Chapter Fifty-Two: Reward

“What brings someone from the Hall of Rites here?” Liang Yan wondered, but he still rose and walked outside. As he opened the door, he saw a man in white standing in the courtyard, smiling warmly at him.

“So it’s Senior Brother Wang gracing me with a visit. May I ask what brings you here?”

“Haha, there’s no need for humility, Junior Brother Liang! You’ve just returned from your mission assisting Senior Sister Tang in ridding Yongle Town of those rogue cultivators who opposed our sect, and you’ve uncovered detailed information about their association. Your contributions are truly outstanding! I’ve come to announce the sect’s reward for your deeds.”

As he spoke, Wang Biao’s expression grew solemn and he declared, “Liang Yan, outer sect laborer of the Formation Branch, heed the order: for your meritorious service in defeating our enemies, the sect bestows upon you two hundred lower-grade spirit stones, one mid-grade spirit stone, five Spirit-Gathering Pills, and a ‘Scripture Edict’.”

He produced a green cloth pouch and handed it to Liang Yan, adding, “The pills and the Scripture Edict are inside. You’ll need to collect the spirit stones yourself at the Hall of Rites.”

Liang Yan’s expression changed slightly, and he asked, “Senior Brother Wang, forgive my ignorance, but there are a few things I don’t understand.”

“Oh? Ask freely, Junior Brother.”

“What’s the difference between a mid-grade spirit stone and a regular one, and what use does this Scripture Edict have?”

“So that’s what you’re wondering.” Wang Biao nodded. “Spirit stones in the cultivation world are divided into upper, middle, and lower grades. In theory, one upper-grade stone is worth a hundred mid-grade stones, and one mid-grade equals a hundred lower-grade stones. But in reality, in certain special places, higher-grade stones are valued even more highly than this ratio suggests.”

“Why is that?” Liang Yan asked in confusion.

“Because some arrays and restrictions can only be powered by higher-grade spirit stones. No matter how many lower-grade ones you have, they’re useless in those situations.”

“I see,” Liang Yan said, enlightened. “And what about this Scripture Edict?”

“That’s simple. With this Scripture Edict, you may enter the Hall of Inherited Arts and choose any two secret techniques or manuals to study. You know how strict our Star Pavilion is about passing down techniques—laborer disciples have no access at all, and even outer sect disciples can only enter once every three years to choose a single technique or secret manual. This shows just how highly the sect values your achievements.”

Liang Yan was overjoyed. He had long been fascinated by sword cultivation but had never been able to begin due to the lack of sword techniques. This was a rare opportunity; he resolved to select a sword cultivation secret art from the Hall of Inherited Arts to study carefully.

In high spirits, he bowed to Wang Biao and said, “Thank you, Senior Brother Wang!”

“Hahaha, I’m just the messenger. Your achievements are your own, Junior Brother Liang.”

Wang Biao seemed quite pleased with him, nodding as he added, “Let me tell you one more thing. The Pavilion Master herself is aware of your deeds on this mission. She’s very satisfied with your performance, so I believe your six-year probation is now just a formality. Allow me to congratulate you in advance on being promoted to outer sect disciple!”

—

“I never imagined that such a trivial matter would reach the Pavilion Master’s attention…” Liang Yan still found it hard to believe.

But Wang Biao gave him a strange look and said, “Trivial? Oh no, this was no small affair.” He paused, then continued, “Restoring operations at the spiritual mine’s branch may be a minor issue, but Senior Sister Tang’s life was of the utmost importance…”

Seeing Wang Biao’s hesitant expression, Liang Yan, ever sharp, caught the implication: this Tang Diexian must have a significant background.

The next moment, however, Wang Biao seemed to regain his composure, as if remembering something. He produced a bamboo slip from his sleeve and handed it to Liang Yan.

“This was entrusted to me by a Martial Uncle to deliver to you.”

Liang Yan took it, puzzled. “Which Martial Uncle might that be?”

“I’m not sure myself. Another disciple passed it to me. Maybe you’ll know when you open it. Well, I’ve delivered everything, so I’ll take my leave.”

