"When I was young, I didn’t know the moon—I called it a white jade plate."


    Up in the sky, a full moon glowed. Down on the ground, there really was a jade plate.


    Lu Qingmo pulled out the white jade disc she used to contact her junior brother, tuning into a message from far, far away.


    After a moment, her face settled into a thoughtful frown.


    Han had already clocked the situation, sneaking up beside her with a whisper. “Aunt Mo, what’s the word? Did they crack the last two ingredients for the Celestial Soul Elixir?”


    “It’s about the elixir, but just one ingredient,” she said.


    Han blinked, surprised. “Half a month, and they’ve only decoded one?”


    “Is this ancient cipher really that tough?”


    “You bet,” Lu Qingmo nodded. “Even in top-tier factions, hardly anyone bothers with ancient ciphers. Too hard, and the payoff’s rarely worth it.”


    “It’s not unusual for a few lines to stump someone for years. My junior brother Song once spent a decade on a single text.”


    “There’s one in Xuandu Monastery that’s been sitting there for five hundred years—still unsolved.”


    Han’s jaw dropped. Last time Lu Qingmo said ancient ciphers were a nightmare, he’d shrugged it off.


    Now, it hit home.


    Even Xuandu Monastery—with its immortal-tier muscle and endless talent—couldn’t crack a cipher in five centuries.


    No wonder so few bothered with it. No wonder Song’s master was so fed up he never officially took him as a disciple.


    Rationally, it did seem like a waste of time and energy.


    But tough as it was—and as pointless as it might look—the rewards were real for those who cracked it.


    Anything written in ancient ciphers was either a juicy secret from a long-dead powerhouse or a straight-up inheritance.


    Break it open, and you’re swimming in benefits.


    The Celestial Soul Elixir was proof of that.


    “So, what’s the second ingredient?” Han asked.


    Lu Qingmo’s frown deepened. “It’s not some tangible thing—something weird I’ve never heard of.”


    “In the cipher, it’s called ‘Origin Qi’—‘origin’ as in the source of all things.”


    That text was ancient—who knew how old? Time had shifted names, erased stuff entirely. Her not recognizing it wasn’t a shock.


    “Origin Qi?”


    Han repeated it, and his face shifted.


    He didn’t just know it.


    He had it.


    Among the treasures Tree Bro dropped on that final day was something tied to it.


    [Rare Item: Origin Stone]


    [A strange rock holding faint traces of Origin Qi, brimming with endless potential]


    Origin Stone—not “Raw Stone.” Tree Bro had dropped those too, but they were for crafting.


    One letter apart, and Han had never figured out what this Origin Stone or its Qi did.


    He wasn’t some peak-tier warrior sucking up cosmic vibes, after all.


    Who’d have thought he’d hear “Origin Qi” from Lu Qingmo tonight?


    Didn’t that mean one of the Celestial Soul Elixir’s ingredients was already in the bag?


    “What’s Origin Qi do? Any traits? Does the cipher say where to find it?”


    “No clear traits—just that Yin God cultivators or True Blood martial artists might sense it through their own essence, confirming it’s the real deal,” Lu Qingmo said, rubbing her temple.


    “It can pop up anywhere in the world—alone or clinging to stuff like rocks or trees.”


    “As for what it does, the cipher’s vague. Just calls it ‘endlessly versatile.’”


    Talk about a headache.


    With that kind of info, how was she supposed to hunt it down? It sounded like a lost cause.


    “After decoding the Origin Qi bit, Song even wondered if he’d botched the translation,” she added.


    Endlessly versatile…


    So, Tree Bro wasn’t pulling my leg or skimping on details—this stuff’s legit mysterious.


    Honest Tree Bro.


    That sealed it for Han—the Origin Qi in his stone was the elixir’s ticket.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Jackpot!


    Another thought hit him, and he blurted, “Aunt Mo, does the elixir need a specific amount of Origin Qi?”


    The stone’s qi was described as “faint”—not a lot to work with.


