The Library of the Azure Cloud Sect was built with thick slabs of "Spirit-Suppressing Granite," designed to protect ancient scrolls from fire and internal Qi fluctuations. But as the raid raged outside, the granite felt less like a fortress and more like a resonant chamber for the screams of the dying.

  Outside, the world was a nightmare of contrasting colors. The orange of the burning dormitories, the sickly green of the Evil Sects' spiritual pressure, and the blinding gold of the hero’s desperation.

  Shen Yuanxing was currently at the center of the Southern Plaza, surrounded by the charred remains of the training dummies. He was facing Iron-Blood, a man whose Core Formation aura felt like a mountain pressing down on a blade of grass.

  "Is that all, little genius?" Iron-Blood laughed, his massive axe carving a furrow in the stone floor. "You move fast, but your Qi is as thin as paper!"

  Shen Yuanxing breathed heavily, his lungs burning. He felt a surge of indignation—the "Heavenly Dao" within him reacting to the threat of erasure. In a moment of pure, reckless instinct, he forced his meridians to dilate. He ignored the warnings of his masters; he ignored the structural limits of his own body.

  Break!

  A shockwave of golden energy erupted from his chest. His aura flickered, stabilizing at Qi Condensation Level 6. To a normal disciple, this was a miraculous leap during combat.

  "Oh? You forced a breakthrough?" Iron-Blood’s eyes widened, then crinkled with sadistic glee. "Impudence! A Level 6 brat is still just a slightly louder bug!"

  Shen lunged, his speed nearly doubling. His sword met the axe in a shower of sparks that lit up the plaza. For three breaths, he held the line. But the gap between Qi Condensation and Core Formation wasn't just a matter of numbers; it was a qualitative difference in the soul. Iron-Blood’s Qi was liquid and dense; Shen’s was still just a refined mist.

  With a grunt of effort, Iron-Blood twisted his axe. The sound of snapping bone echoed across the plaza as Shen’s arm gave way. The hero was sent flying backward, his golden light shattering like glass as he hit the base of a statue. He coughed up blood, his eyes wide with the realization that "Willpower" could not overcome the physical laws of the universe.

  As Iron-Blood raised his axe for the final blow, a shadow fell over him.

  Inside the Library, Lin Qingyu wasn't watching the hero. He was watching the ceiling.

  His high-level stability allowed him to hear things others missed—like the soft, rhythmic clicking of a "Spider-Silk" grappling hook against the roof tiles.

  "They're inside," Lin whispered.

  Mu Ruxin gripped her defensive scroll tighter, her knuckles white. "Who? The Demonic cultivators?"

  "No," Lin said, his eyes narrowing. "Something quieter."

  From the high rafters of the library, a figure dropped. It didn't wear the flamboyant red of the Demonic Sects. It was draped in rags that seemed to absorb the light—an assassin from the Evil Sects. These were the mindless, loyalists of the Final Villain, trained from birth to strike at the heart of the "Righteous" infrastructure.

  The assassin didn't go for Xue Lianhua, the Personal Disciple. He went for Mu Ruxin. He knew that killing the archivist was the fastest way to ensure the sect’s records—and their secrets—remained lost in the fire.

  The assassin moved with the speed of a Foundation Establishment expert. To Mu Ruxin, he was nothing but a blur of grey steel.

  "Ruxin, move!" Xue Lianhua cried, lunging forward with her sword. But she was too far; her ice-path Qi was sluggish in the library's suppressed environment.

  Lin Qingyu didn't shout. He didn't even stand up fully.

  He simply shifted his weight. Using his Level 4 "All-Rounder" foundation, he executed a movement that was neither fast nor slow—it was simply correct. He stepped into the assassin's path, his hand reaching out not to punch, but to intercept.

  In his hand, he held a simple, heavy book-binding needle he had "borrowed" from the repair desk.

  As the assassin’s blade lunged for Mu Ruxin’s throat, Lin’s needle struck the flat of the blade. It wasn't a display of power; it was a display of physics. He diverted the momentum by exactly three inches. The blade hissed past Mu Ruxin’s ear, cutting only a single strand of her hair.

  Then, Lin’s other hand—his "boring, stable" hand—slammed into the assassin's wrist.

  The sound was like a dry branch snapping. The assassin’s grip failed.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Before the man could react, Lin Qingyu "tripped" forward, his shoulder slamming into the assassin's solar plexus. To Xue Lianhua and Mu Ruxin, it looked like Lin had panicked and fallen into the enemy. But the result was undeniable: the assassin was thrown backward, his breath stolen, his rhythm shattered.

  Xue Lianhua didn't miss the opening. Her sword, cold as the void, pierced the assassin's heart.

  The man collapsed, dissolving into a pool of black, foul-smelling ichor—the signature of an Evil Sect follower whose body was held together by forbidden arts.

  Silence returned to the library.

  Mu Ruxin was trembling, her hands over her mouth. She looked at Lin, who was currently "scrambling" to his feet, looking disheveled and out of breath.

  "Qingyu... you..." Mu Ruxin stammered. "How did you... you just moved..."

  "I panicked!" Lin gasped, leaning against a bookshelf and clutching his chest. "I saw him coming and I just... I tried to push you out of the way and I think I broke my thumb! Did I hit him? I think I hit him!"

  Xue Lianhua stood over the pool of black sludge, her eyes fixed on Lin Qingyu. She was a Personal Disciple; she had seen geniuses train. What she had just witnessed wasn't "panic." It was a movement so stable, so devoid of wasted energy, that it shouldn't have been possible for a Level 4 disciple.

