C7 Thousand Treasures Building

Nangong Fan gathered his thoughts. No matter how much he now regretted his actions, he simply couldn't bring himself to visit the ancestral hall directly.

Aside from having matters to verify, the sheer solemnity of the ancestral hall was more than he could bear. The atmosphere near the hall was oppressively somber, and as a member of the Hei Family, he wouldn't even dare to cough loudly for fear of disturbing his ancestors.

Without significant life experience, who would willingly go out of their way to pay respects to a collection of dull memorial tablets?

The paths on either side of the road leading to the ancestral hall were lined with significant Hei Family territories, each as prestigious as the hall itself.

To the left, the bluestone path was smooth and well-worn, the ancient stones shining brightly, clearly well-maintained and frequently trodden, leaving not a trace of moss.

To the right, the path was only slightly better than the one ahead. The stones were moss-covered, and spiderwebs stretched between the trees. Weeds grew rampant on both sides of the path, and the footprints on the stones were nearly indiscernible, indicating the rarity of visitors.

Nestled among the dense greenery on the right was a simple, vine-covered courtyard exuding an air of ancient timelessness. Nangong Fan glanced at it but did not linger; he was not yet in a position to enter such a place.

It was home to venerable elders who could still cause a stir in Dragonstone, many of whom were legends now passed. The millennia-old heritage of the Hei Family was encapsulated there.

Nangong Fan stepped onto the left path, his footsteps ringing crisply on the bluestone. Just around the corner, a seven-story tower emerged from the tree cover, its spire breaking through the foliage and reaching for the sky, gleaming in the sunlight. At its base stood a prominent, massive stone tablet inscribed with "Ten Thousand Treasure Tower."

The Ten Thousand Treasure Tower was a coveted destination for the Hei Family's younger members, as a visit signified the promise of good fortune. Within its walls were housed the family's treasured artifacts and scriptures.

The Ten Thousand Treasure Tower spanned seven floors, each divided into two sections: one for treasures and spiritual herbs, the other for ancient tomes and martial arts scriptures. As one ascended, the floors grew progressively smaller and the items within more exquisite.

Except for Nangong Fan, the younger generation was typically confined to the first two levels. Only those who were well-trained, or whose bodies had been infused with Spiritual Qi, were escorted by the Hei Family elders to the upper echelons.

The infusion of Spiritual Qi signified readiness to establish a household, and the Hei Family was generous in such cases. They allowed free choice of weapons and access to the initial cultivation techniques.

The lower floors were home to spiritual weapons and plants, and the ancient books contained anecdotes and cultural insights from the Aerial Boundaries. The martial arts and cultivation techniques found here were basic. Beyond the fourth floor, however, one would find a dense array of spiritual herbs, a forest of martial scriptures, and displays of rare spiritual weapons.

Even with the ring of the direct lineage, Nangong Fan could only ascend to the fourth level without express permission. Fortunately, that was exactly where he needed to go.

The fourth floor was renowned throughout the Hei Family for its compact space, even more so than the fifth. It was a place of mystery, having been explored by countless ancestors who failed to uncover its secrets, giving rise to numerous legends.

Nangong Fan knew that Hei Ze had ventured into this legendary place, resulting in his physical and spiritual injuries.

Approaching the Myriad Treasure Tower's sole entrance, Nangong Fan was flooded with memories from when he was five years old. A white luminescent barrier enveloped the entrance. As Nangong Fan extended his right hand, the light scanned the ring he held, surrounding him in a faint glow before he vanished without a trace.

The narrow corridor widened as he proceeded. In the open space before a partition, an armchair held an elderly man, his face etched with deep wrinkles. He lay there, eyes gently closed, humming an opera tune. Upon Nangong Fan's arrival, the old man's eyes flickered open, a sharp gleam passing before they clouded once more. Squinting through a sliver of an opening, he watched Nangong Fan draw near and sighed softly, "Little Ze, it seems like it's been ages since you last visited this old man."

"Grandpa, may fortune smile upon you," Nangong Fan said with a respectful bow and a mischievous grin as he addressed the elderly guardian. The old man had been the steadfast protector of the Myriad Treasure Tower for many years. As a boy, Nangong Fan had even accompanied Hei Yuqing to playfully tug at the old man's snowy white beard.

The old man had lost his son in battle beyond the Aerial Boundaries, and his wife had succumbed to illness. It was then that he retreated into the Myriad Treasure Tower, assuming the role of the Hei family's youngest direct descendant, and from that point on, he detached himself from worldly affairs.

With a soft hum and a hint of regret in his eyes, the old man cautioned, "Try not to scatter those illustrated books and scrolls everywhere."

No sooner had he spoken than the old man closed his eyes once more, reclining in his chair and leisurely swinging his legs.

Nangong Fan acknowledged the advice with respect and quietly made his way around the old man, ascending the stairs to the upper levels.

He headed straight for the fourth floor without pause, paying no mind to anything else. Even his usual fondness for the slightly spiritual sweet and sour fruits didn't tempt him to indulge in his old mischievous ways. Hei Yushang had disciplined him for such behavior more times than he cared to remember.

