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Chapter 17

  The manual pavilion, if it could be called that, is a medium room with a rounded far wall. Four rows of bookshelves, two double-sided, two set into the left and right walls, run up and down the space. At the far side of the room, in the little semi-circle section, is a collection of once-comfortable chairs now devoured by moth and mildew.

  A quick glance through the shelves reveals their barren nature. About fourteen manuals collect dust and little else. Though with how a few manuals seem to share certain characteristics, it is entirely possible that some are duplicates, iterations, or further instalments of a multi-part manual.

  Still, even with such a small selection of manuals, the differences in construction alone are stark. Some are books and codices bound with leather faces and iron spines. Others are thick-rolled scrolls tied with silk ribbons and piled in triangular stacks. Others yet still are carved on slates of marble and jade—of both the green and white varieties.

  No matter the age of the manual, however, nor the amount of dust collected on the surface, they all seem to be in a decent enough condition. Ren frowns as he looks to the moth-bitten chairs at the back of the room. How could those chairs be in such poor shape while these manuals are close to new?

  A brisk sweep of the room reveals no signs of any talismans on the walls or ceilings, not that Ren was expecting to see any in the first place. After all, a talisman that protected the manuals would do the same for the chairs, no? Or... Perhaps a talisman could be invented that would do just that?

  Tally had implied that talismans could do anything if one were to but draw the right shape on the right material. But, if one were to create a talisman to protect a room, why wouldn't you have it protect everything in said room rather than only a certain amount of things?

  Perhaps Ren is coming at this from the wrong angle. Supposedly, this fortress was built in the Bad Old Days, so well over a thousand years ago. The fact that any furnishings are anything resembling intact at all is a miracle... Wait! Could that be it?

  Mortals often refer to anything a cultivator does as a 'miracle'. Any spell, any technique, all miracles. While this dilutes the term quite a bit, miracles still exist. Spells, martial arts, and any technique are fueled by one's qi. Miracles are fueled by one's jing, their vital, often irreplaceable essence. As jing is a significantly more potent energy source than qi, it is capable of enacting much grander works upon the world.

  Performing miracles, of course, is not without its price. To spend jing is to spend lifespan, a debt few cultivators are eager to pay. However, a miracle could absolutely protect a room from rot and mildew for over a thousand years—as long as enough jing was supplied, of course.

  Patting himself on the back for the deduction, Ren collects a trio of manuals at random from the shelves and claims one of the chairs for his own study. Though ancient and moth-eaten, the chair still supports his weight with a modicum of comfort to boot! Certainly more comfortable than his testing cell.

  The first manual is a fired clay tablet a little smaller than Ren's torso. In the dim light of the underground, not even leaning in close is enough to read the tiny inscriptions. Is this what Zhurong was referring to?

  Frowning, Ren goes to put the tablet to the side, only for his thumb to brush across the surface and the shape of familiar characters to catch against his skin. Ah, so that is how he should read it, with his fingers.

  Starting from the top, where the manual details that this technique is for earth or metal cultivators, Ren runs fingers across line after line. Immediately, the odd grammar and word choice accosts the mind. The author seems to omit certain words to save room, leaving the text somewhat difficult to parse. That by itself would be little trouble, but combined with needing to read with one's fingers? A near impossible task.

  Fortunately, however, the author seems to be aware of this issue and so includes a large diagram of the various poses one must hold during cultivation to encourage development of the body's durability. The drawings take up a significant portion of the tablet, which may well be why the word choice of the text is so blunt.

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  Setting the tablet aside, Ren turns to the next manual—a loose pile of paper sandwiched between thick leather plates—and immediately regrets it. The first manual had no space to waste, so it was a short read all things considered. This manual, however, couldn't be any more different.

  While the detail is truly stunning, the language the author uses to describe the motions and mental states is full of metaphor, analogy, and... innuendo? Ren isn't quite sure what the author means with 'like the feminine flower's nectar, the young hero must be in the proper state of mind to truly appreciate the blossom's sweet taste', but it cannot be appropriate for children.

  Like the last, this manual's technique requires certain poses to properly learn. However, unlike the tablet, there are no drawings or diagrams depicting the stances, instead it relies entirely on deeply detailed descriptions of said poses to get the point across.

  Regardless of the oddities of the manual, the author certain seems to know what they're writing about. Supposedly, by following this manual, one would be able to store additional qi in the 'porous crevices between the smallest-bodies' thighs'. The manual then explains that the smallest-bodies are too small for the naked eye to see, which draws memories from the depth of Ren's mind.

  Didn't Mom say something about things 'too small for the eye to see'? What was it she called the device used to see them? A crowscope, perhaps? If so, this author could well be onto something worth pursuing... If Ren had water qi aligned roots, that is.

  Shaking his head and feeling vaguely in need of a bath, Ren sets that manual aside in favor of the final of his selection. A rolled up scroll awaits his attention and quickly reveals its contents without much fuss or fanfare. The writing is rough and full of errors leaving certain characters looking like other words, yet it contains something neither of the other two manuals cared to include: an example.

  While Ren might not be able to read this manual with any real accuracy, he can understand what the general idea of the technique is without needing to read the words. Using a mirror, a metal cultivator can deflect beams of light—a form of 'flameless fire', as the author describes it.

  Of course, such a technique isn't much help to Ren. In fact, none of these techniques are useful for someone with fire-aligned roots! And with how difficult it was to read let alone understand them, he is starting to see why Zhurong has such a low opinion of manuals.

  Groaning out a heavy sigh, Ren tosses the scroll aside as he slides back into the mostly-missing stuffing of the chair. Running a hand over his face, a second sigh passes his lips at the wasted time. Eyelids growing heavy, he'll need to get some sleep soon enough. In the meantime, though, he might as well take the opportunity to think his circumstances through.

  Sitting up, Ren steeples his fingers together as he turns his mind inwards, to the theater of his thoughts. That empty village... Where is its totem beast? All villages have one, else the village won't need it much longer with how dangerous the world can be. There weren't any corpses, so if the totem beast is dead or otherwise missing... The villagers will need help.

  Zhurong had cast out her senses before asking Ren to do the same, if the prickly sensation was what he thinks it is. With her strength in cultivation, it is quite likely she sensed something amiss or otherwise curious about the village. While attempting to copy the actions of a Golden Core cultivator might normally be considered the height of stupidity, Ren has a Talent and that changes things.

  With Zhurong's aura suppressing Ren's senses, he hadn't been able to sense anything. But if he went to the village alone, he may well be able to pick up some details from the qi. Before he can do that, of course, he will need training and actual techniques. While bashing his foes' heads in with a rock might do the trick, his meridians are a bit high of a price to pay.

  That will require time. Time and working with... with the bandits...

  ...

  Speaking of bashing things in with a rock, how is his hand doing now that it's been cured? While the outside skin seems fine, as Ren undoes the bandages and examines the once-wound, a deeper inspection reveals the truth.

  Taking a chance and casting out his senses—the thick mountainside stopping Zhurong's aura from beating him over the head—Ren grimaces as familiar motes of fiery qi linger in his knuckles. The fox's curse still remains, though its tool does not.

  It doesn't seem to be actively harming him—now that the infection is gone, that is—but having it around isn't exactly an appealing alternative. If Ren can have it his way, he wouldn't have to even think about foxes ever again.

  A flash of hateful eyes, gleaming under a fan of nine tails, burns across the mind. Ren winces, fingers twitching as if grasping for a hand as it slips free.

  Ren takes a deep breath, the musty air thick and cloying, which swiftly turns into a wide yawn.

  ...He should get some sleep.

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