“Hmph. That too, but we just received an invitation to attend the tournament at ‘Iron Tortoise Saber Sect’ in three months. The reward for any who wins is one Earth-grade treasure, and twelve bone vein condensing pills.”

  He answered unabashedly, his desire for a proper sheath that fit his stature as the eldest elder of the most prominent sects in the ‘Gold Peaks Continent’ clear in his tone.

  “They are awfully generous compared to their usual behavior. Why would this benefit Soloman to know of this?” Elder Yuro’s voice carried a slight mocking tone as he mentioned the situation of their sect’s competitor, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

  “While the ‘Iron Tortoise’ is slightly equal to our own, the stake of an Earth-grade treasure on the line indicates they believe they would win again this year,” Elder Mùchén replied, his fingers drumming thoughtfully on the table.

  “Perhaps they had a chance encounter while exploring an ancestor’s tomb and are using this as an opportunity to announce their rise, so to speak,” Elder Brynn suggested, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

  “Irrespective of their intent, we are allies and will not falter in our effort to win. As for Soloman, the ‘Iron Tortoise’ has an extensive artifact catalog.” Elder Mùchén gazed in the direction of the ‘Iron Tortoise’ sect, memories of his old drinking buddy filling his mind.

  They had adventured across the mountain peaks and seas of ‘Golden Peaks’, his friend wielding a plethora of artifacts to decimate their enemies and protect them in battles against abyssal-grade beasts and demons. A wistful smile tugged at his lips.

  “So you wish to exchange the artifact for a look into their archives for a traversing-related artifact for our new foreign resident,” Elder Brynn chimed in, understanding Elder Mùchén’s intentions. Her tone was a mix of admiration and skepticism.

  “Precisely. I must be off now.” He zoomed away towards the seventh peak where the outer disciples learned cultivation techniques and methodologies, leaving a gust of wind in his wake.

  “Good riddance,” Elder Brynn harrumphed as she turned away from the entrance, heading back to her seat to organize the library layout Soloman had given her. The scent of old parchment and ink filled the air, a comforting reminder of her duties.

  “Hahaha. To whom, I wonder,” her husband chuckled at his wife’s attitude, shaking his head with a fond smile.

  “BOTH!”

  Elder Mùchén glided through the clouds, his robes fluttering elegantly, observing the sect going about their day. Students attended to the sect’s mounts, practiced swordplay, and performed menial chores like cooking and laundry.

  The sight made him reminisce about how quickly the sect had grown in only four hundred years. From just him and Sect Master Aria with three shabby houses and a handful of scriptures they had obtained through the years, with only three willing disciples who would eventually grow into today’s Elders.

  A wave of nostalgia calmed his heart and mind, a sweet poison that made him forget that his time was soon approaching. Being at the cusp of the eighth level of ‘Golden Pill’ meant his lifespan was only eight hundred years unless he used taboo methods to extend it further. The thought was one he would never comply with, but the idea of leaving his two precious disciples behind and not watching them grow further made him feel listless.

  “I am a half step away from the eighth level for two hundred years. If only there was something that could loosen the bottleneck, I would be able to go on another century. That would be enough for me to ensure those two would be able to survive on their own… Oh dear, I reached the assembly without noticing.”

  He quietly landed behind the stands to watch the lesson proceed and to take note of how the disciples are faring. Spreading his pale gray colored Qi to mask his presence, moving like a ghost, fallen leaves and dust left untouched.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “I wonder how much Elder Brutus has progressed in his understanding of ‘Dao’. He was always the most studious student of mine. It has been a rewarding experience watching him ascend to elder, even though he is always spartan with his methods to train the newer generation and claimed to be the pioneer of ‘Dao’ studies. His stubborn pride on the matter even to take the lessons away from his senior Yuro.”

  Lost in his memories, Mùchén recalled Brutus enduring harsh elements to understand their impact on living flesh and even asking fellow students to attack him for practical learning. He peeked around the corner, to witness a sight that caused him to blench.

