Yang Qing froze for several seconds, unable to move forward or backward. Fear... and sothing else, kept him rooted to the spot, with the source of his paralysis only a few inches away.
As it turned out, there was indeed soone in that hut, which explained the beads of sweat forming on his forehead and why his heart seed ready to jump out of his chest to join his cowardly spirit—no doubt mocking him for ignoring its wisdom earlier.
"Move, legs! Move!!!" roared Yang Qing, chastising his body that had, yet again, failed him. His legs refused to move, and his eyes refused to blink, forever fixing their gaze on the figure before him.
Before him, and at the heart of his current predicant, sat a young man in his early thirties, dressed in purple-black robes that glead with the charm of a clear, blue night sky.
In his current state, Yang Qing could hardly appreciate the robe's splendor. Under different circumstances, it would have likely invoked a sense of peace, its tranquil aura soothing him. But as a trespasser, a coward, and a traumatized, paranoid individual trapped in an unfamiliar place filled with strange, mysterious things, all the robe did was amplify his anxiety tenfold.
As soone accustod to the finer things in life, but too poor to afford it or too stingy to use his funds on it, Yang Qing's mind reflexively noted the robe's quality, even in his tense state. Though it fell slightly short of the Blue Universe robe, it was close enough—aning the robe before him was likely of saint-grade quality.
Trespassing into a strange hut, in an unfamiliar place, and finding a mysterious figure casually wearing a saint-grade robe, Yang Qing couldn't help but curse his luck.
The only silver lining in all of this was that the mysterious figure appeared to be in deep ditation, or sothing like it. Yang Qing couldn't tell. Whether it was his fear or the strange effect of this place, he couldn't sense anything from the figure, much like with the hut and the elm tree with parchnt-like leaves.
The mysterious person before him sat in a lotus position, with an open, worn-out book resting neatly between his palms. He had long, flowing white hair that was as white as snow, and possessed a luster so delicate that it reflected the partial rays of the sun filtering through so of the holes in the roof.
In the mortal world, there was a saying that "The robes maketh the man", but in this case, it couldn't have been further from the truth. Despite wearing what was likely a saint-grade robe, it felt as though the figure was doing the robe a favor, rather than the other way around.
It pained Yang Qing to admit this, but that figure was by far the most handso person he had ever seen. Even the likes of Xia Boqin paled in comparison. Just sitting there, he evoked the charm and grandeur of a banished immortal or a favored son of heaven.
Yang Qing never imagined looks could reach such a level, but he wasn't in the mood to envy or secretly curse at him, as he typically did when eting soone more handso than himself. Right now, he had no such luxury. His body refused to move, and though he desperately wanted to flee, he couldn't, for reasons unbeknownst to him.
He felt sothing similar to his earlier clash with the silver light as if so formless power were holding him in place.
After repeated failures, Yang Qing decided to surrender to the situation, as struggling had proven futile. The mont he did, it felt as though the chains that bound him had shattered, and he was free again, his mobility restored.
Yang Qing wanted to turn and flee imdiately, but he didn't. He stood still, a strange calm slowly washing over him as he took in the figure before him, then glanced around at the surroundings of the hut.
As small as it appeared from the outside, the interior matched. There were none of those wondrous displays Yang Qing had read about—where a small ring could hide an entire mysterious realm filled with mountains, rivers, trees, and all manner of life.
The hut looked like a normal hut on the inside if one ignored the scroll tubings that ford its walls, the old parchnts used for roofing, and the mysterious figure within it wearing a saint-grade robe. Or the fact that Yang Qing couldn't sense the hut with his palace sense.
If all that was ignored, it seed like a typical hut on the inside. It spanned about ten ters in diater, with no furniture—just walls, a roof, and velvet grass flooring that complented the rustic charm of the scroll tubings, stained dark brown with age. The old parchnts used for roofing were brittle, mottled with uneven yellow hues, and peeling in places, allowing beams of light to filter through.
But now that Yang Qing was calm enough to look around, he sensed sothing within those old, worn parchnts and the weathered tubings. At first, he couldn't quite put his finger on what he was sensing, only that there was a vague power within them. However, over ti, that sensation beca clear—not clear enough to decipher, but clear enough to gain a sense of it.
If he were to describe what that power was in one sentence, it would be quiet, boundless wisdom.
He had no idea why he felt that way, only that he did. Even in the vast hallways of the Grand Library of the Order, where he often sensed an insurmountable source of knowledge and wisdom, there was always a sense of margin, as though it had an end or limit. But here, that end or limit, he couldn't feel it. It seed to stretch endlessly.
The Grand Dao was said to be boundless and infinite, and Yang Qing felt that sa presence emanating from the scroll tubings and the weathered parchnts above.
