"I want you to participate in the acceptance ceremony," the librarian said, interrupting my studying session.

His gaze was as unyielding as steel, showing that negotiation wasn't an option. However, I knew the man too well for his tactics to work.

"Why?" I asked, flipping open the Sonic Fang Fist technique book and skimming through the first few pages.

"I need you to observe the new participants and recruit a talented disciple before other elders can get their claws on them," he explained.

So, this was what they meant by saying an elder's personal disciples were like extensions of themselves. Reaching into areas where direct intervention from an elder would be inappropriate.

"Alright, I'll do it," I agreed.

I owed the man too much to refuse. Since most new disciples rarely surpassed the five-star body-tempering realm, it should be relatively safe.

His demeanor softened as I accepted, and he nodded. "You can stay in the library as long as you need. Just be cautious on the third floor, and don't attempt learning anything too advanced without grasping the basics first."

With those words, he departed. Watching him ascend to the third floor with a satisfied smile.

I understood his motive. He sought a talented disciple to invest in, potentially elevating him to an inner sect elder. Though he hadn't explicitly stated his intentions, he hadn't tried to hide his intentions. It seemed like a reasonable and safe way to repay him.

I wasn't fond of combat. But it wasn't something a cultivator could avoid all their life. If I wanted that kind of life, I would have run away and started a farm or something.

The chances of a new disciple rejecting an elder were slim to none since they knew all the benefits. Though it might seem exploitative, Xin Ma was a good man. Disciples under his guidance wouldn't suffer the fate of becoming mere servants to elders.

A frown creased my brow as I finished perusing the technique book he provided. It was one of the most intricate techniques I'd encountered, surpassing many mortal-grade methods in complexity.

The technique resembled the Piercing Fang Fist, likely an improved version. However, its learning curve was significantly steeper, requiring familiarity with the original technique for any hope of mastery.

Given the delay in the acceptance exams, I was uncertain when they would start. Nonetheless, I trusted the librarian to inform me. For now, my only worry should be mastering this technique.

…

After an entire week, the librarian finally approached me for another discussion. It was after another day's work, and for a moment, I thought he might have news about the acceptance ceremony date. However, he sighed and settled beside me, wearing a contemplative expression.

Apart from meals and occasional trips to the ponds for training, I had scarcely left the library. I even slept on its floor, surrounded by towering shelves of books resembling a king on a throne. Needless to say, I wasn't exactly a sight to behold.

We sat in silence for a couple of minutes, during which I delved into the theoretical knowledge of the perfect punch. The author had never progressed beyond the three-star Body Tempering stage, yet his insights were remarkable.

"I wouldn't have fancied being a personal disciple," he remarked abruptly. "It seems confining, limiting your options. Typically, it's a two-way street—a mutual relationship where the disciple aids the elder, and vice versa. Like a carrot and stick approach."

He appeared melancholic, but such conversations weren't my forte. To lighten the mood, I interjected, "Do you happen to have any Earth-Grade Techniques here?"

The librarian's expression shifted to bewilderment as if he had been caught off guard. Guilt flickered in his eyes as though he had wronged me.

Though he was usually a stale dude, he was smart enough to catch on when I was joking.

He might have felt remorseful for assigning me tasks, such as the matter with the acceptance exams. But there was no need for him to feel sorry. Yet, I refrained from broaching the subject, fearing it might escalate into awkwardness.

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"You know," I began, intending to address the matter, when the old man suddenly emerged from around the corner, balancing three teacups with practiced ease. It resembled a precarious pyramid about to collapse with each step.

"Can't you ask for help? You practically live two bookshelves away," I grumbled, reaching for the teacup he held above the other two.

The old man handed the remaining cup to the librarian, and we settled down side by side, with me in the middle.

"Anyway, has my hearing started to fail me, or did the brat ask for Earth Grade Techniques?" the old man interjected, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Does he think Earth Grade Techniques grow on trees or something? I swear, this new generation is so entitled. Back in my day, we fought to death for these kinds of things."