  "You didn't panic," Xue said, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. "You intercepted a Foundation Establishment strike with a sewing needle."

  "A very thick needle," Lin corrected, showing her the bent piece of metal. "High-quality steel. Very lucky. If I hadn't tripped, he would have had my head."

  Xue Lianhua didn't look convinced, but the chaos outside didn't allow for an interrogation. A massive shockwave rocked the building—the sound of a Core Formation master being forcefully suppressed.

  Back in the plaza, Iron-Blood’s axe was inches from Shen Yuanxing’s neck when it hit an invisible wall.

  "Enough of this noise," a raspy voice muttered.

  Elder Song was no longer the "withered gardener." He stood in the center of the plaza, his ragged clothes fluttering in a wind that didn't exist. He hadn't drawn a weapon. He simply stood there, and the air around Iron-Blood became as heavy as lead.

  "A... Spirit Severing powerhouse?" Iron-Blood gasped, his knees buckling. "In the Outer Peak? Impossible!"

  "The world is full of things you don't understand, little demon," Song said. He didn't even look at Iron-Blood. His gaze was fixed on a figure trying to slip away through the shadows of the southern gate.

  "Deacon Ma," Song called out. "Where are you going? The 'maintenance' isn't finished."

  With a flick of his wrist, Elder Song sent a thread of Qi through the air. It wasn't gold or fire; it was a shimmering, transparent wire of "Peaceful Intent." It wrapped around Deacon Ma’s ankles and yanked him back into the center of the plaza like a hooked fish.

  Iron-Blood, sensing his death, tried to ignite his own Core to explode—a final demonic act of spite. But Elder Song simply tapped his pipe against the air. The demonic energy vanished, snuffed out like a candle in a hurricane.

  "Go to sleep," Song commanded. Iron-Blood collapsed into unconsciousness.

  The Elder then turned to Deacon Ma, who was writhing on the ground. "You sold your soul for a seat in a Shadow Hall that doesn't exist, Ma. Tell me, who gave you the Corrupted Marrow?"

  Deacon Ma looked up, his eyes bloodshot and crazed. "The Master... the Master sees all! You are all just wood for the pyre! The Righteous are blind, the Demonic are fools... only the Evil is eternal!"

  Before Song could apply a soul-search technique, Ma’s body began to smoke.

  "Die!" Ma shrieked.

  His skin turned a bruised purple, and he began to melt into the same black ichor as the assassin in the library. But in his final moments, his Qi leaked—a jagged, oily vibration that didn't belong to the Demonic Sects. It was the "Death-Qi" of the immortal soul lurking in the lower realms.

  Elder Song’s face went grim. He waved his sleeve, sealing the residual Qi in a jade vial. "Evil Sects... so the rumors were true. The rot isn't just in the wood; it’s in the soil."

  He looked down at Shen Yuanxing, who was staring at him in shock.

  "Don't just sit there, boy," Song grumbled, his "Gardener" persona returning like a mask. "You reached Level 6. Your meridians are a mess, and you lost your fight. But you're alive. Go find that lazy brat Lin Qingyu. He’s probably hiding in the library eating my peaches."

  [Emotional Stability System]

  World Event: The Raid of the Azure Cloud - Phase 1 Concluded.

  Status: The Outer Peak is a ruin, but the Inner Sect is alerted.

  User Contribution: Saved the Archivist. Maintained 'Mediocre' status (mostly).

  Mental Stability: 95% (The needle move was a bit showy).

  Reward: Hidden Identity Buff (Enhanced).

  System Note: Xue Lianhua is 80% sure you're a monster in disguise. Mu Ruxin is 100% sure you're her hero. You have successfully complicated your life while trying to simplify it.

  As the sun began to rise over the smoking ruins of the Outer Peak, the "Chapter 20 Raid" officially came to an end. The demonic forces retreated, having accomplished their goal of humiliation and slaughter. The Evil Sects retreated, having planted the seeds of chaos.

  Lin Qingyu walked out of the library, blinking in the morning light. He saw the bodies being gathered. He saw the Elders of the six peaks descending like gods to survey the damage.

  He saw Shen Yuanxing being carried away on a stretcher, the hero’s face pale and full of a new, bitter wisdom. Shen looked at Lin as he passed. There was no greeting, only a long, silent stare. The hero now knew the gap between himself and the world—and he knew that Lin Qingyu was the only one who hadn't been surprised by it.

  "Qingyu," Mu Ruxin said, stepping up beside him. She was covered in dust, but she was alive. "The library... we saved the scrolls."

  "We did," Lin said, looking at the black stain on the library floor where the assassin had died.

  "You're not just a Level 4 disciple, are you?" she asked softly.

  Lin Qingyu looked at her, then at the distant peaks where the true power of the sect resided. He knew that in a few hours, there would be an Elders' meeting. They would discuss the Evil Sect Qi. They would discuss the betrayal. They would look for heroes and they would look for scapegoats.

  "I'm exactly what I look like, Ruxin," Lin said, he was already planning the next 300 chapters of obscurity. "I'm a guy who wants to go back to sleep. And if I have to use a needle to get that sleep, I'll use a needle."

  He walked toward his half-burnt hut, his footsteps steady on the blood-stained grass. He was an "All-Rounder" in a world of specialists. He was the only one who knew that the final villain was still 150 chapters away.

  And for now, that was plenty of time for a nap.