243: Chapter 243 Ancient Formation Imprint, Contest for Contribution Points

5:00 AM. The door to the Formation Affairs Room was pushed open from the inside.

He Pingchuan had been standing at the entrance of the stone room for nearly half an incense stick's time—his back against the stone wall, arms crossed over his chest, his right fingertips tapping unconsciously against his left arm.

His eyes had been fixed on that door to the Formation Affairs Room since before 5:00 AM—the blue-white cold light beneath the door gap had dimmed once before dawn, then brightened again.

After it brightened again, the color was nearly half as faint as last night—it wasn't the light from the Spirit Essence fragments, but the effect of morning light shining in through the small window of the Formation Affairs Room and mixing with the colors.

When the door was pushed open, He Pingchuan straightened up. Behind him—the other eleven people in the stone room opened their eyes from their meditative state almost simultaneously.

The old Formation Master wearing copper finger guardss pulled them off his thumbs—clutching them in his hand—his movement to stand up was a beat faster than usual.

Inside the Formation Affairs Room—Elder Mo was standing in front of the stone table. Spread out before him was a yellowed rubbing paper—larger than what He Pingchuan had seen through the wall crack last night, at least three feet long and two feet wide.

The rubbing paper was densely covered with Formation ink paths—every single line was marked with spiritual power frequency values, the turning points marked with convergence arc angles, and the Formation ink formulas were written in tiny charcoal script at the end of each path.

The right half of the rubbing paper was illuminated by the blue-white cold light of the Spirit Essence fragments—the left half glowed with the brownish-yellow hue characteristic of old paper in the morning light.

Su Qingli stood opposite Elder Mo—on the other side of the stone table. She held a charcoal pencil in her hand, with a new sheet of blank Formation paper spread out before her—she was transferring the logic of the paths marked by Elder Mo onto the new paper.

Her transfer speed was extremely fast—every time Elder Mo pointed to a path turn, she could draw the corresponding simplified path on the new paper within three breaths.

The simplified paths retained the arc angles and convergence directions of the original paths—but removed the redundant proportion items from the ancient Formation ink formulas.

Elder Mo watched the simplified paths she drew, his fingers pausing on the stone table—then he nodded.

"That turn—the angle you drew is about half a degree off from the original. Half a degree will be compensated for by the natural deflection angle of the carving knife when engraving the Formation Plate—so your simplified path is more readily usable than the original."

Su Qingli did not look up—the charcoal pencil adjusted that turning angle back by less than a millimeter on the new paper.

The fourth rattan strip of her woven rattan stool had snapped again last night—now only three strips were supporting it, and the seat tilted towards the front left.

She shifted her center of gravity nearly two inches to the right—and continued drawing.

On the table lay a grain of blue-white Spirit Essence fragment—less than half the size of the one from last night.

Beside the Spirit Essence fragment was a stack of completed simplified Formation diagrams—at least twenty or thirty sheets, each marked with a serial number in the top right corner.

He Pingchuan stood at the entrance of the Formation Affairs Room—about half a step from the door frame. He did not enter—although the door to the Formation Affairs Room was open, a circle of warning Array Patterns was carved on the inside of the door frame.

The Array Patterns were not new—the edges of the carvings had rounded corners worn down by repeated touching—but the spiritual power of the Array Patterns remained, glowing with a very faint dark golden light in the morning sun.

This was a passive warning that did not require activating a Formation core—anyone who stepped inside would have their spiritual power signature recorded by the Array Patterns.

"Elder Mo." He Pingchuan pronounced these three words very slowly—so slowly that one could hear the sound of his Adam's apple rolling up and down between each syllable.

Elder Mo did not turn his head. He moved his finger from the third path on the rubbing paper to the fourth—and said a sentence to Su Qingli, his voice as steady as last night, without any emotional fluctuation.

"Use the reverse deduction method for this path—deduce backwards from the convergence arc. Pushing forward will lead to a dead end—ancient Array Master left at least two fork paths for every segment when designing the outer Formation pulses. Walking forward—you will reach the fork and then be led astray by the misleading paths inherent in the Formation ink."

Su Qingli paused for less than half a breath at the words "reverse deduction method"—then she switched the charcoal pencil to her left hand and used her right index finger to trace the fourth path on the rubbing paper backwards from the end to the beginning.

