The Eternal Mountain Sect's outer library stood three stories tall, its shelves carved from spirit wood that hummed faintly with preserved formations meant to protect the texts from decay. Elder Shen had tended these texts for forty years, and in that time, he'd developed an instinct for trouble. Young masters who pulled restricted texts they shouldn't touch. Desperate disciples searching for shortcuts to power. The occasional spy attempting to steal the sect's foundations.

  But this? This was new.

  Cao Chang, scion of the notorious Cao Clan from the Bluegrass Plains, sat surrounded by no fewer than twelve open volumes. The boy who'd once challenged three senior disciples to simultaneous duels over an imagined slight. The same youth who'd declared the library "a waste of space better used for training grounds" just last month.

  Now he hummed. Actually hummed while reading.

  Elder Shen stroked his beard, maintaining his presence behind the formation theory section where he could observe without seeming to. The Cao Clan produced warriors, not scholars. Their children came out of the womb throwing punches, or so the joke went. They were known for explosive tempers, overwhelming force, and a particular disdain for what they called "scroll cultivation."

  The boy's transformation defied explanation. Just three weeks ago, Elder Shen had personally witnessed Cao Chang storm through these very doors, demanding to know why the library didn't stock combat techniques above the Mortal grade. When informed that such techniques were restricted to Inner Disciples, the boy had actually kicked one of the reading tables, cracking its surface. The repair formation had taken two days to fully mend the wood.

  Yet here sat their youngest representative, cross-referencing texts with the enthusiasm of a formation master triple his age. The boy hadn't even noticed when Elder Shen had deliberately knocked over a jade slip ten feet away, a sound that should have triggered his notorious hair-trigger temper.

  The selection of books alone was bizarre. "Fundamental Principles of Qi Circulation," "The Three Purifications Method," "A Treatise on Meridian Structure," and even "Theoretical Approaches to Spiritual Energy Cultivation" which most disciples considered too dry to use as kindling.

  Elder Shen moved closer, dust cloth in hand as an excuse, and caught a glimpse of the boy's notes. The handwriting was atrocious, but the content was extraordinary. Cao Chang wasn't just reading, he was analyzing, creating diagrams that connected concepts from different texts, asking questions in the margins that would have challenged Foundation Establishment cultivators.

  When breathing to absorb qi, does the spiritual energy enter through the lungs or is breathing merely creating a resonance pattern that opens the meridians?

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  If purifying qi removes impurities, what exactly constitutes an impurity at the spiritual level? Is it metaphorical or can it be measured?

  The texts all mention 'sensing qi' but provide no objective criteria for what that sensation feels like. How is a new disciple supposed to differentiate between actual qi sensitivity and wishful thinking?

  These were not the questions of someone trying to fake scholarly interest. These were the questions of someone genuinely trying to understand the fundamental mechanics of cultivation.

  This was heaven. Absolute, unfiltered, glorious heaven.

  Three weeks since I'd woken up in this body with memories of being Marcus Chen, physics grad student who died in his apartment reading a web novel. Three weeks of panic, confusion, and the dawning realization that I was living in an actual cultivation world.

  And now, finally, I had access to the library.

  The original Cao Chang had hated this place, as he was too busy honing his Dao of being an Insufferable Jerk. Regardless, to him, books were for weaklings who couldn't punch their problems into submission. Reading was something servants did when you needed information you were too important to remember yourself. The library was a waste of valuable space that could be better used for more training courtyards.

  I was taking notes so fast my hand was cramping.

  Okay, so qi circulation theory states that spiritual energy from heaven and earth enters the body through breathing, but that's clearly metaphorical because lungs don't have meridians. The actual mechanism seems to be that rhythmic breathing creates resonance patterns that align the body's energy channels with ambient spiritual energy, allowing absorption through the skin and gathering in the dantian.

  I flipped to another book, cross-referencing the meridian diagrams. The texts keep mentioning "sensing qi" as if it's intuitive, but nobody explains what that actually means. Is it a physical sensation? A mental awareness? How do you differentiate between actual qi sensitivity and just wishful thinking?

  This was the problem with cultivation novels back on Earth. They always skipped the actual mechanics, the how and why, treating it like magic instead of a systematic process that could be understood and optimized.

  But I was here now. I could figure this out.

  "Preparing the Vessel: A Complete Guide to Body Tempering" by Scholar Wu Fengling lay open in front of me, describing how cultivators filtered impurities from blood, skin, and organs. The process seemed dangerous, requiring careful qi manipulation to avoid damaging yourself. One wrong move and you could cripple your own cultivation permanently.

  I needed guidance. Practical guidance from someone who actually knew what they were doing.

  I looked up and spotted Elder Shen dusting shelves nearby. The old librarian had been watching me for the past hour, probably wondering what kind of scheme I was planning. The original Cao Chang had that effect on people.

  Now or never.

  The old man's eyes narrowed, and I felt a subtle pressure in the air. His cultivation base stirring, probably testing whether I was being sincere or playing some kind of game.

  At best, he was a kind elder who would help me. At worst, he was the stereotypical cultivation world elder who would tell me I was "courting death" before ripping my heart out for speaking out of turn.

  Both prospects, honestly, excited me. This was what I'd dreamed about while reading all those novels. Would I die before I could even find out what happened? Pass on from this world and be transmigrated to the next without missing a beat? It was truly an enticing thought experiment!

  Even if it killed me, it would be the most interesting death ever.