"Who is he?" Yang Qing wondered, his gaze falling on the young man seated calmly at the hut's center. His eyes were closed, his expression tranquil, and an old, blank book with no writing resting on his palm.
Whatever presence the hut had, that boundlessness seed to dim around him, like he was an outlier to it, which only served to deepen Yang Qing's curiosity about him.
Eventually, Yang Qing sighed and turned to leave the hut. As curious as he was, he knew better than to wake the man or linger in his space. He had already thanked his lucky stars that nothing had happened to him and didn't dare to push his luck further. Resolutely, he walked out and headed toward the waterfall just a few ters away.
As for why he didn't leave the area completely, soone able to afford a saint-grade robe was likely to be a powerful figure, maybe a soul formation expert by Yang Qing's guess since he couldn't sense a lick of aura from him, and if that figure was indeed a soul formation expert, then even if he was in deep ditation, with his abilities, he had long sensed Yang Qing's presence, the instant he appeared in this strange place.
Whether he stayed here or returned to the strange elm tree, it wouldn't make much difference, he was still an intruder, and his presence had likely been sensed in either location. He figured it was better to remain nearby and apologize if the man woke up, rather than leave and risk appearing as though he were trying to hide.
Cowardly as he was, there were monts that forced him to act against his better judgnt—and this was one of them.
Deciding to stay nearby, Yang Qing let the cool, refreshing sensation of the waterfall soothe his mind and steady his rapidly beating heart. Once he felt sufficiently calm, he retrieved the parchnt from the strange elm tree to admire its contents briefly before storing it away again.
Even in his earlier trance-like state, Yang Qing had kept track of how much ti he had spent at Sage Mountain. By his estimate, he had about eight hours left before his ti was up. Though he didn't know what this place was, it seed likely that it had so connection to Sage Mountain.
As he thought of the mountain's na, Yang Qing instinctively glanced back at the hut before refocusing on himself. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind of distractions and began combing through his primary cultivation art, the Universal Resonant Light, alternating between the purple-grade art and his peerless jade physique.
The reason he was given the art in the first place, was because of his physique, as the two had countless overlays with one another. He decided to take advantage of the tranquility of the area to contemplate both.
Strange as this place was, it shared a faint resemblance to Sage Mountain. Unlike Sage Mountain, it wasn't brimming with countless Daos or wondrous truths, but it had a soothing quality that quieted the soul and mind, making it easier to concentrate.
Yang Qing reflected on how, even in monts of panic, he had been able to calm himself quickly and process his actions with a clear head. While his training played a role, he sensed a subtle, traceless power aiding him. He hoped to harness that power to deepen his understanding of his Dao.
Yang Qing's guess proved correct as he quickly entered a state of deep contemplation. Hours passed as he ditated on his journey so far, reflecting on his sense of self and the intricacies of his peerless jade physique. Yet, his thoughts continually returned to the question Green Cocoon had posed to him.
What was vitality to him? At the ti, his answer had been simple: survival. The imprint of survival on the living. Since then, he had often returned to that question. While his core answer remained largely unchanged, his perspective on the concept had steadily deepened. This broadened his understanding and, in turn, refined how he applied his jade physique and purple-grade cultivation art.
Through this process, his mastery over the spells and techniques tied to both his physique and cultivation art grew increasingly refined.
For the full eight hours, Yang Qing contemplated these two aspects while weaving Green Cocoon's question into his reflections. Though he hadn't made any tangible breakthroughs, he could feel his mind renewed and subtly transford, as if it had risen to a higher plane of clarity.
With a minute or so remaining, Yang Qing rose and reflexively stretched his hands as he looked around.
"How do I get out of here?" he muttered, slowly stepping away from the waterfall. Inwardly, he hoped that the purple guard, Wei Shen, would notice his absence when the appointed ti arrived and co looking for him, ensuring his escape from this mysterious place.
No sooner had he ntioned getting out than one of the old parchnts on the roof shimred faintly, detaching itself and gliding gently toward Yang Qing.
Having learned his lesson from before, Yang Qing knew better than to retaliate. Instead, he stretched out his palm, allowing the parchnt to land softly, like a swallow returning to its nest.
Yang Qing's pupils trembled as a familiar rune appeared on the surface of the parchnt—a teleportation rune. The surprises didn't end there. One of the scroll tubings unfastened itself from the wall and flew toward him, settling gently in his palm, just like the parchnt.
Yang Qing stared at the scroll tubing, puzzled about its purpose, but stored it away nonetheless.
"Thank you for your care, Senior," Yang Qing said, bowing deeply toward the hut. As expected, there was no response.
With a mix of excitent and nervousness, Yang Qing infused a bit of his spiritual qi into the parchnt, activating the rune. In an instant, his figure vanished, leaving the strange area as quiet as it had been before.
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