Han Zhao didn't just break the window.
If he had simply smashed the glass, it would look like an amateur's work. Instead, he used a heavy copper paperweight to warp the lead casing and then applied a focused burst of Qi—the jagged, messy kind he'd seen Li Wei use—to shatter the pane from the inside out. He even took a scrap of blue silk from his sewing kit and snagged it on a splinter of the frame.
When he was done, it looked like a desperate woman had dived through the opening in a frantic rush.
[Task: Create a 'Crime Scene'. Quality: Masterpiece.]
[Reward: 2 Days of Longevity.]
"Now," Han Zhao whispered, "for the most important part."
He lay down on the floor, messed up his hair, and slapped his own cheek until it was a bruised red. Then, he closed his eyes and began to regulate his breathing into the shallow, panicked rhythm of a survivor.
Five minutes later, the heavy thud of boots returned. But it wasn't the arrogant Li Wei this time. The air in the Pavilion grew heavy, thick with the scent of old parchment and ozone.
"What is the meaning of this?"
The voice was like a tectonic plate shifting. Han Zhao opened one eye. Standing over him was Elder Lu, the Head Librarian, accompanied by two stone-faced Law Enforcement Hall disciples.
"Elder!" Han Zhao scrambled to his knees, his voice cracking with a perfect mixture of terror and relief. "They... they came back! The men with the gold leaves! They accused me of hiding a thief!"
Elder Lu's gaze swept the room. He saw the shattered window, the scattered books, and the "bruised" and trembling servant. His eyes softened, replaced by a cold, simmering fury directed elsewhere.
"Li Wei," the Elder spat. "That boy thinks because he is the Sect Leader's nephew, he can treat my Pavilion like a tavern. Did they find anyone, Han Zhao?"
"No, Elder! They searched everywhere. They broke the window because they thought someone jumped out! They nearly killed me!" Han Zhao began to sob—quiet, pathetic sounds that made the Law Enforcement disciples look away in embarrassment.
"Check the perimeter," Elder Lu commanded the disciples. Then he looked at Han Zhao. "Go to the infirmary, boy. Get some ointment for that face. I'll handle the paperwork for the damages."
"Thank you, Elder. You are too kind to this useless one."
Han Zhao bowed his way out of the room. He didn't go to the infirmary, of course. He went to the servant's latrines, washed his face, and waited until the "danger" sensors in his mind stopped buzzing.
Late that night, while the sect was preoccupied with the diplomatic fallout of Li Wei's "unauthorized search," Han Zhao stood before the staircase leading to the fifth floor.
The fifth floor was the 'Forbidden Sun' collection. It wasn't forbidden because it was evil; it was forbidden because it was useless. It contained techniques that were too difficult to learn, too dangerous to practice, or simply too weird for the average cultivator.
He pulled out the iron key Su Lian had given him.
The lock on the fifth-floor door was shaped like a weeping eye. As he inserted the key, he felt a cold probe of spiritual energy scan his hand. He immediately activated 'Mist-Veil Silhouette', masking his Qi as a dull, lifeless void.
Click.
The door swung open with a heavy, velvet silent.
Unlike the dusty, crowded lower floors, the fifth floor was a single, circular room lined with white jade shelves. In the center, a golden orb of light hovered, illuminating a mere dozen scrolls.
Han Zhao walked to the first shelf.
[Object: 'Sun-Eater's Manual'.]
[Warning: Requires consuming molten lead to initiate. Death Rate: 99.9%.]
"Pass," Han Zhao muttered.
He moved to the next.
[Object: 'The Thousand-Year Sleep'.]
[Effect: Cultivator falls into a coma for ten centuries. Wake up with increased power.]
"I want to live for a thousand years, not sleep through them. Pass."
He reached the final shelf in the corner, where a single, charcoal-black scroll sat alone. It looked burnt, as if it had survived a fire that had consumed everything else around it.
[Analysis Initiated...]
[Object: 'The Script of the Unwritten Page'.]
[Rank: ???]
[Description: A 'Void-Type' cultivation method. It does not store Qi in the Dantian. It stores Qi in the user's skin, hair, and shadow.]
Han Zhao's eyes widened.
Most cultivators were like lanterns; their Dantian was the flame, and the stronger the flame, the brighter they glowed to others. This technique turned the user into a sponge. The Qi wasn't a flame; it was a stain. It was invisible. It was... perfect.
[System Warning: This technique is 'Incomplete'. Practicing it will cause the user to gradually fade from the memory of others.]
Han Zhao froze. "Wait. Fade from memory?"
[Correct. People will find it difficult to remember your face, your name, or your existence unless they are looking directly at you.]
A slow, wide smile spread across Han Zhao's face. To a normal person, this was a curse. To a man who wanted to hide from the heavens, it was the ultimate "Do Not Disturb" sign.
"System," Han Zhao whispered. "Begin optimization. I want the version that makes me as forgettable as a pebble in a river."
[Optimization in progress... 10%... 40%...]
[New Core Method Acquired: 'The Nameless Longevity Script'.]
[Effect: Qi is stored in the shadow. Detection is impossible for anyone below the Immortal Realm. Secondary Effect: 'Social Invisibility'.]
As the technique integrated into his soul, Han Zhao felt a strange sensation. It was as if a weight he hadn't known he was carrying—the weight of being "seen"—had been lifted.
He left the fifth floor, locked the door, and returned to his small cot in the servant's quarters.
The next morning, he went to the kitchens to get his morning congee. The cook, a man who had seen Han Zhao every day for three months, stared at him for a long beat.
"Name?" the cook asked, ladle poised.
"Han Zhao. Record-Keeper," Han Zhao replied.
"Right, right. Han Zhao. Funny, I keep forgetting we have a third librarian. Here's your gruel."
Han Zhao took the bowl and sat in the corner. He watched the "Genius" disciples arguing about the upcoming tournament. He watched the drama, the passion, and the fire of youth.
He felt like a ghost watching a play.
[Current Life Expectancy: 75 Years, 12 Days.]
He had finally broken the seventy-five-year mark. He was getting younger as the world got older.
"One day," Han Zhao whispered to his congee, "I'm going to be the only person who remembers any of you."
He finished his breakfast and went back to the library. He had a very important task today: he wanted to see if he could optimize the "Dust-Repelling Formation" to also work on his laundry.
Immortality was a long road, and Han Zhao intended to walk it in very clean clothes.