Tracing to one-third of the way—her finger stopped. "There is a fork here—moving forward it's a three-strand merger, deducing backwards it's a three-strand split. The merging and splitting paths are completely symmetrical—and the Formation ink proportions are the same."

"Correct. This is the fork path." A trace of faint rising inflection appeared in Elder Mo's voice—it wasn't happiness, but the instinctive reaction of an old Formation Master when confirming that another person had understood a key technical point.

"Ancient Array Master called these three-strand splits 'false junctions'—they look like three-in-one from the front, but in reality, two of the strands are dead lines. When following a dead line to the end, the Formation ink concentration will suddenly drop to zero—your spiritual power following the Formation ink will be backlashed the moment it drops to zero."

"The Formation ink concentration in the preceding segment decreases by about one-tenth per inch, managing to reduce the full ten-tenths in the last half-inch—the spiritual power you surged in will have nowhere to land, and when you try to retract it, it will collide with the next wave of advancing spiritual power."

The old Formation Master wearing copper finger guardss behind He Pingchuan took half a step forward—his copper finger guardss pinched between his thumb and index finger, the tips pointing towards the ground. His lips moved—the seven words "three-strand split false junction" stuck in his throat, and he didn't say them out loud.

"Elder Mo." He Pingchuan called out again—this time his voice was deeper than the first, infused with a wisp of Dantian spiritual power. The spiritual power infusion of a Late Foundation Establishment Stage Cultivator pushed these three words from the doorway into the depths of the Formation Affairs Room—creating a very faint echo against the stone walls.

Elder Mo removed his finger from the rubbing paper—straightened his back—and turned around. His movements were not fast—every segment of movement from his back being bent to straight was clearly distinct, like an old Formation ruler that had been pressed on the seabed for twenty years being slowly straightened out.

He glanced at He Pingchuan. Just one glance—his gaze swept over the Formation Bureau badge on He Pingchuan's face, swept to the group of old Array Master crouching behind He Pingchuan—and then withdrew. His expression did not change at all—as if he were looking at a pile of old scrolls that had already been scanned once.

"He Pingchuan." The way he pronounced these three words was the same as reading the numbers on the path annotations—accurate, brief, without any warmth of interpersonal relationships. Then he turned back—and continued speaking to Su Qingli while pointing to the fifth path on the rubbing paper.

"For this path method—"

"Elder Mo—this old one would like to ask you something."

He Pingchuan pulled the oilcloth-wrapped Formation diagram from under his arm—holding it with both hands—and took half a step forward. His heel touched the warning Array Patterns on the inside of the Formation Affairs Room door frame—the dark golden light of the Array Patterns flashed at the point of contact. He stopped—and did not step inside.

"Twenty years ago, that batch of ancient Formation pulse deductions from the Formation Bureau's Deduction Institute—the one you authored, 'Simplified Deduction Method for Formation Pulse Path Fork Paths'—was later taken into the Formation Bureau's Restricted Library. I was the handler when it was shelved. I signed the filing receipt—the reason for shelving was 'The deduction method contains multiple unverified paths, requiring complete Formation pulse rubbings to supplement data before it can be reopened'."

He Pingchuan's voice slowed down on the twelve words "requiring complete Formation pulse rubbings to supplement data"—each word carrying the weight of being pressed by time.

"That deduction method—the 'to be verified' paths marked in the latter half—" He Pingchuan's gaze fell on the yellowed rubbing paper on the stone table—the turning angle of the fifth path on the rubbing paper was exactly the same as the hand-drawn sketch he had seen in the insert page of the filing receipt twenty years ago. "And the paths on this rubbing—correspond one-to-one."

The Formation Affairs Room was silent for about three breaths. Elder Mo removed his finger from the rubbing paper—placed it on the edge of the stone table—and tapped his fingertips lightly on the stone surface.

"They do not correspond one-to-one." He did not turn around. "What I drew twenty years ago—was the predicted path from reverse deduction. This rubbing is the actual path. The predicted paths were at least thirty percent wrong—the positions of the false junctions at every fork path were all off. It was correct for you to shelve that deduction method—wrong things indeed cannot be used."

He Pingchuan's hands tightened on the Formation diagram—five creases were pressed into the oilcloth by his fingers. "Then you now—have the complete rubbing in your hands."

