From Zhuge Yu Jin's Perspective
The silence of the Zhuge clan's ancestral library was not mere absence of voices—it was a silence that carried weight. An ancient mantle, woven by generations of cultivators who had left their mark upon those shelves. It came not from elaborate formations or restrictive seals, but from age itself. As if the shelves, heavy with scrolls and polished jade, guarded not only techniques but memories.
Every scroll, every tome, was a fragment of the clan's history: techniques crafted by forgotten elders, spoils of wars where blood had become legacy, discoveries wrested from nature like forced confessions. They were not just instructions for cultivation. They were testimonies. Scars.
Yu Jin walked calmly between the rows.
At the back of the room, far from the light spilling through the tall windows, stood a polished stone table. There, Yu Jin sat. The bench creaked as if protesting against the weight of yet another generation. Before him, the scroll of the mental cultivation technique lay open.
He breathed deeply, absorbing the heaviness of air steeped in old ink.
And in that moment, with his eyes fixed on the scroll, Yu Jin was not just a curious disciple. He was an heir, testing himself before the invisible judgment of his ancestors.
"The dragon is not made of flame alone.Its mind is the wall that contains the fire.Without the wall, there is no dragon—only ashes."
The introduction spoke of taming one's own nature, molding aggressiveness into something usable—but not so domesticated as to lose spirit. The writing was direct, without needless metaphor, as if the author cared little for impressing and much for instructing.
The following pages described breathing postures, each tied to a "ring" of mental pressure.The first taught how to lock the heart into the rhythm of breath, preventing emotional outbursts in battle.The second, how to channel Qi like water forced through dikes, to be released all at once without leakage.The third… made him pause.
"A mind hardened can still shatter.Harden it like forged steel—not like tempered glass.Accept cracks, so long as you know where they are."
Yu Jin smiled faintly. There was something honest in those words. They promised no perfection. Only control—control enough that the flame would not consume its wielder before it reached the enemy.
He kept reading.The training demanded long periods of stillness, combined with the physical strain of enduring high heat. The cultivator was to simulate, with his own body, the weight and warmth of a dragon coiled around the heart. With each advance, more layers were added—until the mind alone could contain the energy of a full eruption without letting a single spark escape.
Yu Jin pictured himself practicing it… and realized his decision was already made.It was exactly what he needed. Not for the tournament, but for himself.
He turned another page.And another.
The text moved to the final stage, where the practitioner would release all accumulated power in a single moment—not as chaotic explosion, but as a calculated strike. The kind of method that could turn an ordinary saber technique into an execution that shook the ground.
But then… he reached the last page.
The final stroke of calligraphy did not end the text.Beneath it, in the lower right corner, was a name.
The brush had been firm, the ink aged, but the weight of the stroke…Yu Jin felt as if each letter had been carved into the parchment, not merely painted.
Jiang Wei Long
The world seemed to narrow around him.It was not just any name.
His father.
Yu Jin stared at the name.
"…Father." The word escaped low, almost inaudible.
Countless questions crowded his mind.
Did anyone else know that his father had created a mental cultivation technique?
Did his brother know—that's why he sent him here?Why had Mind of the Fire Dragon been left forgotten behind the last shelf of the library?And… had his father written it for himself… or perhaps for him?
After all, the technique seemed to describe perfectly everything Yu Jin felt.
He closed the scroll carefully, without taking his eyes off the name.It didn't matter if the technique was difficult, dangerous, or time-consuming.He would master it.
Not only because it was perfect for containing his fire.But because… it was now his father's legacy.
The Subtle Pearl elder's voice broke the silence, echoing in Yu Jin's mind with a low, heavy tone, as if each word had to cross centuries before reaching him:
"This technique… is not of mortal standard."
Yu Jin's head snapped up at once, fingers still resting on the scroll's aged leather.
"What do you mean, Senior?" he asked, tone calm, though carrying the tension of someone who already knew the answer would not be simple.
The elder did not respond immediately.A long, heavy silence followed, in which Yu Jin almost felt his presence as a motionless shadow behind his thoughts.
When he finally spoke, it was as one choosing every word with care.
"Some things… are better left unknown for now."
Yu Jin's brow furrowed slightly, but he did not interrupt.
"You have only just begun your path," the elder continued. "Knowing too much now could hinder you. In time, you will understand."
The words carried no harshness, but the weight of truth that admitted no argument. Yet the elder went on, as if leaving something in exchange for what he had withheld:
"Know only two things."
Yu Jin leaned forward, listening.
"First… if you can master this technique, you won't need to replace it anytime soon—if ever." The voice deepened. "Second… if this technique was created by your father… then, like your brother, he was no ordinary man."
Silence followed.
Yu Jin lowered his gaze to the scroll again, feeling its weight had grown. Much heavier.
He did not respond immediately to the Subtle Pearl elder.
He remembered his parents' disappearance…The memory came in fragments, like images locked in fog. It had begun soon after his younger sister Lian Yin had fallen into her coma.
At first, the clan believed they had departed seeking a cure—scouring distant lands, consulting spiritual doctors and hermit masters. It had made sense… until time passed.
When a year went by without news, the murmur of hope turned into awkward silence.And that silence slowly hardened into bitter certainty:They had fallen. Somewhere, in some battle, or perhaps swallowed by some ruin.
Yu Jin had never wanted to believe it.But… nothing had ever offered proof otherwise.Nothing—until now.
If this book, written by his father, was so extraordinary that even the spirit of an ancestral treasure praised it… then Jiang Wei Long, his father, could not have fallen so easily.
A man who could create such a technique… did not vanish without a trace.
No—Yu Jin would only believe it when he saw it with his own eyes.
He rose to his feet.
"I must grow stronger, Senior," he said, voice steady. "Much stronger than I am now."
There was a brief pause, then the elder's deep, satisfied laugh resounded in his mind:
"Good. Your resolve is firm." The tone carried approval—but also a subtle challenge, as if to say resolve alone would not suffice.
Yu Jin gave no reply.He stored the scroll carefully, gathered the other techniques he had chosen, and adjusted the saber on his back.He had much to train… and little time.
He turned to leave the library, his steps steady. And with every beat of his heart, the same certainty echoed:No matter how long it took, he would find the answers to all his questions. And if anyone stood in his way, they would have to ask his fists whether they were capable of stopping him.