He called out several times, but no one inside the hall responded.

Liu Xiaolou walked slowly up the steps and approached the main hall. It was only then that he noticed a heavy iron lock hanging on the doors. It was clear the owner wasn't home.

He gave the door a gentle push and managed to open it just enough to peek through the crack. Inside stood a statue about ten feet tall. Its expression was solemn, and its eyes seemed to shine with a piercing gaze.

For a moment, Liu Xiaolou locked eyes with the statue. A wave of vast, ancient stillness swept over him, leaving him dazed. He unconsciously took a few steps back.

The statue was exquisitely carved. Truly lifelike.

He took a breath and shook off the daze. Just then, a refreshing sensation rose in his mind.

A mountain breeze passed by, carrying with it a fine mist of rain, as light as cow hair, brushing over Liu Xiaolou and waking his spirit. He couldn't tell whether that earlier sense of clarity came from the statue's gaze or from this sudden mountain rain.

He walked on to check the east wing and the west quarters. Peeking through the cracks in those doors, he saw no one inside either. Just faint glimpses of furniture, beds, a kitchen, and stacks of dry firewood. All the essentials for daily living.

The moon gate connecting the main hall to the side buildings sat right on the edge of the mountain. Just a few steps beyond it lay a sheer drop into a bottomless abyss. Looking out from there, the sun had already set. At some point, thick clouds had filled the sky, casting the whole world into gloom.

Since he was here, he might as well stay. Liu Xiaolou decided to rest at the temple for a few days and wait for the owner to return.

Of course, the iron lock wouldn’t have stopped him. It might’ve looked sturdy, but it could be pried open without much effort. Still, he’d come here to ask for help; breaking in didn’t seem right.

So he settled down under the eaves of the east wing, ate two pieces of dry rations, held a spirit stone in his palm, and began his cultivation with eyes closed.

Of the nine key acupoints along the Hand Faint Yin Meridian, Liu Xiaolou had already opened Tianchi and Tianquan. It had cost him five spirit stones to get that far. Now, with fifteen stones left in hand, he looked forward to seeing how many of the remaining seven—Quchi, Ximen, Jianshi, Neiguan, Daling, Laogong, and Zhongchong—he could unlock. The thought filled him with anticipation.

Thin strands of spiritual energy slowly transformed into true qi within his body. After flowing through the primordial pools at Tianchi and Tianquan, the true qi surged onward toward Quchi, slamming against the acupoint gate like waves striking a shore. At the elbow, the Quchi acupoint trembled under the repeated impact, and the pulsing was strong enough to be seen with the naked eye.

This was the kind of slow, steady cultivation that took years to bear fruit and not something that could be rushed. After ten years of training, Liu Xiaolou was long used to the pace.

The night passed without incident. At dawn the next day, he emerged from cultivation, stretched out his slightly stiff limbs, and walked to the mountain’s edge to take in the view.

The world was blanketed in clouds and mist, gloomy and overcast just like the day before. The mountain wind carried fine threads of rain that left a faint chill on his skin.

He circled the mountaintop, which was about a mu in size, but saw no sign that the temple’s owner had returned. Still, he wasn’t in a hurry. He ate a bit of dry food, drank a few sips of clean water from a large jar tucked in a corner, and went right back to working on the Quchi acupoint.

Several days passed this way. The owner never showed, but Liu Xiaolou found himself growing fond of the place. Shrouded in mist, free from distractions. Wasn’t this the perfect environment for cultivation?

When he finally ran out of rations, he descended into the valley to hunt. Not wanting to upset the master of the temple, he made sure to eat all the wild hares, mountain pheasants, fish, and crabs he caught before heading back.

Late at night on the fourteenth day, the spirit stone in Liu Xiaolou’s hand finally gave out. No matter how he focused, he couldn’t draw a single trace of spiritual energy from it. With just a bit more effort, the stone crumbled into dust and powder. One stone completely spent, and the Quchi acupoint hadn’t budged at all. Liu Xiaolou figured it would probably take three stones to break through this one.

