Old Chen settled back in his chair, his clouded eyes gazing at something far away — not the wall of the teahouse, but something beyond it. Something only he could see.
"My grandfather was a young man in 1907," he began. "The war was coming. Everyone could feel it. But my grandfather wasn't a soldier. He was a stone carver. His father was a stone carver before him, and his grandfather before that. Our family had been carving stone for seven generations."
Yan Xiao leaned forward slightly.
"One day, a stranger came to our village. An old man in a gray robe. No one knew where he came from. He didn't speak much. But he carried a piece of stone — black stone, smooth as water, cold to the touch even in summer. He said he needed it carved."
"What did he want carved?" Yan Xiao asked.
Old Chen's smile widened.
"A key. Or something that looked like a key. A spiral pattern, like a snake eating its own tail. My grandfather said it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen — and the most unsettling. The stone seemed to drink the light around it."
Old Chen paused to take a sip of tea. His hands trembled slightly, but his voice was steady.
"My grandfather carved the key. It took him three months. When he finished, the old man in gray came back to collect it. He paid my grandfather in silver — more silver than our family had seen in ten years. But before he left, he said something strange."
"What did he say?"
"He said, 'The gate in the west will open again. Not in my lifetime. Not in yours. But it will open. And when it does, the key will be needed.' Then he walked away, and no one in the village ever saw him again."
Yan Xiao's heart beat faster. "The gate in the west. Mount Kunlun?"
Old Chen shrugged. "That's what my grandfather believed. He spent the rest of his life searching for that mountain — the real Kunlun, not the one on the maps. He never found it. But he passed the story to my father, and my father passed it to me."
"And the key? What happened to the key?"
Old Chen's eyes dimmed.
"Gone. The old man in gray took it with him. My grandfather never saw it again. But he always said that the key wasn't the important part. The important part was the spiral."
"The spiral?"
"The snake eating its own tail. It's an old symbol — older than China, older than any written language. It means cycles. Endings and beginnings. Death and rebirth. My grandfather believed that the gate didn't just open to a place. It opened to a time."
Yan Xiao's mind raced.
A gate. A key. A spiral symbol. A mountain that wasn't on any map.
"Mr. Chen," he said carefully, "do you believe the gate is real?"
Old Chen was quiet for a long time.
Then he said, "I am ninety-three years old, boy. I have outlived my wife, my children, and most of my friends. I have seen enough of this world to know that I don't know much at all. But I will tell you this — my grandfather was not a liar. He was a simple man. A stone carver. He had no reason to invent a story about a gate and a key and a mountain that doesn't exist."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Before he died, he made me promise to tell the story to someone. Anyone. He said the story needed to survive. Because one day, someone would come looking for the gate. And that person would need to know what he knew."
Old Chen looked directly at Yan Xiao.
"Maybe that person is you."
Yan Xiao held the old man's gaze.
"What else did your grandfather say? About the gate? About where to find it?"
Old Chen shook his head.
"He didn't know where. Only that it was in the west — deep in the Kunlun mountain range, in a valley that no satellite has ever photographed and no explorer has ever found. But he did give me one more thing. A description of the spiral. He carved it into a small stone before he died. I keep it in my room upstairs."
He gestured toward a narrow staircase at the back of the teahouse.
"Would you like to see it?"
Yan Xiao stood up. "Yes."
---
Old Chen moved slowly, leaning on his cane. Yan Xiao walked beside him, matching his pace. The stairs creaked under their weight.
At the top of the stairs was a small room — barely larger than a closet. A single bed. A wooden desk. A window that faced the alley behind the teahouse. On the desk, next to a stack of old letters, lay a small gray stone.
Old Chen picked it up and held it out.
Yan Xiao took it.
The stone was smooth, about the size of his palm. Carved into its surface was a spiral — a single line that curled inward, round and round, until it vanished at the center. The carving was old, the edges worn smooth by decades of handling.
But as Yan Xiao held it, he felt something.
A faint warmth. A vibration. Like the stone was alive.
This was not ordinary stone. Yan Xiao had seen materials like this before — on the Night Flower Continent. Stones that had been bathed in dense spiritual Qi for centuries developed this texture, this weight, this subtle warmth. They were rare even in his old world. In a Dharma Ending Era like Earth, a stone like this should not exist at all.
The fact that it did meant that somewhere, somehow, this stone had been exposed to an environment rich in spiritual energy. Not recently — the residue was old. But it had been there. Once. And that meant the place where it had been kept — the gate, the valley, Kunlun — had once been saturated with the very thing this world had lost.
"System," he thought. "Do you feel that?"
A pause.
"Ding. The System detects a faint spiritual residue. Very old. Very weak. But... authentic. This stone was in the presence of something powerful, Host. Something with cultivation energy."
Yan Xiao's grip tightened on the stone.
"Mr. Chen," he said, "may I borrow this? Just for a few days."
Old Chen studied him for a long moment.
Then he smiled.
"Keep it, boy. I've been holding onto it for seventy years, waiting for the right person to give it to. My grandfather's story ends with you now."
Yan Xiao bowed his head. "Thank you, Mr. Chen."
The old man waved a dismissive hand.
"Go. Find your gate. But be careful. Some doors are not meant to be opened. And some things on the other side... do not like being disturbed."
---
Yan Xiao left the teahouse with the stone in his pocket.
The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and red. He walked slowly, his mind turning over everything Old Chen had told him.
A gate in the west. A spiral symbol. A key that had been carved by a stone carver's grandfather.
"System. What do you make of this?"
"Ding. The story is consistent with multiple mythological sources Host researched. The spiral symbol appears in ancient petroglyphs throughout the Kunlun region. The description of the gate aligns with legends about the Kunlun Palace — a hidden realm accessible only to immortals."
"So there might actually be something there?"
"Ding. The spiritual residue on the stone confirms that something — or someone — with cultivation energy was present when that symbol was carved. The System cannot determine what. But the evidence is... intriguing."
Yan Xiao stopped walking.
He pulled out the stone and looked at the spiral.
A gate that opened to a place. Or to a time.
"If the gate is real," he said, "and if it opens to somewhere with spiritual energy... could that help me find Qi Yun?"
A longer pause.
"Ding. The System cannot answer that question with certainty, Host. But the System can say this — any source of cultivation energy in this Dharma Ending Era is worth investigating. Host's master is out there. Host will need every advantage to find her."
Yan Xiao tucked the stone back into his pocket.
"Then I guess I'm going to Kunlun."
"Ding. The System suggests Host prepare properly. Kunlun is a vast mountain range spanning thousands of kilometers. Host cannot search it alone without a more precise location."
"Then I'll find a more precise location."
"Ding. Host is confident. The System is... cautiously optimistic."
Yan Xiao smiled.
"Don't worry. I'm not going to run off into the mountains tomorrow. I need more information. More sources. And maybe..."
He thought about Su Qinghe. About the Realm Guard Division. About the resources they might have access to — maps, records, classified information that wasn't available to the public.
"Maybe I need to make some friends."
"Ding. The System detects a disturbance in the force."
"What?"
"Ding. Host said 'friends.' The System is experiencing simulated concern."
Yan Xiao laughed — a real laugh, the first one in days.