After talking for about thirty minutes, Lan Ji and Xue Lian finally left the recovery room. They knew Han Ye wasn’t truly unwell, though he insisted otherwise. It was clearly a lie—but they decided not to press the matter.

  As the door closed and their footsteps faded into the distance, Han Ye activated a Qi-sensing technique he’d learned from his father—one he had secretly refined during the conversation.

  His eyes opened slowly.

  ‘They’re far enough now…’ he thought.

  He sat up on the bed, then gnced at his wrist.

  95%

  That number still glowed softly… but to him, it felt like a sword hanging over his head.

  “Hah... my sanity... I can’t ignore it anymore,” he muttered, exhaling deeply. “I can’t keep living as if nothing has changed.”

  His gaze shifted to the pin book lying beside his pillow. It was silent, but its presence felt like a constant whisper in the back of his mind.

  “Maybe… I need to seal my cultivation. So it doesn’t rise on its own…”

  He picked up the book, feeling a strange pulse through his skin.

  “…and I think this cursed book… gave me a sealing technique I can actually use.”

  Strangely, Han Ye couldn’t bring himself to fully hate the book. Deep down, he knew… he was at fault too. Curiosity. Ambition. Desire for knowge. All of it had led to the curse now etched into his very being.

  While he was still lost in thought, the door slid open silently—no knock, no footsteps.

  A figure entered, exuding undeniable authority.

  Vice Sect Master Xi.

  “Han Ye, that’s your name, right? The one who disrupted reality right in front of the elders?” his voice was calm, but heavy with pressure. “I want to hear the truth—from your own mouth.”

  Han Ye didn’t respond right away. He stared at the man before him, then gave a slight nod.

  And then he spoke.

  He told him everything.

  From the moment he encountered the book, to the visions that defied reason, the changes in his body, and the incident in the medical ward that tore through space and time.

  Xi listened quietly, narrowing his eyes as Han Ye spoke.

  “I see,” he finally said. “Now that I’ve heard it from you, I can—”

  But before Xi could finish his sentence, Han Ye interrupted.

  “I want to create something.”

  Xi raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “I… don’t trust my cultivation.”

  “Because of the book?” Xi pointed at the pin tome, which now sat harmlessly on the bed.

  “Yes. That’s why I sealed my cultivation at Arc III. I don’t want to accidentally break through.”

  Xi crossed his arms. “Then why do you want to create something?”

  Han Ye let out a slow sigh. “Because I’m bothered by the technology in this sect.”

  Xi didn’t interrupt. He waited.

  Han Ye then went on to expin his discomfort. From the inefficiency of the sect’s cooking tools, the outdated design of its weapons, to small tools others ignored but were frustratingly impractical. He wanted to remake them all. Not with spells. Not with traditional techniques. But with Qi Crafting—a fusion of cultivation and technology almost no one had ever taken seriously in the sect.

  “So in the end… what you want is to become a Qi Crafter, is that it?” Xi asked.

  “Yes.”

  Xi exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing toward the book. “You’re not being influenced by that book, are you?”

  His tone turned cold. Suddenly, murderous intent flooded the room.

  Han Ye remained calm.

  But then—

  [95% → 74%]

  The number dropped like a boulder.

  Xi’s expression darkened. ‘What in the world—?!’

  “Why is it dropping so fast?” he muttered. He could feel it—space around them was trembling. Light was bending. The air grew thick. Then…

  Strange symbols began to appear in the air.The room warped into an abyss.No—worse. A VOID devouring all existence.

  And when Han Ye tried to finish his sentence—

  “Besides cultivating and ________________”

  His voice glitched. Fragmented. Shattered. And the room—nearly colpsed.

  Without hesitation, Xi retracted his aura.

  “HAN YE!!!” he shouted.

  Instantly, reality snapped back. The symbols disappeared, the color returned to the world, and the number on Han Ye’s wrist rose back to 95%.

  Han Ye blinked, as if nothing had happened.

  “Huh? What is it, Vice Master?”

  Xi stared at him closely.

  “…What’s that on your wrist?”

  Han Ye grinned—almost too cheerfully. “Oh, that? That’s my sanity level. If it drops below 95%, reality starts falling apart.”

  Xi didn’t reply right away. He just… stared.

  Han Ye had been sad. Then emotionless.Now he was smiling like a carefree child.

  ‘He’s… changing.’‘No—he’s fracturing.’

  ‘He’s starting to go insane.’

  And for the first time… Vice Master Xi, who was watching Arc V, felt fear.

  As Han Ye and Vice Sect Master Xi spoke behind closed doors, the faint hum of spiritual tension leaked through the walls of the medical pavilion.

  The elders—Meng, Ji, Jian, and Xian—had remained outside, ostensibly giving space… but all had their senses sharpened, ears tuned, waiting.

  And then the door opened.

  Vice Sect Master Xi stepped out.

  The air shifted.

  His face was a mask—neutral, unreadable. Yet his eyes… they held something beneath the surface. Fatigue. Concern. And a hint of fear.

  Elder Xian, never one for waiting, immediately approached.“So… how did it go, Vice Master?”

  Xi exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Hah… I didn’t even get to deliver the Council’s decision.”

