The book in Han Yu’s hands was old, unassuming, and bound in cracked leather. As he dusted off its worn surface, his eyes scanned the title on the first page: "Secrets of the Needle Finger Alchemist."
A strange na.
But then...Han Yu’s heart skipped a beat.
He didn’t know about the book, but he did recognize the na ntioned.
"Isn’t the Needle Finger Alchemist a legendary Alchemist venerated by many?" Han Yu had heard Li i ntion about it once.
A skill book containing authentic knowledge of the man’s skills could prove invaluable.
Han Yu glanced around the dusty shop once more, then carefully held the book in his hands, mindful of any sudden interruptions.
This discovery could change everything.
Intrigued, he was just about to open it and read further when—
FWUUMP!
"AUGH! Ghost!" Han Yu cried out, stumbling backward and nearly knocking over a crooked shelf.
Behind him stood a withered old man, dressed in faded grey robes that seed older than the books around him. His wrinkled face, drooping white eyebrows, and cloudy eyes made him look like a ghost who had forgotten how to haunt properly.
That peculiar chill tickled Han Yu’s spine — it was a familiar, dreadful sensation. For a mont, his mind flashed back to that eerie, scary man from long ago... the Ghostly Man who had beaten the Bolt God Fist into him.
The one who demanded he make him food and give him wine then got drunk and blabbered nonsense about him being so immortal emperor.
But no. This man was just incredibly aged, not translucent. And definitely not levitating. Yet.
The old man squinted at him. "You all right there, young fellow?"
Han Yu cleared his throat, brushing off his robes and quickly recovering his composure. "Yes, yes. Just... you startled , sir."
"You here to buy sothing or just fall all over my shop?"
"Looking to buy," Han Yu replied sheepishly, holding up the book he’d found.
The old man leaned in and peered at it, his eyes narrowing with a blend of skepticism and tired nostalgia. "That one, eh? The Secrets of the Needle Finger Alchemist. You want that?"
Han Yu nodded. "Yeah, I was just about to—"
"Hmph," the old man interrupted, waving a bony hand. "You won’t get much use out of it. Nonsense, that book. Gibberish. Hasn’t helped a single soul in all the years it’s been gathering dust here. It’s been bought over twenty tis and every ti the buyers ca back to return it."
Han Yu blinked. "Really?"
"Really. It’s supposed to be so mystical alchemist’s secret cultivation techniques. Talks about using your own ’essence’ to channel your power and poking enemies to death with your fingers or sothing. Pah! A load of nonsense. Sounds more like so drunk cultivator trying to invent acupuncture with extra steps."
That definitely sounded strange. But Han Yu’s curiosity was already ignited. He raised the book slightly. "Mind if I take a quick look anyway?"
The old man shrugged. "Go ahead. Don’t say I didn’t warn you."
Han Yu opened the book and began reading the first few pages. Imdiately, he noticed it was... odd.
The prose wasn’t like any manual he’d read before. It rambled in strange taphors, comparing cultivation essence to "threads of silk spun by the inner soul’s loom," and called the practitioner’s fingers "silver needles forged by fate and faith." It spoke of "essence flow," and using one’s body as a dium to create pathways that weren’t governed by spirit qi, but sothing else entirely. Sothing deeper.
"To pierce the veil of matter, one must cast aside energy and wield the intangible self. A single finger, a needle of intent."
Han Yu tilted his head. "Is this talking about... Spirit Qi? Or...?"
"Nope," the old man muttered from behind him, apparently reading over his shoulder like a nosy ancestor. "Plenty of folks have tried. Pouring Spirit Qi into their fingers until they cramped up like dried chicken legs. Nothing ever ca of it."
"I see..." Han Yu murmured, though his interest was far from diminished. If anything, it was heightened. Sothing about the strange language, the imagery, the philosophy — it felt like sothing that was misunderstood, not necessarily wrong. Maybe it wasn’t fake. Maybe it was just... uncracked.
He recalled Li i — his eccentric, brilliant and crazy alchemist friend back at the sect. If anyone could unravel strange, nonsensical manuals filled with bizarre ideas, it would be her. The girl once brewed a tea that reversed minor internal injuries. On accident.
’If this Needle Finger Alchemist had any shred of truth in his thod, Li i might be the one to find it.’ He thought.
Han Yu closed the book carefully, turning to the old man. "How much?"
"Fifty low-grade spirit stones."
Han Yu’s eyebrows shot up. "Fifty? That’s... steep. This place is about to be closed down, isn’t it? I heard the landlord’s already sent n to evict you."
The old man scratched his neck, unconcerned. "Yep. But I’m still the owner. And I’ve still got dignity. Also, the book might be useless, but it’s old. Old ans valuable."
"That’s not how that works," Han Yu grumbled.
"Worked on you."
"Fair," Han Yu conceded, rubbing his temples.
He gave it another go. "How about twenty-five? And I’ll take that busted floorboard as a bonus."
"No."
"Thirty and you tell if you really think the author was mad or just... ahead of his ti."
"No."
"Forty?"
"No."
"Fine!" Han Yu sighed dramatically, like a man paying ransom for his own stupidity. "Fifty it is. But if this turns out to be complete trash, I’m coming back with my finger wrapped in silk to jab you in the ribs."
"Then I hope you practice well, Needle Boy," the old man cackled.
Han Yu handed over the spirit stones, watching them vanish into a rusty box behind the counter.
He left the shop with the odd little book tucked safely into his robes. As he stepped back into the street, squinting against the afternoon sun, he couldn’t help but feel... hopeful.
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