The rainy season in the Sanctuary City of Drifting Leaves had a way of turning the West District into an ink wash painting. The grey basalt streets shone like glass beneath the steady downpour, and the weeping willows hung low, heavy with moisture.
Inside the basent of the Archives of Forgotten Records, the dampness was a living thing. It crept up the stone walls and clung to the rough hemp blanket of Shen Jin’s cot.
Shen Jin sat cross-legged, his upper body bare. If any master from the grand Inner Ring sects were to look at him right now, they would be utterly blindsided. His chest and shoulders, though seemingly thin, possessed a tight, crystalline density. Beneath his skin, three distinct glowing rings of pale twilight-blue energy were slowly revolving around his torso.
This was the practical application of the Vanguard ridian Scripture’s second volu: Kinetic Layering.
He took a deep, asured breath, letting the rings dissolve back into his ridians. The first two seals of his Qi were entirely stabilized. His foundation was pristine, completely unmarred by the frantic, explosive shortcuts taken by average cultivators who relied on cheap spiritual pills.
A soft knock rattled the heavy oak door at the top of the basent stairs.
Shen Jin instantly dropped his shoulders, allowing his spine to slump into the familiar, submissive curve of a fragile stable boy. He pulled on his frayed grey tunic, rubbed his eyes to simulate a groggy morning awakening, and shuffled toward the stairs.
"Coming! I'm coming!" he called out, his voice cracking slightly as he unlocked the heavy bolt.
Old ng stood at the top of the landing. The old archivist was dressed in his standard ink-stained robes, but the long bamboo pipe he usually chewed on was unlit. His single clear eye was fixed on the street outside the library's reinforced glass windows.
"The rain has stopped the common traders from setting up their stalls today, brat," ng said, his raspy voice dropping into a lower register. "But so guests don't care about the mud. Take this copper token. Head down to the herbalist shop on Third Willow Lane and buy three ounces of dried Soul-Calming Grass. Don't stop to look at the gambling houses."
Shen Jin caught the cheap copper token, putting on a confused, blinking expression. "Soul-Calming Grass? Is your headache back, Master ng? I can run fast, I promise."
"Just go," ng grunted, turning his back and walking toward the mahogany counter. "And take the rear alley path. The main road is slippery today."
"Yes, sir!"
Shen Jin grabbed his oilskin umbrella and rushed out the side door, letting it slam loudly behind him to maintain his clumsy, uncoordinated profile.
The mont he stepped into the narrow, shadow-drenched rear alley, the naive look left his face. He didn't run. Instead, he dropped into a weightless, flowing stride. His boots touched the wet cobblestones without making a single splashing sound.
The old man isn't sending on an errand because he has a headache, Shen Jin thought, his jaw tightening. He knows Elder Qi’s main enforcers are moving today. He’s deliberately clearing out of the splash zone.
He paused beneath the overhanging eaves of a rotted wooden granary, resting his hand against the damp brick wall. He executed a minor breath, channeling a microscopic wisp of twilight Qi down through his heel into the city's stone foundation.
Vanguard Pulse: Echo-Location.
Hum.
An invisible, high-frequency vibration rippled through the earth, throwing a perfect three-dinsional blueprint of the surrounding three blocks directly into his mind's eye.
The map crystallized. The herbalist shop on Third Willow Lane was completely empty. But the periter of the library was a different story.
Six distinct, highly structured life signatures had completely cordoned off the building. They weren't low-tier thugs like Iron-Tooth. These n moved with synchronized, martial efficiency, their internal pathways humming with refined, liquid Qi.
And standing directly at the library’s front entrance was a signature that felt like a mass of twisted, thorny vines—dense, suffocating, and pulsing with the distinctive frequency of a Third Seal cultivator.
Elder Qi, Shen Jin identified, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. The branch head of the Flowing Jade Chamber. He didn't just send a squad; he ca himself to make an example out of Old ng.
If Shen Jin followed Old ng’s orders and stayed away, the old librarian would be forced to draw his unadorned iron sword. Even if ng was a hidden master, his internal energy paths were severely decayed by age and old injuries. A full-scale battle between two high-tier cultivators would rip the West District Library to pieces, drawing the imdiate attention of the Sanctuary City’s Grand Guard.
If the Grand Guard investigated the ruins, Absolute Obscurity wouldn't save the library from being seized under martial law. Shen Jin's perfect sanctuary would be obliterated.
