Several days later,
Chen Du slowly brought his cultivation to a close. The dark golden Wisdom King patterns faded from his skin, and the phantom of the Immovable Wisdom King behind him dissolved into a wisp of blue smoke and vanished into the air.
He let out a long breath of turbid air, which condensed into a straight white stream over three feet long. Only after several breaths did it slowly disperse.
Houtian Realm true essence flowed slowly through his meridians like a warm river. Wherever it passed, his muscles and bones rang in unison, giving off faint crackling sounds.
This felt completely different from the First-Rate Realm. First-Rate true qi was a heap of loose sand, but Houtian true essence was like a block of refined iron forged again and again: dense, heavy, and released or withdrawn at will.
But there was little joy on Chen Du's face.
Strong as the Houtian Realm was, he was only at the Early Acquired Stage.
And what lay ahead was a challenge ten, a hundred times harder: advancing from Houtian to Xiantian.
The Houtian Realm had four minor stages: early, Middle Stage, Late Stage, and perfection. With each advance, the refinement of one's true essence and the capacity of one's meridians increased dramatically.
But the leap from Houtian Perfection to Xiantian was a chasm even harder to cross than the one between First-Rate and Houtian.
The transition from First-Rate to Houtian was the liquefaction of true qi, essentially a quantitative change bringing about a qualitative one.
In the Innate Realm, however, true essence became Xiantian astral qi that could be projected a hundred paces. Flying flowers and plucked leaves alike could kill, and one's cultivation resonated with the spiritual qi of heaven and earth, lending the power of heaven and earth to every movement.
This was no longer an accumulation of quantity, but a complete leap in the level of life itself.
According to the incomplete Royal Secret Archives in Qianchuan Hall, the Great Sheng Empire had possessed the four seas and ruled the eight directions since its founding, gathering countless Martial Dao manuals over three centuries. Yet the manuals truly worthy of being called "Xiantian martial arts" could be counted on one hand.
These manuals were not kept in Qianchuan Hall but personally guarded by successive emperors. Only each generation's heir to the throne was permitted to glimpse them.
The highest-grade martial art in Qianchuan Hall was the Vajra Skill, a top-tier Houtian technique, which he had already deduced into the Wisdom King Vajra Art.
Beyond that, there was nothing.
He had searched every shelf and every corner of Qianchuan Hall, even checking the beams and beneath the floor tiles, and confirmed that there was not a single Xiantian-level martial arts manual here.
That meant the books in Qianchuan Hall alone were no longer enough if he wanted to break through to Xiantian.
Chen Du sat back down amid the piles of books and pulled out a yellowed copy of the Xuanye Jianghu Chronicles from beside him.
He had leafed through this book three years ago, but his attention had been entirely on martial arts manuals then, and he had merely glanced at the descriptions of the jianghu sects before skipping past them.
Now, as he opened it again, every word carried particular weight.
The Xuanye Realm was vast. Although the Great Sheng Dynasty ruled the four seas, beyond royal authority, in the jianghu, there were still martial forces that had endured for hundreds, even thousands of years.
These forces had deep roots and profound foundations. Without exception, every one of them had produced more than one Xiantian master.
The court's relationship with these forces was a delicate one: they cooperated, yet also kept one another in check.
Chen Du opened the first entry in the Xuanye Jianghu Chronicles. A magnificent Buddhist temple was prominently depicted on the page, with a golden plaque hanging high above its gates. Three large characters were inscribed upon it... "Hanging Temple."
The Hanging Temple was the foremost Martial Dao holy land of the Western Regions. It stood atop a sheer cliff ten thousand fathoms high, connected by plank walkways and wreathed in clouds and mist like an immortal realm.
All the temple's monks practiced martial arts, passing them down from generation to generation for eight hundred years.
According to the records, the Hanging Temple had produced four Xiantian masters over those eight hundred years, and every abbot had been a powerhouse at Houtian Perfection or above.
The temple's supreme art, the Mahavairocana True Scripture, was said to be a genuine Xiantian martial art. Using a supreme Buddhist cultivation method, one could manifest the form of Mahavairocana, illuminating all ten directions with limitless power.
But this supreme art was never passed to outsiders. Never mind outsiders—even the Hanging Temple's own monks had no chance to see it unless they were the abbot's personal disciples.
Chen Du's gaze sharpened slightly. The Vajra Skill he practiced was originally a martial art that had spread from the Hanging Temple, and he had now deduced it into the Wisdom King Vajra Art. At their source, his martial arts and those of the Hanging Temple came from the same lineage.
If he had a chance to study the Mahavairocana True Scripture, then with his heaven-defying comprehension, he might be able to deduce a Xiantian path of his own from it.