Liang Yan saw him out of the courtyard and watched him depart before turning back inside. He first took up the bamboo slip and examined it for a moment, thinking, “Among all the Martial Uncles I know in the Star Pavilion, there are only two: perhaps Uncle Lin or Uncle Zhou?”

At this thought, two figures surfaced in his mind—a young scholar in green robes, and a woman dressed in blue. A faint smile touched his lips as he gently unfurled the bamboo slip.

But as soon as he opened it halfway, it sprang from his hand, spiraling through the air before erupting with a puff of green smoke. Out of the smoke, a woman’s voice rang out:

“Meet me at Listening Plum Peak, seven days from now.”

The voice was dignified and gentle, devoid of emotion, yet carried a faint but irresistible pressure.

It took Liang Yan quite a while to recover. He vaguely recalled that Zhuo Bufan had once mentioned a kind of “transmission jade slip.” But such things were hardly commonplace; even Martial Uncles seldom used them, let alone a laborer disciple like himself. Why would anyone go to the trouble to use a transmission slip for him?

“Unless this person doesn’t want anyone to know about summoning me!”

A sudden realization struck him. The transmission slip was single-use and self-destructed after use, leaving no evidence and safe from prying eyes along the way. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that this mysterious Martial Uncle had a hidden agenda.

But rack his brains as he might, he could not recall anyone he knew whose voice matched the one from the jade slip. After pondering for a long while to no avail, he finally let it go. “Since I’m already here, I might as well accept what comes. Within my own sect, it’s hardly likely to be an ambush. Whatever this person’s purpose, I’ll find out when we meet.”

He shook his head and suddenly noticed a jade pendant floating in the air where the bamboo slip had vanished. He reached out and took it—a common, unremarkable jade piece, devoid of spiritual energy.

“This must be my token for the meeting.”

—

Liang Yan put it away and dismissed his doubts. He then drew out the green cloth pouch and poured out a green token inscribed with four ancient characters: “All Laws Return to the Source.”

“So this is the ‘Scripture Edict’!”

Thinking of the sword cultivation techniques in the Hall of Inherited Arts, Liang Yan’s excitement blazed anew. Without delay, he left his room and made his way toward the Hall.

Guided by the sect’s map, he walked for about half an hour before a towering, verdant peak appeared before him. A stone stele by the mountain path bore the inscription “Mount of Inherited Arts.”

“This is the place!” Liang Yan confirmed with his map, then ascended the stone steps.

Now that he had reached the fifth level of Qi Refining, and being a body cultivator to boot, climbing the mountain was a trivial task. In less than the time it takes a stick of incense to burn, he stood atop the peak.

A vermilion pavilion sprawled across the summit. To call it “sprawled” was no exaggeration—it was massive, covering several dozen yards in each direction, far surpassing the modest archive hall of the Formation Branch.

The vermilion pavilion had three stories, the middle of which bore a giant plaque inscribed “Hall of Inherited Arts.” Doors faced all four directions, each guarded by a wooden table and a disciple.

Liang Yan observed that the weakest among them was at the eighth layer of Qi Refining, while one had even reached the peak of the ninth layer—half a step from Foundation Establishment.

And these were only the gatekeepers. With his sharp senses, Liang Yan could detect a faint but chilling aura of death in the area—there was clearly more than one Martial Uncle present. He simply couldn’t pinpoint their locations due to the vast difference in cultivation. Anyone causing trouble here would be reduced to dust in an instant, and he wouldn’t have been the least surprised.

Steeling himself, he straightened his clothes and approached the eastern gate.

Behind the table at the east gate sat a tall man in green, with a disciple’s identity badge reading “Li San.”

As Liang Yan secretly mused that the name sounded more like a shop assistant’s, he respectfully presented the Scripture Edict.

Li San glanced at the token, nodded, and put it away. “You have one hour. You may choose any two techniques or secret arts from the first floor of the Hall.”

“I understand, Senior Brother.”

With a cupped-fist salute, Liang Yan hurried into the Hall of Inherited Arts, eager to begin his search.