Elder Mo turned around. His gaze swept over He Pingchuan's head—landing on the increasingly crowded group of people outside the Formation Affairs Room. All twelve old Array Master from the Royal Capital were squeezed at the entrance—some were still adjusting their belts, some were still holding damp cloth strips they had wrung from their garment corners last night, some had copper pens for carving Formations tucked behind their ears—everyone's eyes were fixed on that yellowed rubbing paper on the stone table.

Elder Mo pulled an old Formation ruler from the wooden rack beside the stone table—the copper edges of the ruler were worn shiny. He pressed the Formation ruler against He Pingchuan's chest—the force was not heavy, but the position was perfectly jammed into the groove between the collarbone and the sternum—preventing He Pingchuan from taking another half step forward.

"This is my reading room." His voice did not rise by even half a point—the exact same tone as when he was explaining the false junctions to Su Qingli just now. "If you want to see—go to the Pier notice board to read the rules."

He Pingchuan was pressed against his chest by the Formation ruler—he did not retreat. He pressed his hand onto the Formation ruler—his fingers touching the copper of the ruler—the copper had been held by Elder Mo's fingers for at least twenty years, the copper at the grip worn thinner than a blade's edge. He looked down at the markings on the Formation ruler—the markings were the serial number from the Formation Bureau's Deduction Institute twenty years ago, and next to the number was the diamond-shaped imprint exclusive to the Deduction Institute's chief author.

"Elder Mo—the twelve of us—have spent nearly three hundred years combined at the Formation Bureau. Each person has drawn at least thirty thousand talismans—and carved tens of thousands of Formation Plates. You want us to go look at a notice board at a Grade D outpost—"

"The rules on the notice board are written clearly." Lu Changyuan's voice came from behind He Pingchuan—not high or heavy, but it emerged just in time to catch the tail end of He Pingchuan's word "notice board".

He Pingchuan turned his head. Lu Changyuan stood outside the Formation Affairs Room—behind him was the newly risen 7:00 AM sun on the Pier. He was holding a cup of tea—the cup was a rough earthenware cup, with a small chipped notch on the rim. His military robe cuffs were still the same ones from yesterday—a new layer of charcoal powder was layered over the old stains of charcoal powder and Formation ink on the cuffs. He stood at the doorway—the position he stood in allowed all the old Array Master blocking the entrance to notice his presence simultaneously.

"The rubbing path diagrams of the sealed ancient Formation pulses—and the reaction records of the Spirit Essence fragments—are open to everyone on the island participating in the defense." Lu Changyuan placed the teacup on the empty stone slab beside Su Qingli's Formation Plate—and turned to face the old Array Master blocking the doorway. His back blocked the direction of the notice board just right—as if it were unintentional.

"Every fifty contribution points—exchanges for one incense stick's time of reading. Every two hundred contribution points—grants one chance to listen to Elder Mo explain Formations." He paused—lowering his voice even further than before, so soft that the old Array Master standing in the back row had to stretch their necks to hear clearly.

[part:gemini-3.5-flash]

"Elder Mo himself has no obligation to teach. He just happens to be studying ancient Array Patterns in the Formation Affairs Room—and someone just happens to be watching beside him."

The old Formation Master wearing a copper finger guards spun the copper cot a full turn around his thumb—and after spinning it, spun it back half a turn.

"Fifty points—for one stick of incense." He ran the numbers on the contribution points list through his mind, his lips moving silently. "Drawing one Tier 3 talisman is three points. Carving one Formation Plate is five points. Rushing to repair a section of a Formation base is ten points. Watching a rubbing for the duration of a stick of incense—fifty points—" He rolled his eyes upward, letting out a very low breath from his throat—not a sneer, but mental arithmetic. "Seventeen talismans for one stick of incense. Rounded up—nearly twenty. Back when this old man was in the Royal Capital Formation Department, twenty talismans were enough to exchange for half a month's use of an independent Formation ink room."

"The Royal Capital Formation Department doesn't have rubbings of ancient Formation pathways from two thousand years ago," Leng Feng's voice came from the direction of the Pier—he was wiping the lens of his Observation Glass on a stone platform next to the bulletin board, not looking up.

This sentence made the entrance of the Formation Affairs Room quiet for nearly five breaths.