Yet, those were the only joys he found in the Myriad Treasure Tower. Books? The cultivation techniques they described were of no use to him, and the tales they told felt impossibly distant. It seemed unlikely that he would ever venture beyond Dragonstone in his lifetime.

Instead, the delectable fruits were his sole purpose for visiting the Myriad Treasure Tower. But even the most ordinary fruits here, curated by the Hei family, possessed a certain mystique, with many suitable for medicinal use. And if they were ingredients for alchemical concoctions, their value was immeasurable.

Despite his reputation as a wastrel, Nangong Fan had always known his limits, partaking only in the spiritual herbs found on the first and second floors. He wouldn't dare cause mischief on the third and fourth floors, even though he had access.

This restraint was precisely why the Hei family had never barred him from the Myriad Treasure Tower.

"Good thing I never pushed the boundaries too far," Nangong Fan whispered to himself. Otherwise, seeking verification now would be an ordeal, potentially leading to a dramatic display of tears and tantrums. But such antics would certainly prevent him from slipping in unnoticed.

On the fourth floor's left side, the compartment walls were adorned with an array of weapons infused with a hint of spirituality. Swords and sabers were in abundance, their cold gleam reflecting off the dim light of the oil lamps, illuminating the cramped space with a stark brightness.

To the right, rows of shelves hugged the partition walls, laden with spiritual herbs, flowers, and a variety of fruits that exuded a rich, fragrant aroma and emitted an otherworldly glow.

Neatly organized along the far right, against the tower's inner wall, stood several bookshelves filled with ancient martial arts texts and numerous jade slips arranged in meticulous order.

Nangong Fan paid no attention to the right side, those spiritual fruits that normally enticed him now seemed utterly unappealing.

He made his way deliberately toward the left compartment, advancing step by step into the center of the narrow space. Surrounded by the chilling radiance, his striking features were intermittently visible, his gaze deep with contemplation and reminiscence.

"I reached for a spear, and as it was quite tall, I ended up falling towards the stone wall where it was mounted. In my haste, I grabbed the spear with one hand and reached out to steady myself against the wall with the other, only to find my hand passing through the stone and touching a handle. With the momentum, I turned the handle, which pulled me through," Nangong Fan recalled, his mind awash with images from when he was five years old, his eyes scanning the weapons propped against the wall.

Leaning against the wall was a single three-meter-long spear, its shaft crafted from iron bamboo and tipped with cold iron—a spear that was merely standard issue. By all accounts, this spear should not have been on this floor, and it was a mystery why it had remained here so long, unnoticed and untouched by the stewards.

The Black family had a storied military heritage, and the spear was their weapon of choice. This particular spear bore the marks of age more than the others; its head was speckled with rust, clearly neglected for some time, and of interest to no one.

Nangong Fan's gaze lingered on the spear, his eyes wavering before settling into a resolute expression. He stepped forward, seized the spear, and in a whisper audible only to himself, he murmured, "You're the one."

The issue at hand was critical to him—it was about his ability to cultivate and cleanse himself of the scorn he carried. It mattered immensely!

Nangong Fan gripped the long spear, recalling the movements he learned at five years old. He crouched down and reached for a brick obscured by the spear.

The brick seemed like a mere apparition; Nangong Fan's hand easily passed through it, finding a solid handle.

He exhaled softly, relieved. The ingenious design had him worried that one false move could ruin everything. Was there only one chance to interact with the wall?

With just a slight twist of the handle, a mysterious force emanated from it, enveloping Nangong Fan's crouched figure and whisking him away. He vanished from the fourth floor in an eerie fashion.

The long spear remained upright at the spot where Nangong Fan had stood. After his disappearance, the spear glowed with an odd light and levitated silently, seemingly driven by an unseen force, returning to its original place. To the observant eye, it was as if nothing had changed.

As if Nangong Fan had never been there, as if the prior events had never occurred.

"Cough, cough." A soft cough echoed through the tranquil fourth floor as a tall figure in a white robe emerged from a doorway.

The man in the white robe wore a gourd at his waist, exuding a faint scent of alcohol. He carried an exceedingly plain long sword on his back and clutched an ancient, worn scroll in his right hand. His long hair was coiled up and secured with a white cloth band, exuding an air of scholarly elegance, reminiscent of both a learned scholar and a solitary swordsman.

His eyes conveyed a melancholic depth yet shone with a spirited brilliance, giving the impression he could shoulder the weight of the world. Despite his seemingly frail frame, he radiated an indomitable will, as though he was determined to rival the heavens themselves.

He fixed his gaze on the spot where Nangong Fan had vanished and on the long spear that had resettled in its place. With his free left hand, he lifted the wine gourd to his lips and took two hearty swigs, the robust aroma of wine permeating the confined space.

Concern flickered in the eyes of the man in the white robe, tinged with a hint of profound guilt. His gentle voice resonated within the confines of the cramped space. "Zhe'er seems different from before... Could this be why Zhe'er is unable to cultivate? The fourth level of the mysterious space must have been left by the founding ancestor, right?"

Strands of sunlight filtered through the slightly ajar window, casting a warm glow on his striking features, creating a picturesque scene.