    “No minimum,” she said. “Even a wisp will do. As long as it’s there, the elixir works—amount doesn’t change the effect.”


    Double jackpot! He’d have some left over after brewing.


    “Sky-Mending Vine, Origin Qi…” Lu Qingmo massaged her brow. “Both treasures I’ve never even heard of.”


    “The vine might turn up in Black Mountain, but Origin Qi? No trace, no lead—where do I even start?”


    “And that third mystery ingredient? Probably just as rare and elusive.”


    She sighed softly. “Looks like the Celestial Soul Elixir’s a pipe dream.”


    Han seized the moment, grabbing her hand to comfort her. “Aunt Mo, there’s always a way—don’t give up.”


    “I’ve got you—I’ll track down that Origin Qi!”


    If I don’t, I’ll ram my head into the peach grove!


    “Your heart’s in the right place,” she said, though her tone dripped with doubt.


    Han’s eyes glinted. “Aunt Mo, if I do find it, what then?”


    She shot him a look. “What, you want me slaving away like a pack mule to thank you?”


    Han chuckled awkwardly. Nah, not quite.


    He’d find a chance to whip out the Origin Stone later.


    “Oh, forgot to ask—those Tianlong Gate inner disciples, what’s their deal strength-wise?”


    “In the same realm, they’re no match for you,” Lu Qingmo said confidently. “Tianlong Gate splits disciples into outer, inner, and true transmission tiers.”


    “Inner disciples—whether cultivators or martial artists—don’t get access to pinnacle methods, secret martial arts, peerless techniques, or top-tier combat skills.”


    “Across the world, first-rate and top-tier factions’ basic disciples usually train with high-grade visualization charts or martial methods—same as the core heirs of Tianyue County’s nine big families.”


    “Step up to inner or chamber disciples, and they get elite-grade charts or methods. True transmission seeds? They’re the ones tapping pinnacle methods, secret arts, and sect-defining techniques.”


    Soul visualization charts and martial methods followed a universal five-tier scale: low, mid, high, elite, and pinnacle/secret.


    Han nodded. Tianlong inner disciples built their foundations on elite-grade stuff—solid, but a far cry from his own.


    Elite methods were rare, though—only a handful in Tianyue County had them, mostly from backed factions.


    A new question popped up. “So, aside from prodigies pegged as true transmission from the jump, what about disciples climbing the ranks? Don’t they end up with shaky foundations?”


    Lu Qingmo shook her head. “Not quite. The secret art Bai Tian gave you is special—gotta start from the first volume, or you’re locked out.”


    “But most secret arts aren’t that strict. With standout talent, you can pick up from the viscera section or wherever and still make it work.”


    “For realms already passed without secret arts, big sects have fixes. New true transmission disciples spend time re-tempering those stages with secret arts, patching any flaws until they’re as good as if they’d started that way—no difference.”


    Han’s eyes widened. They could swing that?


    Bai Tian had stressed his art was unique—miss the first step, and the rest was a bust. Looked like it really was one-of-a-kind.


    “Remember way back when I told you to pick a solid soul visualization chart before the Soul Emergence Realm?” Lu Qingmo asked.


    “Yeah,” Han nodded. “You warned me if it’s too basic, I’d need to swap it out before emerging, or changing it later would be a pain.”


    “True, but ‘hard’ doesn’t mean ‘impossible,’” she said. “Big-name sects can pull it off.”


    “Same as patching martial foundations—they can swap a new true disciple’s chart to shore up their soul base.”


    “It’s costly, though—takes rare treasures that even top sects wince at losing. That’s why they’re so picky about who gets true transmission status.”


    “Plus, those promoted this way have to spend time reworking earlier realms with pinnacle or secret arts—slows them down a bit.”


    Han couldn’t help but marvel. “The tricks these big sects and noble houses pull off—wild.”


    “Thousands of years of history, bottomless resources—they can do stuff regular cultivators can’t even dream of.”


    “You’re not lagging behind, though,” Lu Qingmo said. “Martial-wise, aside from missing top-tier combat arts or god-tier skills, you’re true transmission material across the board.”


