Chapter 7 – Mysteries of the Main Hall

Qin Yun drifted through the ancient halls, a silent shadow trailing his guide. He expected the musky perfume of old wood to saturate the air, but it was absent. Instead, a crisp, invigorating breeze filled his senses, though not a whisper of wind touched his skin.

It was unnerving, unnatural.

Following his arrival in this closed-off dimension, Qin Yun was led toward a building in the distance, nestled among many others, yet its splendour was hard to miss.

The clan’s main hall.

It was ancient, as old as the clan itself, yet seemed preserved as if it were the day it was built. No trace of rot could be found, nor any signs of wear.

Not even a single speck of dust dared settle on its surfaces.

Heavy columns rose from the ground, supporting a massive stone roof. Majestic was an understatement. Qin Yun felt tiny in contrast, an insect standing before a noble beast, his chest filled with awe.

He had seen many structures in his time, from the recesses of the far future to the hymns of a distant past, and few man-made structures could hold a candle to this one. It wasn’t merely its size, for many of them were much grander in scope, but something more primal. This main hall demanded reverence. It commanded worship.

A most curious feeling.

An endless swirl of Etra filled the space, the moment they entered this structure through a side door—of course, Qin Yun wasn’t important enough to be given the honour of using the main gate.

This was the highest density of Etra that Qin Yun had ever felt, more than three times the concentration the rest of the clan could enjoy.

With each breath, torrents of Etra surged into his body, seeping into every fibre, even the dormant seed at his core. The sensation was warm and soothing, reminiscent of a return to the womb.

Yet, to Qin Yun, this only felt even more unsettling, for none of all that Etra could remain. It dispersed almost instantly back into the atmosphere, reinvigorating him only slightly.

He was rootless, unable to cultivate the Spiritual Seed inside of him, for the seed itself had no way to gorge itself on the Spectral Essence. All it could do was watch it all flow away, helpless.

This was the curse he had been born with—possessing the Spiritual Seed, but unable to make it bloom.

Or so many thought.

Letting the seed remain dormant was Qin Yun’s own decision. He possessed countless methods to draw Etra into it and claim its gifts, but he deliberately turned away from them.

He could list a hundred reasons, but in truth, only one mattered.

Instinct.

His instincts, sharpened over countless lifetimes, screamed in warning, insisting it would be a grave mistake.

Qin Yun heeded those instincts, indifferent to what might have been. He refused to nourish the seed until he uncovered the truth behind this persistent feeling.

Besides, it wasn’t as if becoming a practitioner was the only path opened to him. This world wasn’t so narrow as to allow only one way to attain strength.

Yet, for reasons he could never fathom, most looked down on these alternative paths with thinly veiled contempt.

The hallways Qin Yun wandered blurred together, each corridor melting into the next. The building’s interior felt impossibly vast, far larger than its exterior suggested.

They passed countless doors, each opening to rooms grander than the last, some as lavish as mansions. Yet most stood empty, silent echoes of a time when the clan teemed with life.

Ever since the old ancestor left, the Qins worthy of entering this place had fallen to an all-time low. From the ancient records in the archives, Qin Yun knew that the clan once had over a hundred Nascent Soul elders, each with a room of their own within the main hall. But now, only a mere dozen were left, making this place rather empty.

It was sad to see such a great clan reduced to this state. It was no wonder they were trying to expedite this marriage.

Finally, both arrived at the end of their journey. They stood before what seemed to be an ordinary door, made of not particularly impressive wood. And yet, Qin Yun stood in awe. It took everything not to let it show on his face.

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His black box was buzzing as if resonating with something possessing the same nature—a phenomenon he had only witnessed but a handful of times in his long life.

Curiosity sparked within him.

The man, a solemn look of reverence on his face, knocked twice on the wooden door, then lowered his gaze and waited. Qin Yun waited along with him, asking no question, no matter how long they had to wait.

Finally, after what seemed over half an hour of strained silence, the door opened on its own, revealing what lay beyond.

Qin Yun drew a sharp breath, stunned by the impossibility he witnessed.

Before him was the bright blue sky, stretching endlessly over green pastures. Only, in the middle of it all, stood a stone pavilion, a roof supported by columns, open to the breeze, located over a small running stream and some fish ponds alongside it.

The sight defied all logic.

Where was this water coming from? Qin Yun couldn’t see the origin of that stream. The more he tried, the hazier his vision got, almost as if something was preventing him from prying.

The very structure of the building insisted they were still indoors. A stream had no place here, and yet, it flowed.

Was this an illusion, or had space been warped in some way? Qin Yun couldn’t tell. It was far beyond his current means. No doubt the work of an immortal, or someone close to it.

Qin Yun doubted anyone in the current Qin Clan could replicate it—a relic.

Did Qin Yun truly merit entry to this place, or was it simply a display of the clan’s faded glory? Was this all for show, a testament to their pride?