  “Water is a molecule composed of three atoms: one part oxygen (O) and two parts hydrogen (H). They bond through their valence electrons, transforming from two lighter-than-air gases into a liquid.”

  Soloman stood on the platform, proudly lecturing the students. A newly erected white stone wall with etched symbols visualized the lesson.

  “What is a ‘valence electron’? And how does this fit within the laws of the natural world?” Elder Brutus stood up quickly from his stadium chair, papers and brush in hand, staring at the impromptu whiteboard with strands of derangement in his eyes.

  “Raise your hand if you have questions. You will wait your turn till you learn student etiquette.”

  Soloman disregarded Brutus’s enthusiastic gaze as he pointed to a student who had raised their hand.

  “I-If it is made out of air, w-why doesn’t it burn but instead put fires out?” The student nervously asked, confronted with knowledge that seemed contradictory to her observations and previous teachings. In her peripheral vision, she noticed the sect elder glaring at her, clearly wanting her to ask his question too.

  “A-And valence electron too,” she squeaked, quickly sitting back down, trying to blend into the background to avoid her sect elder’s gaze and potential wrath.

  “Sigh~ Brutus, as punishment for harassing a fellow student, you are to stand outside of the classroom until class is over. Go.”

  Soloman saw the interaction and meted out the appropriate response, pointing towards the end of the stand that served as the classroom boundary. The surreal situation of a respected elder being thrown out wasn’t met with any snickers or condemnation, as Brutus stood up and walked out, the students too enraptured by the lesson to pay attention.

  “A very good question, Ms. Abigail. Although oxygen is essential for fire, it is primarily an oxidizer. I’ll explain that in just a moment.”

  Soloman continued explaining the characteristics of oxygen and hydrogen, while Brutus noticed Mùchén listening with a flabbergasted expression.

  “Why are you here?” His eyes widened as he noticed Elder Mùchén figure standing nearby, his stature serene contrasting his amused expression.

  “Huh? O-oh, I was just going to check in on the lesson, but noticed it was not you and was taken aback at the sight. Especially seeing you being so subservient.”

  “I-I am annoyed that I overreacted and was kicked out, but as a student, I can’t interfere with the lesson.”

  “…You’re an Elder.”

  “We are always students! cough You taught me that.” Brutus blushed, realizing he had forgotten his role as Qi instructor. “His one lesson alone caused twenty of our disciples to break through a layer. Even my bottleneck at the third level of ‘Golden Pill’ loosened. I’m just a step away. I got too excited and have to wait till tomorrow now.”

  Brutus explained the sequence of events that led Soloman to teach the ‘Dao’ of the world to Mùchén, leaving his counterpart wide-eyed in astonishment.

  “The lesson is set to last for another hour. Elder Mu- Master… I know you had some setbacks in your cultivation… and the limits are about to…”

  Brutus’s voice trailed off, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and fear. He shifted back to the days when he was a student of Mùchén, remembering the unwavering guidance and support his mentor had provided. The thought of a potential solution to extend Mùchén’s life filled him with a desperate longing.

  Mùchén noticed the tremor in Brutus’s voice and the unspoken plea in his eyes. He placed a comforting hand on Brutus’s shivering shoulder, his touch gentle yet firm.

  “Hmm~ I suppose I shall. I would never want to disappoint my students.”

  His voice was calm, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the inevitable passage of time.

  Brutus felt a surge of emotion at his mentor’s words. “Master, you’ve always been there for us. If there’s a chance, even a small one, to help you break through, we must take it.” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the depth of his feelings.

  Mùchén gave a small, wistful smile. “You’ve grown so much, Brutus. It’s moments like these that make everything worthwhile.”

  He quietly walked past and sat down on the bleachers, his presence commanding yet serene unnoticed by the others. This simple act led the seven-hundred-year-old cultivator, who had been stagnant for centuries, to finally see the light of the eighth layer.