Visit the library.

The Red Bamboo Sect’s library looms ahead, ancient and imposing, its roof sagging with centuries of wear. Moss crawls along cracked stone steps, and faint spirit wards pulse at the corners of the doorframe, guarding against pests—and worse.

You fit the iron key into the lock, turning it with a **** click.

The doors creak open, and you slip inside.

The air is cool, thick with the scent of old parchment and sandalwood smoke. The hall lies in silence, lit only by flickering blue spirit lanterns that cast crooked shadows across endless rows of shelves.

You move carefully, your footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. The first and second floors hold basic manuals and histories. You climb the creaking staircase to the third—advanced techniques locked behind spirit seals. You keep going.

The fourth floor greets you with a sharper chill, despite the absence of windows. The shelves here are sparse, holding a scattered collection of scrolls and books—most of them things no mortal is meant to see. Some are bound in heavy chains; others pulse faintly, as if alive.

You find the second shelf from the left, just as Sister Jiang instructed. The scrolls are a mismatched collection of cultivation methods from various sects—both righteous and demonic. Some are stained with dried droplets of blood. You can’t help but wonder how Sister Jiang managed to acquire them.

You reach out, fingers brushing cracked leather, brittle silk, and scorched paper. And you begin to read.

One scroll after another, as Sister Jiang advised.

Hours slip by unnoticed. Your knees ache, your eyes sting from reading faded ink. Each scroll is stranger than the last.

You’re halfway through a particularly gruesome scroll when heavy footsteps draw your attention.

“What are you doing here?”

You jump and spin around, finding Second Sister Shen Nuoyue standing nearby, a stack of heavy books cradled in her muscular arms. Her messy black hair falls over her face, and dark circles shadow her tired eyes. Her dark purple robe almost makes her blend into the gloom.

Like the other disciples, she’s tall and broad-shouldered, but a slight hunch and a layer of fat give her a softer edge.

“Ah! Senior Sister Chen!” you say. “I wasn’t doing anything bad. Sister Jiang sent me to—”

Shen Nuoyue waves a hand lazily. “Finally, someone who cares about reading,” she says, voice dry and drowsy. “This sect’s full of meatheads who only know how to lift weights and headbutt rocks.”

She steps closer, eyeing the scrolls you’ve gathered. “Sister Jiang’s personal stash, huh? She must really like you.”

A crooked smirk tugs at her lips.

“Be careful, lover boy. Break an old woman’s heart, and you might find yourself buried under a mountain.”

You nearly ****. “I—I would never—”

“Relax. It was a joke,” she says flatly, her tone dry as parchment. “This is the part where you laugh.”

“Ah... Oh... Aha... hahaha...”

“Good boy,” she says, ruffling your hair like you’re some pet.

You flinch but don’t argue. Arguing with Shen Nuoyue is like trying to wrestle a landslide—pointless.

“Keep reading those scrolls. There are real monsters hidden in there. One of them might suit a runt like you.”

She walks off, leaving the faint smell of old ink behind her.

You brush your hair back into place, cheeks burning, and slump down in front of the scrolls. The library falls back into its oppressive silence.

You glance at the cracked parchment, the strange, pulsing ink, and the forbidden knowledge awaiting you.

You take a breath.

And begin reading again.