Feng Lin slowly left the balcony of the secondary pavilion where he stood. From there, he had a full view of the Feng residence—a territory that was once majestic, now marked by decay.

  But he had neither the time nor the desire to linger on these ruins of the past. His objective was clear.

  His gaze settled on a massive building, slightly set apart from the other pavilions. Its dark stone walls, imposing columns, and sculpted roof betrayed its importance. It could only be a library.

  Without wasting a second, Feng Lin set off. His body, still weakened by the poison, slowed his movements, but he did not let it show. He walked with the same poise as a sovereign approaching his throne.

  Silence weighed over the Feng residence. The few remaining servants stood frozen, breathless. How was this possible? Their young master, who had been on the brink of death for years, was now walking before their very eyes.

  An old man with a gray beard gripped his broom nervously, while a young maid stepped back, as if she had just seen a ghost. No one dared to break the heavy silence.

  Feng Lin, however, ignored their astonishment. His cold gaze swept over the surroundings. His childhood memories were blurry, fragmented. He barely recognized the place. This body had been only five years old when the poison struck, and the Feng clan had already been in decline long before that.

  But one thing caught his attention: an enormous building, set apart, half-hidden behind cracked walls and overgrown vegetation. The library?

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  A smile appeared on his face. Finally.

  He stepped into the library. The ground floor was deserted, except for a broken wooden desk, probably once used to verify visitors' identities and determine their access to different floors. He climbed the stairs to the first floor, where dust reigned supreme. Half of the books had been removed, many shelves were empty, and among the remaining works… could they even be called remains? Only two were left.

  Feng Lin approached the two remaining books, their covers worn and dulled by time. He reached out for the first, feeling the rough texture of cracked leather under his fingers. Carefully opening it, he found its pages yellowed, some nearly illegible, but he could still make out diagrams and ancient writings. Skimming through the contents, he realized it was a basic manual on the fundamentals of cultivation. Though rudimentary, this manual could provide the necessary foundation for him to begin his training.

  He then turned to the second book. This one was thinner, with a torn cloth cover. Opening it, he discovered a collection of personal notes, likely written by a former member of the Feng clan. The notes detailed experiments, failures, and successes in various cultivation techniques. Though fragmented, these writings could offer valuable insights and shortcuts for his progress.

  Feng Lin took both books and sat down on the dusty floor of the library. He knew the road to regaining his power would be long and arduous, but with these resources—modest as they were—he had a starting point. Closing his eyes for a moment, he recalled the sensations of his former strength, then began reading, determined to rebuild his power, page by page.

  Among the two remaining books, Feng Lin picked up the first and examined it carefully. It contained only information on a basic cultivation technique, likely intended for outer disciples.

  Feng Lin assumed that at the peak of his clan, such a weak technique would not have been present in the library. It had probably been added when the clan was in decline, to quickly train new disciples.

  Despite the simplicity of the technique, Feng Lin decided to use it as a starting point. He sat cross-legged on the dusty library floor, closed his eyes, and began cultivating according to the manual's instructions. He knew this method was rudimentary, but it would allow him to gradually rebuild his inner strength.

  He did not have time to search the other floors for a more advanced manual. His body was in too precarious a state for him to afford to wait. If he did not quickly strengthen his constitution, his fragile health would end him before he could even truly begin his cultivation journey.