“Elder…” Wu began, his voice uncertain, “would it be possible to check if my name is recorded in the sect’s registers or… any of these books?”

The old man looked up slowly, his deep, unfathomable eyes fixing on Wu. For a moment, it seemed as though the weight of his gaze could see straight into his soul. “Your name?” the man asked, his voice slow and deliberate. “What is it, young cultivator?”

“Wu Meng,” Wu replied, the name feeling oddly hollow as he said it. For a brief moment, hope flickered in his chest. Could this be the moment he uncovered something about himself?

The old man closed his eyes, his expression thoughtful. Wu held his breath as the silence stretched, the anticipation gnawing at him. What felt like an eternity passed before the old man’s eyes opened again.

“I find no record of your name,” he said simply, his tone devoid of emotion.

Wu felt the words like a heavy weight in his chest. His shoulders slumped. “No record…” he echoed, the fragile hope he’d nurtured shattering like glass. He forced himself to stand tall despite the disappointment. “Well, that’s that, I suppose,” he muttered, more to himself than the elder.

The silence that followed was unbearable. Wu shuffled awkwardly, his mind racing for something to say, anything to break the oppressive stillness. Finally, the first question that popped into his head tumbled out.

“Elder… what’s your name?”

The old man’s brows lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise breaking through his otherwise stoic expression. “My name?” he repeated, as if no one had ever thought to ask him such a thing before.

Wu nodded. “Yeah, you’ve been here for who knows how long, right? Surely you have a name.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of the elder’s lips. “I am called Lǎo Zhōu,” he said, his tone carrying a quiet dignity.

“Lǎo Zhōu,” Wu repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue. It felt both simple and profound, much like the man himself. For the first time since entering the room, Wu felt a connection to the old librarian. This wasn’t just a gatekeeper of knowledge—this was a man with a name, a history.

After a moment, Lǎo Zhōu spoke again. “Tell me, young Wu Meng. What brings you here? Surely not just to ask an old man for his name.”

Wu hesitated, his fingers fiddling with the edge of his sleeve. “I’m trying to learn about my past,” he said finally. “Anything that might help me understand who I am.”

The elder’s expression softened slightly, a rare flicker of sympathy crossing his face. But before he could respond, Wu blurted out, “Oh, and there’s something else. The collective consciousness world. Have you heard of it?”

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The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Lǎo Zhōu’s posture straightened, his gaze sharpening. “The collective consciousness…” he murmured, as though testing the words. “It has been many years since I last heard those words spoken aloud.”

Wu’s curiosity burned brighter. “Then you do know something about it?”

The elder leaned back in his chair, his gnarled fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk. “Little is known about that realm. It is rarely mentioned, and even fewer understand its significance. What I know comes from a singular source—a manuscript written by the same anonymous author who chronicled the histories of the seven Heavenly Emperors.”

Wu tilted his head, intrigued. “This mysterious writer again? Are you saying they wrote most of the sect’s texts or something?”

Lǎo Zhōu nodded solemnly. “Nearly half the works in my memory bear their mark.”

Wu let out a soft laugh, trying to mask his nervousness. “That’s… a lot. Who was this person?”

“That,” Lǎo Zhōu replied, “is a question no one has been able to answer.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Wu pressed on. “What does the manuscript say about the collective consciousness?”

“It speaks of a parallel realm where all facades are stripped away,” Lǎo Zhōu explained. “There, individuals are revealed in their truest forms, beyond any deception or illusion.”

Wu’s brow furrowed. “So… it’s like seeing someone’s soul?”

The elder gave a faint smile. “In a sense, yes.”

Wu leaned forward, his curiosity almost unbearable. “Have you ever been there?”

Lǎo Zhōu’s expression darkened. “No. Few are capable of entering that realm, and even fewer can navigate it. I…” He glanced at the empty space surrounding him. “I am bound to this library. Leaving is not an option.”

A wave of sympathy washed over Wu. For all his knowledge, this man was a prisoner of his role.

Wu shifted the conversation, trying to lighten the mood. “What about the other disciples? What do they usually come here for?”

Lǎo Zhōu’s gaze softened, and a glimmer of amusement danced in his eyes. “Techniques, young Meng. They always come for techniques.”

Wu perked up at that. “Techniques? Like what?”

The elder chuckled lightly. “Sword techniques to hone their skills, concealment methods to evade their enemies, or cultivation arts to advance their paths. Of course,” he added with a knowing look, “access to such knowledge comes at a price—sect points.”

Wu leaned forward eagerly. “Do you have any techniques for me?”

The elder’s gaze turned assessing, his eyes scanning Wu as if searching for something hidden. “That depends,” he said slowly. “What are your affinities? Do you have a unique constitution?”

Wu hesitated, his earlier excitement faltering. “Protector Lin tested me when I arrived,” he admitted. “But… nothing came up. She said I had a very rare affinity, or no affinities at all.”

Lǎo Zhōu’s expression shifted slightly, his brows drawing together in thought. “Interesting,” he whispered. “There is a way to uncover the truth, though it doesn’t work every time.”

Wu’s heart skipped a beat. “Really? What is it?”

The elder held up a hand, his tone turning cautious. “It would require the approval of the Grand Elder, Protector Lin, and the Sect Master. For the rest, I can’t talk to you about it, but you can use your badge to ask Protector Lin.”