By the time the sun dipped behind the jagged spine of the Blue Cloud Peaks, the Pavilion of Dusty Wisdom had settled into a profound, heavy silence. The roaring cheers from the Spring Trial had long since faded, replaced by the chirping of spirit-crickets and the occasional mournful cry of a patrolling crane.
Han Zhao finished his bowl of plain congee—the standard fare for "talentless" servants—and washed the wooden bowl with meticulous care. In the Blue Cloud Sect, status determined everything from the quality of the air you breathed to the spiritual density of your rice. As a bottom-tier Record-Keeper, Han Zhao's rice was mostly husk and grit, but his System didn't seem to mind.
[Task: Consume 'Low-Quality Grain'. Extracting Nutrients...]
[Optimization Complete: Impurities removed. 0.05 units of Vitality gained.]
"Even the food is a cultivation lesson," Han Zhao murmured, wiping his hands on his coarse grey tunic.
In his previous life, he would have complained to HR about the cafeteria. In this life, he was just grateful the rice didn't try to kill him. Everything in this world was aggressive; even the mountain herbs had thorns that could paralyze a bull. Being at the bottom of the food chain meant he wasn't worth the effort of being eaten.
Tonight, Han Zhao wasn't sweeping. Tonight, he had a specific destination: the Basement Archive.
Officially, the basement was off-limits because of "unstable structural integrity." Unofficially, it was the dumping ground for the sect's history—records of disgraced elders, failed branch families, and scrolls so damaged by moisture they were practically bricks of papier-mâché.
Han Zhao lit a small, dim oil lamp. He didn't use a "Light-Ball" spell, even though his System had taught him three variations. A magical light in the basement would be like a flare in the dark to any passing Elder. A flickering oil lamp, however, was just a poor servant doing his chores.
The air grew colder as he descended the spiral stone stairs. The smell of mildew intensified, mixing with the sharp, metallic scent of the "Suppression Formations" etched into the walls.
He reached the heavy iron door at the bottom. It was locked with a rusted mechanism that required a specific key—or, in Han Zhao's case, a very specific vibration.
He placed his palm on the lock. He didn't use strength. Instead, he channeled a thread of his 'Eternal Well-Spring' Qi, making it oscillate at the exact frequency of the tumblers.
Click.
The door groaned open. Han Zhao slipped inside and closed it behind him, his heart thumping with a quiet, controlled excitement.
The basement was a graveyard of wooden crates and iron-bound chests. This was where the Blue Cloud Sect hid its embarrassments.
He walked past a crate labeled 'The Traitorous Elder Mo's Poetry Collection' and stopped in front of a shelf that looked like it hadn't been touched since the sect was founded three centuries ago.
His eyes fell on a black, leather-bound book that was wedged under the leg of a broken table to keep it level.
[System Scan Initiated...]
[Object: 'The Record of Unattributed Deaths'.]
[Status: Heavily Worn. Contains 4,200 entries.]
Han Zhao knelt down. To any other cultivator, this was a useless ledger—a list of names of people who had died during missions or failed experiments. But to a man seeking immortality, the most valuable information wasn't how people lived, but how they died.
He pulled the book out, replacing it with a sturdy rock he'd brought for the purpose.
[Analyzing 'The Record of Unattributed Deaths'...]
[Pattern Detected: 14% of deaths in the last 50 years occurred in 'The Whispering Ravine' due to 'Unknown Shadows'.]
[Pattern Detected: 3% of 'Genius' disciples died of 'Sudden Qi Collapse' shortly after visiting the Sect Leader's private garden.]
Han Zhao's eyes narrowed. This was data. This was the "map" of the sect's hidden dangers. While other disciples studied sword forms to kill enemies, Han Zhao was studying the ledger to see who he should avoid.
'Don't go to the Whispering Ravine'.' Don't accept tea from the Sect Leader.' As he flipped through the brittle pages, the System suddenly flashed a deep, alarming crimson.
[Warning: Extremely High-Level Concealment Detected.]
[Hidden Layer discovered within the back cover of the Ledger.]
Han Zhao's breath hitched. He carefully peeled back the rotting leather of the back cover. Tucked inside was a single sheet of paper made of translucent jade-parchment. It didn't contain words. It contained a drawing of a single, withered tree.