  Elder Meng frowned. “He interrupted you?”

  “Not just that.” Xi gnced back at the door, lowering his voice. “He told me he wanted to create something.”

  The elders shared puzzled looks.

  “Create… what, exactly?” Elder Jian asked, now more serious than usual.

  “He said he’s unsatisfied with the technology within the sect—our tools, our weapons, even the way we cook,” Xi muttered, still half in disbelief. “And he wants to begin something he called Qi Crafting.”

  “…Qi Crafting?” Elder Ji echoed with a furrowed brow. “That’s an ancient art—almost a myth.”

  He blinked twice, processing the words as if they were a poorly timed joke.“Wait… are you serious?” he added, gncing at the others. “He wants to become a Qi Crafter? That’s something people talk about in taverns after too much spirit wine.”

  He chuckled nervously—but the others didn’t ugh.

  Vice Sect Master Xi didn’t either.

  “…You’re not joking?” Ji asked, his smile fading.

  Xi’s gaze darkened. “Do I look like I’m in the mood for jokes?”

  Elder Ji fell silent, suddenly feeling colder despite the warm wind outside.

  “And he came to this conclusion on his own. Not from the book, or so he cims,” Xi said. “But that’s not the worst part.”

  Everyone quieted down at once. Elder Meng leaned in slightly.“…And what is the worst part?”

  Xi turned to them slowly. His voice was quiet, but heavy.“Did none of you feel it? The sudden shift in the air? The rippling of light?”

  They all looked at each other. Shook their heads.

  “No,” Elder Xian said cautiously. “We sensed nothing.”

  Xi clenched his jaw. “Reality was on the verge of colpse inside that room.”

  The weight of those words was not lost on anyone.

  “He has something on his wrist,” Xi continued. “A number. Glowing. Like a tattoo that pulses with energy. He called it his sanity level.”

  “A… sanity level?” Elder Jian raised an eyebrow.

  “He said if it drops below 95%, reality begins to destabilize,” Xi said. “And I made the mistake of testing him.”

  “You used killing intent, didn’t you?” Elder Ji whispered.

  Xi nodded. “Just a sliver of my aura. But the number fell—fast. From 95%… all the way to 74%.”

  A chill swept through the elders.

  “…Did it stop there?” Elder Meng asked.

  Xi nodded slowly. “Yes. Barely. I pulled back, shouted his name, and reality snapped back into pce. He returned to normal. But… there was a moment.”

  “A moment?” Elder Xian asked, voice hoarse.

  Xi’s gaze turned distant. “A moment where everything around us turned into something else. Not darkness. Not abyss. Just… absence. Like being in a pce where existence forgot to exist.”

  The elders said nothing.

  None of them knew what to say.

  Finally, Elder Jian, always the skeptical one, muttered, “What if we’re not equipped to handle him?”

  Xi turned to him. “We’re not. That’s why I’m telling you this now.”

  A long silence followed.

  Then, without another word, the Vice Sect Master began walking away. One by one, the elders followed, each deep in thought, none of them speaking.

  They exited the medical pavilion under the slowly setting sun.

  Even the air outside seemed reluctant to move.

  The wind didn’t blow. The leaves didn’t rustle. The world held its breath.

  Meanwhile, inside the medical pavilion...

  Han Ye sat perfectly still.

  His fingers absently brushed against the rough, cursed pages of the book resting on his p. He wasn’t flipping through them—no. It was more like he was communing with it. Listening. Syncing. Breathing in its silence.

  He chuckled quietly to himself.

  “95%... such a nice number. So close to perfect.”

  A strange warmth surged through his back, crawling up to his shoulders. He didn’t flinch—he welcomed it.

  And then—they appeared.

  Tiny, glowing symbols began to float up from his shoulders, like motes of divine dust. They shimmered in and out of view, never fully settling, never fully vanishing.

  Each symbol was utterly alien, not from any human nguage or ancient cultivation script. They twisted in impossible geometries, and their meanings whispered straight into the soul.

  At first, they drifted zily—then faster.

  The symbols gathered into a circle above Han Ye’s head, orbiting him like curious spirits.

  More and more gathered—hundreds, then thousands—until they began to compress into a perfect halo, glowing with a soft golden-cyan hue. The Crown of Symbols, they would call it ter… if anyone survived to describe it.

  Each symbol, microscopic in size—0.01 millimeters across—yet so detailed, so impossibly intricate, it hurt the eyes to even glimpse them.

  Han Ye smiled wider.

  He didn’t see the crown. But he felt it. Like a weightless crown of authority and madness, a paradox wrapped in glory.

  “I think I can hear them talking now,” he murmured to the book. “They want me to build. To reshape. To rewrite the logic of tools themselves.”

  The halo pulsed once, like a heartbeat.

  Han Ye tilted his head again, that faint, crooked smile still dancing on his lips. His pupils dited unnaturally—like they were trying to swallow all light in the room.

  He leaned back and whispered:

  “I’m still sane, you know… ninety-five is still sane.”

  But the symbols around his head spun faster in response, almost as if mocking him.

  And all the while, the number on his wrist never changed.

  95%.

  Safe.

  Stable.

  Lying.

  Han Ye smiled again—this time, softly. Almost like a child dreaming in the dark.