From the perspective of Zhuge Su Yeon
My imperial father never told me much about the underground legacy that lay beneath his chambers.
It was a secret known only to the two of us — something so carefully hidden that not even Su Lan, who governs half the empire in his name, knows it exists.
To the rest of the world, Zhuge Island is simply the political heart of the empire — the sacred throne of our bloodline.
But I know that beneath its foundations lies something far older.
My father was not born on this island.
He is — and always has been — a foreigner.
He arrived here decades ago, from a distant continent, guided by motives he still refuses to reveal.
Some imperial records attempt to conceal his origins, forging a lineage that claims he descends directly from the island's first guardians.
But I know the truth.
Because he told me himself.
He came alone. And during those first years, before he ascended the throne, he explored the island's underground in secret.
That was when he found what we now call the Hidden Library.
He once told me the place had existed long before his arrival — even the island's ancient inhabitants knew nothing of it.
It was a structure that seemed alive, formed of black spiritual stone, its walls breathing with ancestral energy.
The symbols carved into them belonged to a script that neither he — nor the greatest scholars I've ever met — could fully decipher.
When I first found him there, staring at those walls years ago, he looked like a different man.
There was something in his eyes...
A mix of reverence and fear.
"Do not touch what sleeps here, Yeon," he said.
"Not everything that was left behind is meant to be inherited."
Those words stayed with me.
And since that day, I never mentioned the place to anyone.
Not to my sisters.
Not even to Su Lan.
That is why, whenever I descend to that place, I do so in silence — as one would step into a forgotten temple.
The library is divided into levels — or "floors," as my father calls them — and each holds a different kind of knowledge.
The five sealed gates he once showed me as a child remain there, untouched.
Each of them guards something that, according to him, even he dared not approach.
And honestly, after witnessing just one of those legacies, I completely agreed.
Beyond those gates lies an even deeper section of the library — one I have never entered.
Fortunately, I don't need to.
For what I intend to do now — selecting techniques for my sisters — the upper level is more than enough.
The "safest" one.
Though calling it safe feels almost ironic.
The shelves stretch all the way to the ceiling, filled with books that pulse with spiritual energy.
Some float lightly in the air, others emit their own light, and the silence there is almost sacred — interrupted only by the soft hum of energy currents flowing through the runes carved into the walls.
As I walked, I could feel the weight of that secret pressing down on my shoulders.
The world believes my father inherited everything from past generations — but the truth is the opposite.
He was the one who discovered it.
Who opened the path.
Who chose to hide what he found and build an empire upon it.
And now, the fate of that legacy rests in my hands.
I stepped toward the central altar, where spiritual energy gathered into a golden mist, and let my own blood activate the reading seal.
The shelves began to glow, recognizing my presence.
I didn't know whether I was following the same path my father once walked, or beginning a new one entirely.
But one thing I knew for certain:
Some secrets are too great for the world.
And others...
Can only be understood between father and child.
The upper library held ten floors.
Ten levels of power, ten layers of wisdom — and ten different ways to destroy the world, depending on who dared to open them.
The first floor contained spiritual-level techniques — simple, safe, crafted to strengthen the body and stabilize energy flow.
Arts that even an ordinary disciple could practice without fear.
The second floor held the earthly-level techniques — the ones used by generals and mid-tier sect cultivators.
Powerful, but still comprehensible, designed for human warfare.
The third floor...
That was the one I sought today.
Here began the celestial-grade techniques — arts not meant to be learned, but inherited.
Techniques born from entire generations of cultivators, condensed until they became something the human body could barely endure.
A single mistake in practice... and the practitioner would turn to ash.
And above the third floor...
lay seven more levels that were not yet meant to be touched.
The techniques sealed there were not merely powerful.
They were too dangerous to exist openly.
If any of them were displayed in a public tournament, it would be like lighting a beacon for the great powers of the continent — ancient sects, forgotten empires, and spiritual realms beyond the clouds.
Zhuge Island would become a target.
And no wall is high enough to protect what the world covets.
Even so, I knew that choosing celestial techniques was already a daring act.
But what choice did I have?
The tournament would not be an exhibition — it would be a war disguised as one.
And my sisters could not walk into battle wielding ordinary arts.
"If I'm going to take a risk," I thought, climbing the stairs toward the third floor, "then at least let the risk be worth the outcome."
The air grew different there — heavy, cold, yet strangely alive.
It felt as though the very space itself was watching me.
The shelves were tall, endless.
Books floated, held aloft by streams of Qi, and spiritual symbols shimmered at the edges of the pages like tiny golden sparks.
The torchlight burned blue, each flame breathing softly, as if alive.
I walked to the central table made of dark jade.
When I touched its surface, the blood seal recognized my Qi and opened with a gentle glow.
A scroll slid out, as though the library itself knew what I sought.
I unrolled it.
Golden lines moved across the surface, rearranging themselves into legible words.
A celestial sword technique — precise and deadly.
Far too strong for my plans... and yet, necessary.
I drew a deep breath.
I couldn't go overboard.
My sisters had only six months — and even extraordinary talent cannot master dozens of arts in that time.
I had to choose one for each of them.
Something they could grasp, absorb, and turn into real strength before the tournament.
The hardest part wouldn't be the training.
It would be the secrecy.
All I could do was pray that, when they displayed those techniques in the arena,
no elder, no ancient sect cultivator among the spectators, would have eyes sharp enough to recognize their true worth.
Because if anyone did...
then Zhuge Island would cease to be an isolated empire —
and become a prize of war.