent more years sniffing book mold than training his Dou Qi.
The creak of the door snapped his eyes open. He blinked, adjusting his spectacles, and peered at the newcomer.
When he saw the robed figure of Xiao Ning, Elder Shu's expression instantly soured. His gaze hardened, and he let out a long, weary sigh, slumping back into his chair.
"Great," the Elder muttered under his breath. "The little ancestor is here."
In the past, Xiao Ning only visited the archives for one reason: to find the 'Cultured Arts' section—a polite euphemism for illustrated books of court beauties and erotic poetry hidden in the back shelves. It was a shameless habit that Elder Shu detested but couldn't stop, given the boy's status as the First Elder's grandson.
"Young Master Ning," Elder Shu drawled, his voice dripping with tired sarcasm. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Have you exhausted your collection? Have you come to search for new 'pictures of beauty' to inspire your... nightly studies?"
He waved a dismissive hand toward the back corner. "You know where the trash is. Just don't get the pages sticky."
Yoriichi stopped in front of the desk. He didn't flush with embarrassment, nor did he sneak a glance toward the forbidden section. He stood straight, his bandaged hands resting calmly at his sides, his expression as still as a frozen lake.
"Elder," Yoriichi replied, his voice steady and polite. "I wish to learn the geography of the Jia Ma Empire and the Magic Beast Mountain Range. I am also looking for the general history of the continent."
Elder Shu froze. He cleaned his ear with a pinky finger, frowning.
"Geography? History?" He squinted at Yoriichi, looking for the jest. "You? You want to read about dirt and dead people?"
"If you would excuse me," Yoriichi said, bowing slightly. "Guidance would be appreciated."
The Elder stared at him for a long moment. The brat wasn't sneering. He wasn't acting shifty. He looked... serious.
"Huh," Elder Shu grunted, sitting up straighter. "Strange wind blowing today. Very well. History is in Aisle 3, left side. Geography and Maps are in Aisle 9, near the back window."
He pointed a bony finger. "And keep it quiet. People are actually reading here. Don't make a scene."
"Thank you, Elder," Yoriichi nodded.
He walked past the desk, his footsteps silent on the wooden floor.
Elder Shu watched him go, scratching his beard in confusion. "Did he hit his head during the tournament? Or did he finally grow a brain? Strange..."
Yoriichi reached Aisle 3.
The shelves here were covered in a thicker layer of dust than the others. In a world where personal strength was god, few cared about the history of empires.
He scanned the titles. Chronicles of the Jia Ma Empire, The Rise of the Sects, The Fall of the Southern Clans.
His eyes landed on a black, leather-bound book titled: The Origins of the Xiao Clan.
He pulled it out. The leather cracked slightly from disuse.
He opened it.
Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.
The sound of pages turning began.
It wasn't the slow, leisurely pace of a scholar. It was a rapid-fire rhythm. Yoriichi's eyes scanned the pages with the precision of the Transparent World. He didn't read words; he absorbed paragraphs in blocks.
Two young disciples who had wandered into the aisle to look for a quiet place to chat stopped. They stared at Yoriichi.
"Is he... just fanning himself with the book?" one whispered.
"He's skimming. Pretending to be smart," another giggled. "Let's go, it's weird."
They turned and left, disturbed by the bizarre intensity radiating from the Young Master.
Yoriichi ignored them. His mind was constructing a timeline.
"The Xiao Clan..."
According to the records, the clan hadn't always been in Wu Tan City. Centuries ago, it was a titan. The text was vague, referring to a "Glorious Era" where the Xiao name commanded respect across the entire continent, not just this empire.
"We migrated," Yoriichi analyzed. "Forced migration. A decline in power. We were chased out of the Central Plains to this remote corner."
He closed the book.
"A fallen legacy. Much like the Demon Slayer Corps—fighting a war that the world has forgotten, slowly dwindling until only a few remain."
The only clue he found was that the Xiao Clan was potentially older than the Jia Ma Empire itself. This antiquity suggested hidden secrets, perhaps dormant bloodlines or sealed artifacts.
He placed the book back and picked up another thick tome: The Structure of Powers in the North-Western Region.
Thwip. Thwip.
He absorbed the data.
The Jia Ma Empire: A medium-sized empire protected by the Royal Family and their guardian, Jia Xing Tian. The Three Great Clans: The Mu Clan (Loyalists), The Primer/Miteer Clan (Wealth and Auctions), and the Nalan Clan (Military and Politics).
"Nalan..." Yoriichi's finger paused on the page.
He read about the Misty Cloud Sect (Yun Lan Sect).
It was a behemoth. Situated just outside the capital, it was an independent power that rivaled, and perhaps exceeded, the Royal Family. Its leader, Yun Yun, was a Dou Huang. Its previous leader, Yun Shan, was rumored to be a Dou Zong.
Yoriichi closed his eyes, accessing the memories of the recent past—the event that had shaken the Xiao Clan just a year ago.
The Three Year Agreement.
Nalan Yanran, the young mistress of the Nalan Clan and the direct disciple of the Misty Cloud Sect Leader, had come to annul her engagement to the "cripple" Xiao Yan.
Yoriichi leaned against the bookshelf, one hand holding the book, the other resting on his forehead.
"Nalan Yanran..." he thought. "At fifteen, children are fiery. Freedom is dear to them. She did not know Xiao Yan. Why should a phoenix marry a fallen dragon? From her perspective, her actions were logical."
He recalled the scene from the memories. She had come with compensation. Tier 4 and Tier 5 pills. Treasures that could have elevated the Xiao Clan's strength significantly.
But Xiao Yan had refused. He had written a letter of divorce in blood. He had shouted, "Thirty years east, thirty years west, do not bully the young for being poor!"
It was poetic. It was hot-blooded.
It was also terrifyingly reckless.
"How did he have the temper to challenge them?" Yoriichi analyzed coldly, dissecting the strategy.