I have 10 Vanguard Points left in my reserve, Shen Jin calculated, opening the translucent system nu beneath the shadow of his umbrella. I need to tip the scales before the first strike is thrown.
He accessed the Vanguard Exchange Shop.
🏪 VANGUARD EXCHANGE SHOP (TIER 2)
[Deflection Array Seals (Set of 3)] — Cost: 15 VP
[Mortal Shroud Mist (Disposable Cloud)] — Cost: 10 VP
(Deploys a localized, non-magical condensation that dampens spiritual senses within a 15-ter radius for 3 minutes. Appears entirely identical to common mountain fog.)
[Shatter-Trigger Mark] — Cost: 10 VP
Purchase the Mortal Shroud Mist, Shen Jin commanded.
[Transaction Complete. 10 Vanguard Points deducted.]
[Current Balance: 0 VP.]
[Item stored in System Inventory. Ready for imdiate deploynt.]
Shen Jin closed the screen. He turned back toward the library, his figure instantly blurring as he activated [Glinting Shadow Steps], phasing through the deepest shadows of the narrow alleyway like an uncatchable ghost.
anwhile, at the front entrance of the Archives of Forgotten Records, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense.
The heavy oak doors had been thrown open, letting the cold, damp wind howl through the rows of ancient bookshelves. Elder Qi stood in the center of the lobby, his long, erald-green robes embroidered with the silver sigils of the Flowing Jade Chamber. His hands were tucked into his wide sleeves, but his fingernails were dyed a dark, poisonous green. Around his boots, thin, ghostly tendrils of green Qi—the Vine-Braid Bind—were already slithering across the floorboards like hungry serpents.
"Old ng," Elder Qi said, his voice smooth, high-pitched, and dripping with venomous politeness. "The Flowing Jade Chamber has been very patient with this archive. But when one of my captains returns with his teeth shattered by a 'falling book,' the joke ceases to be amusing. The library will hand over its property deeds today as compensation. Or we will burn these forgotten records to feed the hearth."
Old ng sat perfectly still behind his mahogany counter. The unadorned iron sword lay flat across his lap, hidden beneath the lip of the desk. His single clear eye was unblinking.
"The deeds belong to the city charter, Elder Qi," ng said softly, his hand slowly tightening around the leather hilt of his weapon. "If you want them, go climb the Sanctuary Spire and ask the Grand Elders. Otherwise, step off my floor. You're tracking mud again."
Elder Qi’s face contorted into a cold, murderous sneer. He raised his left hand from his sleeve, his dark green Qi expanding violently as he prepared to summon a wave of suffocating wooden briars to crush the counter.
"Then you can die with your paper, old—"
CRACK-BOOM.
Before Elder Qi could unleash his technique, a sudden, freakish crack of thunder echoed directly above the street. It wasn't standard celestial lightning. A massive, localized gust of freezing mountain mist—thick, white, and entirely impenetrable—erupted through the open doorway, completely swallowing the entire lobby in a matter of seconds.
"What is this?!" one of the enforcers outside shouted, his voice instantly muffled by the dense, heavy condensation. "My spiritual senses... they're completely blind! I can't feel the core lines!"
"Stay in formation!" Elder Qi roared, his green Qi flaring outward to blast the mist away. But the Mortal Shroud Mist wasn't a magical construct; it was a physical, dense atmospheric manipulation. The harder his energy pushed, the more the moisture condensed, turning the room into a blinding white void.
Within that absolute white-out, Shen Jin stepped through the front door.
To Elder Qi and his elite enforcers, he didn't exist. He had zero spiritual signature. He was a shadow moving within a cloud.
Shen Jin didn't draw a weapon. He drifted past the first enforcer, who was frantically swinging his iron mace through the fog. Using the precise calculations of his Danger Sense Radar, Shen Jin’s right hand shot forward like a striking viper.
Vanguard Pulse.
His palm lightly tapped the back of the enforcer's neck. A silent, high-frequency kinetic vibration shot through the man's cervical vertebrae. The strike made no sound, but the enforcer’s eyes instantly rolled back, his nervous system completely short-circuiting as his massive body collapsed soundlessly into the white fog.
One down. Five to go.
Shen Jin turned his gaze toward Elder Qi, who was currently standing just five paces away, blindly channeling his green vines into the empty air. The stable boy's eyes were devoid of fear—only the cold, unyielding precision of the vanguard remained.
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