He stretched out his legs, leaned against the base of the wall, and lay down. With a long stretch, he let himself drift into a deep, satisfying sleep.

Seated meditation and cultivation could certainly help refresh the mind, but you couldn’t stay tense and on edge indefinitely. Keeping your focus tightly wound for so long was exhausting, and like any Qi Refiner, he still needed sleep eventually. After half a month without proper rest, he slept deeply and peacefully.

Liu Xiaolou woke to find snow falling all around him; it was the first snowfall of the winter. The flakes drifted down in silence, veiling the mountains until they were barely visible. It felt as if he were the only soul left in the world.

He wandered for a while, just enjoying the snow. He was about to begin cultivation again when he suddenly heard a cough from outside the temple gate.

Liu Xiaolou quickly straightened his robes and stood respectfully, ready to welcome the master of the temple.

He waited a long time, but no one appeared. Finally, he stepped outside, but there was still no one in sight. The only thing before him was the winding, rugged mountain path disappearing into the falling snow.

But he was sure he’d heard a cough. It wasn’t his imagination. So he followed the trail down the slope. Rounding a bend in the mountainside, he spotted someone lying on the stone steps, half-covered by the drifting snow.

Liu Xiaolou checked for breath and took the man’s pulse. Still alive.

He turned the man over, lifted him up with one hand, and hurried back to Xingde Temple.

Liu Xiaolou laid the man down under the eaves and brushed the snow off his body, revealing his face and figure. He was tall, at least half a head taller than Liu Xiaolou, and looked to be in his forties or fifties. Three elegant strands of beard hung from his chin, and though his complexion was pale and lifeless, it didn’t hide his dignified, refined appearance. Even in this state, he carried an air of grace and charm.

Liu checked his pulse again and confirmed that the man had suffered internal injuries, likely somewhere around the heart and lungs.

Who was this man?

Reaching into his robe, Liu Xiaolou fished out a handful of odds and ends, hoping to find something that might reveal his identity, or maybe some healing pills. But all he found were a few gold ingots, a handful of broken pearls, two pieces of jade, and two spirit stones.

Hmm? These two pieces of jade looked surprisingly similar to the jade token he carried himself. Both radiated a dense spiritual energy.

His eyes flicked back and forth between the jade pieces and the spirit stones. There were maybe ten taels of gold there too, and those pearls, big and smooth and perfectly round, were clearly no ordinary pearls.

He glanced toward the snowy mountain path below, then up at the swirling storm. Should he…?

Just as that thought crossed his mind, the bearded man began coughing again; this time, bringing up threads of blood. The fit was so violent that it jolted him out of unconsciousness. His eyes fluttered halfway open, and he suddenly grabbed Liu Xiaolou’s arm.

Startled, Liu gave a gentle tug and slipped free. The man mumbled a few words under his breath, but they were too faint to make out.

The man raised his other arm and weakly pointed toward the eaves above. Then it dropped limply back down as he slipped into unconsciousness once more.

Liu Xiaolou tapped the ground with his toe and leapt upward. Beneath the eaves, right where the man had pointed, he found a key tucked along a horizontal beam.

He fit the key into the iron lock and gave it a gentle turn. With a crisp click, the lock popped open.

That settled it; this bearded man must be the owner of the place. What Liu Xiaolou still didn’t know was whether there were others living at Xingde Temple, or if this man was Lord Xingde himself.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside. Like the main hall, this wing consisted of three rooms. The central room was just as he’d seen earlier through the gap in the door: an octagonal table with two chairs on either side, and a desk against the wall. To the left was a bedroom with a large bed. The room on the right held shelves lined with various tools and implements.

Liu Xiaolou pushed aside all other thoughts and focused on helping the man. He brought him into the bedroom, stripped off the dirty, snow-soaked outer robe, and laid him flat on the bed. Then he found a thick wool blanket in the cabinet and covered him up. Only then did he breathe a sigh of relief.

After a moment’s thought, he went back outside, gathered up the scattered items, and placed them on the bedside table.

I’m here to ask for a formation disk, not to rob anyone, he thought. Consider your valuables spared.

So now… what should he do next?