[Processing... Information Fragment found.]
[Title: 'The Breath-Holding Art of the Dead'.]
[Rank: Unknown (Legendary Tier Potential).]
[Description: A technique used by ancient grave-keepers to mimic death so perfectly that even the King of the Underworld cannot find their soul.]
Han Zhao stared at the paper. This wasn't just a "low-key" skill. This was the ultimate survival tool. If he mastered this, he could hide his presence not just from cultivators, but from destiny itself.
"This is it," he whispered. "The ultimate insurance policy."
He spent the next three hours sitting in the dark, cold basement, his eyes scanning the jade-parchment as the System broke the technique down into digestible data packets.
[Learning 'Breath-Holding Art of the Dead'...]
[Progress: 1%... 5%...]
As the progress bar crawled forward, Han Zhao felt his heartbeat slow down. His body temperature dropped. His skin took on a slightly greyish hue. To anyone standing five feet away, he would look like a corpse. Even his "Qi" seemed to vanish into the void.
Suddenly, a heavy vibration shuddered through the ceiling.
BOOM.
The entire Pavilion shook. Dust rained down from the basement rafters. Han Zhao didn't move. He didn't panic. He simply intensified the "Death Breath," becoming as still as the stone floor beneath him.
Above him, he heard the muffled sound of a bell ringing—the Sect Alarm.
Three rings. An intruder.
Han Zhao stayed in the dark, clutching the ledger. He could hear the faint sounds of shouting and the whistle of flying swords cutting through the air outside. A normal protagonist would run toward the sound, looking for an opportunity to save a beauty or steal a treasure from a fallen enemy.
Han Zhao did the opposite. He crawled into a narrow gap between two heavy crates of tax records and pulled a moth-eaten tapestry over himself.
If the sect falls, I'll slip out in the confusion. If the sect wins, I was never here, he thought.
He waited. One hour. Two.
The fighting above seemed to intensify, then move toward the Main Hall. The Scripture Pavilion remained quiet, save for the heavy footsteps of a guard passing by the basement door and then moving on.
[Task: Survival during Sect Crisis (Ongoing).]
[Passive Reward: +2 Days of Longevity for every hour spent in successful concealment.]
Han Zhao smiled in the dark. He was literally earning life by sitting still and being ignored.
By dawn, the bells stopped. The sect had held.
Han Zhao waited another two hours—just to be safe—before crawling out of his hiding spot. He carefully replaced the ledger (minus the jade parchment, which he had "absorbed" into the System), fixed the table leg, and wiped his footprints off the dusty floor with his sleeve.
When he finally climbed back up to the first floor, the morning light was just hitting the windows. The Head Librarian, an ancient, balding man named Elder Lu, was standing by the entrance, looking frazzled and covered in soot.
"Han Zhao!" the old man barked. "Where were you during the chaos? I called for a record-sweep last night!"
Han Zhao fell to his knees, his face pale and his voice trembling with "fear."
"Elder! Forgive me! I... I heard the bells and hid in the furnace room! I thought the world was ending! I'm a coward, Elder! Please don't kick me out!"
Elder Lu looked down at the shivering, pathetic youth. He saw the "Mortal" cultivation level, the pale skin, and the genuine look of terror in Han Zhao's eyes (which was actually just Han Zhao being sleepy).
The Elder sighed, his anger turning to pity. "Get up, you useless boy. At least you're alive. Half the outer disciples on the Third Peak were incinerated by the Cloud-Devouring Sect's fire-bombs. At least in the library, a coward like you can survive a few more years."
"Thank you, Elder! Thank you for your mercy!" Han Zhao cried, bowing his head to hide the fact that he was perfectly calm.
"Go," Lu waved a hand. "The second floor is a mess. Go clean up the fallen scrolls. And try not to die of a heart attack if someone slams a door."
"Yes, Elder. Right away."
Han Zhao picked up his broom and headed for the stairs. As he walked, he checked his status.
[Current Life Expectancy: 74 Years, 126 Days.]
[New Passive Acquired: 'Ghostly Presence' (Tier 1).]
He had gained four days of life and a legendary stealth skill while everyone else was losing their lives for "honor."
Let them have the glory, Han Zhao thought, starting to sweep the second floor. I'll take the years.