    “Picking Bai Tian as your master was a smart move. Without him, no secret arts—fixing your foundation later would’ve been a slog.”


    Han felt a twinge of relief. He’d picked Tai Bai partly for the familiar name.


    Mostly, though, it was the fifteen taels of silver in his pocket—only enough for their fees.


    Poverty saved my bacon.


    “For techniques, you’ve got peerless ones—no worse than a sect’s best,” she went on. “As for your soul chart…”


    She gave him a deep look. “With your soul’s depth, I’d bet it’s nothing to sneeze at.”


    Han grinned modestly. “Just average, nothing fancy—pretty common stuff.”


    A tree, that’s all. They’re everywhere—his just happened to be a smidge unique.


    Lu Qingmo didn’t bite. She’d been around Han day in, day out—peeked at his soul more times than she could count. She had her guesses locked in.


    To her, Han’s soul and technique game was true transmission caliber—top of the heap, even outshining his martial side.


    Ahem.


    Bai Tian handled his martial training; she took the techniques. Compare the results, and the winner’s clear.


    Guess she was the better coach—and better for him!


    “If Tianlong Gate comes knocking, don’t sweat it,” she said, tossing him a confidence boost. “Go all out.”


    Tianlong Gate might strut like a top-tier outfit, but some powers they wouldn’t dare cross.


    A faction’s golden age—untouchable—was when an immortal walked among them.


    Minus the oddballs who lucked into immortal artifacts without ever producing one.


    Xuandu’s master? Tianlong Gate—and even the Four Seas dragons—treaded lightly around him.


    Right now, unless some unstoppable freak showed up, Lu Qingmo had the clout to back Han up.


    Han puffed up, feeling ten feet tall.


    Dawn broke, and he headed for the dojo. From a distance, he spotted a crowd at Tai Bai’s gate.


    They’re here, huh.


    Weaving through, he stepped inside and saw three strangers in matching outfits.


    White robes, fancy fabric, stitched with blue threads curling into dragon shapes.


    White with blue dragons—hallmark of Tianlong Gate’s inner disciples.


    Then he noticed a fourth, sprawled on the ground, groaning low in pain.


    Bai Ruoyue stood over him, her face icy, eyes sharp as blades.


    “Still want to go?”


    “…”


    Looks like I’m late to the party.


    “Little Junior Brother, you’re here,” Shen Yu whispered, sidling up.


    “When’d they show?” Han asked.


    “Right when we opened the doors. Said they were here to ‘teach’ you and Senior Sister a thing or two. That guy—Viscera Realm peak—picked a fight with her.”


    “And now he’s down for the count.”


    Among the three still standing, a narrow-eyed guy snapped, “Some nerve, Tai Bai Dojo—laying into a Tianlong Gate disciple like that!”


    The floored disciple staggered up, glaring at Bai Ruoyue with murder in his eyes.


    “It’s a challenge—strength talks,” she shot back, unfazed. “What, Tianlong Gate can’t handle a loss? That’s all you’ve got?”


    “Bold as brass, daring to trash Tianlong Gate!” another disciple roared, lunging for her.


    Narrow-Eyes held him back. “One fight doesn’t mean we’re beaten.”


    He turned to Han. “You’re Han, right?”


    “The big-shot genius of this backwater?”


    “Cloud River Dragon Palace’s golden boy?”


    Han’s eyes narrowed. Bringing up Yunjiang right off the bat—trouble was brewing.


    “That’s me. If you want, you can call me ‘Fire’ too.”


    “Fire?”


    “Yup, right here,” Han said with a cheeky grin.


    Narrow-Eyes frowned, sensing something off—like he’d stepped in it. His face darkened.


    “You know who we are.”


    “Tianlong Gate’s offering you a shot—cut ties with Yunjiang, join us, follow our lead.”


    “What do you say? Joining Tianlong’s a dream for millions.”


    That tone, those words—talk about looking down from on high.


    Guess I’m not late after all.