But the Hanging Temple was ten thousand li away in the Western Regions, and its rules were strict. Outsiders could not even pass through its gates, let alone borrow its supreme guardian art.
He continued leafing through the book. The second entry depicted a mountain manor wreathed in clouds and mist, with the words "Yandang Yun Family" written above its gates.
This was the maternal family of the third prince, Su Yuanli, and the foremost Martial Dao family in Jiangnan.
The Yun family had built up its holdings in Yandang Mountain for eight hundred years. Its manor was built against the mountainside, covering several thousand mu, and its disciples numbered in the thousands.
Over those eight hundred years, the Yun family had produced three Xiantian masters. Its inherited supreme art, the Cloud Sea Heart Sutra, was an exceptionally rare martial art that used internal energy to stir up phenomena in heaven and earth.
Cultivated to its highest level, it wreathed the practitioner in clouds and mist. With a thrust of the palm, the clouds transformed into a dragon, shaking heaven and earth.
But the Cloud Sea Heart Sutra was the Yun family's lifeblood; only those of its direct bloodline could cultivate it.
Although Chen Du bore the title of prince, he stood in opposition to Prince Qi, whom the Yun family supported. Never mind borrowing the manual—even if he merely approached Yandang Mountain, he would probably be turned away at the gates.
Chen Du's fingers paused slightly as he turned to the third entry.
There was no painting in this entry, only a simple sketch of a sword. Its blade was slender, its tip pointed toward the sky, and an archaic character for "sword" was carved into its hilt. Beneath it were only a few lines:
"The Sword Pavilion stands on a lone island three hundred li beyond the East Sea. The Nine Swords of Heaven’s Inquiry kept within the pavilion is the foremost sword technique under heaven. In each generation, the Sword Pavilion passes it on to only one person, and every successor is a Xiantian master.
"The current successor's name and appearance are unknown. All that is known is that fifteen years ago, this person drove back a fleet of thirty pirate ships in the East Sea with a single sword strike. Sword qi swept across three hundred zhang, and the waves rolled backward. Since that battle, there has been no further news."
Chen Du read the passage three times over.
The foremost sword technique under heaven, passed on to only one person in each generation, with every successor a Xiantian master?
What did that mean? It meant that the Sword Pavilion possessed a reliable path to the Innate Realm.
Among all the martial forces in the Xuanye Realm, it was the only one of its kind.
But it was precisely this method of inheritance that left the Sword Pavilion with almost no dealings with the outside world.
Isolated far out at sea, one person and one sword—even whether the current successor was a man or a woman, old or young, was unknown.
Finding the Sword Pavilion would be even harder than entering the Hanging Temple or the Yandang Yun Family's domain.
Chen Du closed the book, shut his eyes, and sank into thought.
The Hanging Temple: ten thousand li away in the Western Regions, with strict temple rules.
The Yandang Yun Family: a Jiangnan family on the opposing side.
The Sword Pavilion: a lone island in the East Sea, its whereabouts a mystery.
Each of these three forces possessed a key to Xiantian, but none of them was one he could easily approach at present.
He was a prince under house arrest; in name, he was not even allowed to leave Qianchuan Hall.
Over the past three years, his only opportunities for contact with the outside world had been the old eunuch who delivered his meals and the imperial guards who occasionally passed by on patrol.
To reach a Xiantian martial art through such limited social contact was nothing short of a tale from the Arabian Nights.
But Chen Du was not anxious. He had endured three years already; he could spare this much more time.
His Early Acquired Stage was already stable, and he still had three minor stages to cultivate through: Middle Acquired Stage, Late Stage, and perfection.
During that process, he would have ample time to plan at his leisure.
Moreover, he had a vague feeling that some unknown connection must exist between the mysterious Xiantian master in the imperial palace and these martial forces.
The emperors of successive generations had been able to sit securely on the dragon throne and command all under heaven by more than the strength of a million soldiers alone.
Before a true top-tier master, an ordinary army was no more than paper.
For those martial families with centuries of inheritance to bow their heads and submit, the Great Sheng imperial family had to hold a bargaining chip weightier than military power.
That bargaining chip was very likely the Xiantian martial art in the imperial palace.
It simply was not kept in Qianchuan Hall, but hidden somewhere only the emperor could reach.
Chen Du opened his eyes and looked through Qianchuan Hall's window at the patch of sky enclosed by the palace walls.
He knew that three years of lying low had only been the beginning. The road ahead would be harder than the one behind him.
But whatever happened, he was no longer the scholar prince who lacked even the strength to truss a chicken.