The "Dilapidated Main Hall" appeared about half an hour after the foundation.
It did not descend from the heavens with celestial music or materialize as a jade palace, much to Lin Yuan's dry disappointment. What happened was far more subdued—and therefore stranger.
A section of ruined stone near the central slab trembled softly. Buried blocks rose a few fingers out of the earth. Dry brush bent aside as if an invisible hand had combed it away. When the process ended, a basic structure stood where there had previously been only rubble.
It was still damaged.
The roof survived only because cracked beams still held. Parts of the walls were missing. The floor was split and uneven. The front door hung from a single hinge. Yet the shape was unmistakable: a rectangular hall, humble, old, and still recognizably the heart of a sect.
Lin Yuan observed it in silence with his arms crossed.
"I suppose you are at least consistent with your descriptions."
"Reward delivered according to sect's initial state," the voice replied.
He went inside.
The interior was even barer. There was no furniture beyond a raised platform at the back and two half-sunken empty shelves along one wall. Even so, the temperature felt different inside. More stable. And the qi in the air, though weak, seemed to move in a more orderly way within the structure.
The interface explained:
Dilapidated Main Hall:
— Administrative center of the sect
— Point of founder authority
— Partial core of sect cohesion
— Requires repair for advanced functions
Lin Yuan walked through the space slowly. He touched a wall. Nudged the cracks in the floor with the tip of his foot. He climbed onto the raised platform.
From there he could see the entrance, the broken lines of the sky through the damaged walls, and beyond them the poor summit of the mountain.
It was not impressive.
It was not grand.
But it was his.
The word landed in his mind with an odd weight.
His.
Not the village's.
Not the Grey Cloud Sect's.
Not some elder's, who could sentence him with a glance.
Not the world's.
His.
That idea, more than the hall itself, shifted something inside his chest.
Not relief.
Not joy.
Not yet.
But a different kind of steadiness. The feeling of someone who, after walking too long in the rain, finally finds a roof broken but solid enough to stop the soaking.
The system interrupted the moment with another mission.
Founder Mission:
— Gather basic resources for the sect
Objective:
1. Stable water
2. Simple food source
3. Minimum habitable zone
4. Identify a useful presence for the sect
Recommended time: seven days
Lin Yuan read the mission and let out a short breath through his nose.
"Of course. You give me ruins and then demand that I turn them into a sect."
"Correction: not given. Granted by initial merit."
"You are insufferably precise."
"Irrelevant observation."
He was getting used to it.
He spent the afternoon inspecting the summit and the immediate surroundings more carefully. On the eastern slope he found a thin spring hidden in a crack. Weak, but constant. It would not support many people, but it would be enough for him and, with effort, a few more. Lower down there were sour wild fruits and signs of mountain rabbits.
It was not abundance.
But neither was it complete barrenness.
The more important discovery came behind the hall.
Half buried in dirt and stone, he found a circular foundation etched with faded geometric lines. He knew almost nothing about formations, but even he could tell it was not decoration.
The medallion vibrated faintly when he touched the edge.
The interface appeared.
Incomplete structure detected:
— Ancient peripheral formation
Status: inactive
Activation requirements: materials, energy, repair
Lin Yuan crouched to study the lines more closely.
"Would it work for defense?"
"Possible."
"For gathering qi?"
"Possible."
"For something else?"
"Possible."
He went silent for a moment.
"You are not helping this conversation."
There was no reply.
Even so, the information was valuable. The mountain had once been something more. Perhaps a minor base. Perhaps an observation point. Perhaps the remains of another sect that had long since vanished. Whatever the truth, it meant the place was not entirely empty.
When the sun began to sink, Lin Yuan returned to the hall and used one of his low-grade spirit stones to practice the Grey Breath Gathering Method again.
The difference was immediate.
The qi sealed inside the stone was much easier to perceive and draw than the qi in the open air. It was still not a great amount, but it allowed him to establish a small, stable flow over several complete breathing cycles. He felt the center of his chest warm, then a low current descend along two still-fragile routes inside him.
The interface updated:
Cultivation status:
— Basic qi intake stabilized
— Preliminary entry into Qi Gathering: not consolidated
Lin Yuan opened his eyes with a restrained gleam.
He had not reached a true realm yet.
He did not have the right to call himself a cultivator by any serious standard.
But he was closer than he had been two days ago.
That night a noise outside the hall woke him.
It was not a large beast. Just a mountain fox sniffing around scraps and roots. Still, it was enough to remind him of a basic truth: the sect might have a name, a hall, and a mission, but if it could not survive its first days, all of this would remain a cruel joke.
At dawn the next day, he climbed down part of the slope in search of more resources. There, while examining an old trail between rocks, the system issued an alert.
Useful presence detected.
Match with current mission: high.
Lin Yuan stopped immediately.
"What kind of useful presence?"
The answer appeared at once.
Damaged living inheritance.
Potential value: very high.
State: degraded. Disguised. Unstable.
Lin Yuan looked around.
He saw no one.
Only rocks, dry brush, and a descending trail leading toward a lower part of the mountain.
"Where?"
The interface marked a direction.
He followed it for several minutes until he reached a small clearing. What he found there was so lacking in dignity that, without the system, he would have assumed the world was mocking him again.
Under a twisted tree slept an old man in a dirty robe, propped up against an empty wine jar.
His hair was grey and disordered, his beard badly kept, and he looked like someone who had spent a very long time wandering roads, drinking cheap wine, and surviving on bad luck.
Lin Yuan watched him without speaking.
The interface insisted:
Relevant target confirmed.
"That one?" he muttered.
"Confirmed."
Lin Yuan looked at the drunken old man again.
If the system had a sense of humor, it hid it very well.
But he was beginning to suspect that, even without one, it was perfectly capable of producing absurd situations.
The old man opened one eye.
Fixed it on Lin Yuan.
And in a rough voice said:
"Boy, if you came to rob me, be disappointed on your own. Others already did that before."
Then he closed his eye again, as if the conversation were over.
Lin Yuan stood still for several seconds.
Then, very slowly, he smiled.
Perhaps the first great resource of the Primordial Firmament Sect would not be a treasure.
Perhaps it would be an old drunk who smelled like wine and was hiding far too well the fact that he was no ordinary vagrant.
And for some reason, that felt appropriate.