"Fought to death? Why say it as if it's any better?" I pondered.

Using his cane, the old man nudged aside some books surrounding me. "This library was originally established for kids without clan support to access techniques. But later, the clans intervened, claiming it was unfair. Now, the Elder of Books is tasked with preventing clan-affiliated children from accessing the second floor, citing their lack of qualification. It's a form of equality, in its own twisted way. Besides, clan kids pose a risk of leaking information about techniques to their clans."

"That's not information we should discuss," the librarian interjected, his tone devoid of its usual steel when he was actually annoyed, merely stating the facts.

"Well, it's high time the kid learned to dig beneath the surface and not take things at face value. Always assume people aren't being truthful; it's safer that way," the old man jabbed his cane in my direction. "Besides, he needs to grasp the advantage he has over others now."

Sipping my tea, I offered a smile. "If you have something to say, just say it, old man. You're not one to beat around the bush."

"I think you're too relaxed about all this. Instead of honing lethal techniques and broadening your skills, you're wasting time on trivialities like the Theory Behind the Perfect Punch, deemed a joke by most," the old man scowled, his expression serious. Yet, it softened gradually, and he sighed. "Then again, you work hard for reasons only you understand. Perhaps I'm being too harsh. But don't assume that being weak and keeping to yourself will always work out, even with the protection of your favorite bookworm here."

I harbored no irritation toward the old man's words. He spoke his truth, unvarnished, and that was preferable to sugar-coated niceties.

...

After a subdued tea session with the librarian and the old guy, they seemed to tiptoe around me, occasionally betraying guilty expressions. What was weighing on their conscience?

When it was time for my training, I turned to the old goat. "Where should I leave the teacups?"

"Just leave them here. Or sometimes in my room, if you see it open," he replied.

Curiosity struck me, and I asked, "Wait, I didn't see a water source in your room, and there's no pond near the library. How do you wash these teacups?"

"I wash 'em with spit," the old man quipped.

Even the librarian grimaced, shooting the old man a disapproving glance. But the old man sighed, shaking his head. "Damn, why do I even bother with you guys? Can't take a joke."

He then leveled a pointed glare at me. "And Liu Feng, you ought to think more instead of questioning every little thing. If there's a heating array in my room, don't you think the creator would have thought to include a water-producing array too?"

Well, no need to be a dick about it, you old goat. I had only asked a harmless question. "Guessing and knowing the truth are different things."

With that, I set the empty teacup down and hurried out, before the old man could deliver a cutting retort. He had a knack for using words that hit home and hit right in the feels.

Once outside the library, I felt a sense of relief. The old man might talk tough, but he was too lazy to chase after me.

The crimson rays of the evening sun embraced my face, casting a comforting warmth upon my skin that contrasted the chill of the weather. In that fleeting moment, I basked in the tranquil beauty of nature's embrace, grateful for the simple yet profound joy of the evening sun's embrace.

As I descended the stairs leading to the library, a young man blocked my path. His dark, spiky hair and friendly smile struck a chord of familiarity, despite us never having met before.

Clad in a blue robe denoting his status in the inner sect, he carried a brown leather pouch tied to his side, possibly containing projectiles or other items of significance.

"I knew I'd find you here, cousin," he greeted me with a smile, advancing toward me.

Rummaging through Liu Feng's memories, I identified him as Liu Bo, a member of the Liu Clan and an inner sect disciple. Known for his amiable nature, he often kept a low profile among his peers.

The question loomed: Was he genuinely friendly or hiding something beneath that smile?

"And what brings you here?" I inquired cautiously.

"By the way, we took care of the guy who was bothering you," he announced abruptly.

His words sent a shiver down my spine. Who starts a conversation like that?

"Okay..." I replied, unsure how to react.

"We had to lie low for a while in case the guy's grandfather retaliated, hence the delay in contacting you," he explained.

Still didn't explain dick why he was here.