He Pingchuan pushed the Formation ruler away from his chest—Elder Mo didn't apply any force, and the Formation ruler was drawn back in the direction He Pingchuan pushed. He Pingchuan tucked the Formation blueprint paper back under his armpit and turned to face the bulletin board. Under the morning sunlight of the Chen hour, every word on the list of contribution point acquisition methods on the bulletin board looked as if it were branded onto the paper.

He stared at the list for about ten breaths. After ten breaths, he drew a Talisman Brush from his Storage Pouch—the barrel of the brush was an old, dark brown bamboo stalk, with a very deep groove worn into it from years of gripping, its surface covered in a semi-transparent patina from being repeatedly soaked in hand sweat. He had used this brush for twenty years—drawing talismans from the Foundation Establishment Stage all the way to the Early Golden Core Stage, and the bamboo joint patterns on the barrel had already been blurred by hand sweat.

"One hundred, is it?" He spun the Talisman Brush half a turn between his thumb and index finger—an action he had practiced for at least thirty years, with the position of every knuckle repeatedly grinding against this brush barrel. "This old man accepts. No one snatch the blank Formation Plates on the mission board from me—I saw them first."

The old Formation Master wearing the copper finger guards rushed out from behind He Pingchuan—he shoved the copper cot hard onto his thumb, the metal sleeve and knuckle bone scraping together to make a very brief, sharp screech.

"You say you're taking them and you just take them?! Your name, He Pingchuan, isn't written on the bulletin board—there are still thirty blank Formation Plate missions on there—we split them half and half!"

"Half? You, Blind Qian, are taking fifteen all for yourself—while the eleven of us over here have to split fifteen—"

"Who told you to count so slowly!"

Twelve old men crowded together in front of the bulletin board. Some pulled talisman brushes out of their Storage Pouches—the brushes slipping in their fingertips and almost falling to the ground. Some squatted beneath the bulletin board, flipping through bamboo slips—counting the numbers written after the words "Carve Formation Plates" twice to confirm. Someone pulled off his copper finger guards and put it back on—putting it on and pulling it off—his breathing rate so fast it synchronized with the scraping sound of the copper cot. Someone fished a whetstone out from the inside of his sleeve—sharpening the copper stylus used for carving Formation Plates on the spot—the screech of the whetstone scraping against the copper stylus was sharp and hurried, completely different from the usual rhythm of slow sharpening.

He Pingchuan raised his Talisman Brush above his head—reaching through the crowd squeezed in front of the bulletin board toward the mission bamboo slips—his arm passing between the shoulders of two colleagues, his fingers hooking the bamboo slip that read "Carve Mystic Ice Array Discs × 20 — 100 Contribution Points." Just as the bamboo slip was pulled halfway out, Blind Qian's copper finger guards reached over from the left—also clamping down on the right half of the same bamboo slip.

The gazes of the two old men clashed over the bamboo slip—less than two inches apart. Blind Qian's copper finger guards pressed a shallow mark into the edge of the bamboo slip—He Pingchuan's Talisman Brush barrel pressed against Blind Qian's thumb from beneath the bamboo slip—the point of contact wedged right in the gap between the copper cot and the skin.

"Blind Qian—your success rate with Mystic Ice Array Discs is less than seventy percent. If you carve twenty, you'll ruin six—go draw some talismans to bring your success rate up before you try to snatch Formation Plates."

"My success rate is less than seventy percent?! Last month at the Formation Department—the Spirit Gathering Formation Plate you carved had its array path off by three degrees—that girl Su Qingli spotted it at a single glance. You think I didn't know?"

Commander Cai, with a pipe in his mouth, walked over from beside the shield stack—stepping in front of the bulletin board and dragging a broken wooden table underneath it. Three stacks of bamboo slips were placed on the table—the first stack was Formation Plate missions, the second was talisman drawing missions, and the third was Formation base emergency repair missions. A stone pressed down in front of each stack of bamboo slips—with the remaining quantity written on the stones in charcoal.

He squatted behind the table—pulled the pipe out of his mouth—and tapped the ashes twice against the stone slab by the table leg. The ashes fell onto the stone slab—and were swept up by the sea breeze, blowing toward the Pier.

"Whoever has more contribution points gets to take them first—I have the records here." He stuffed the pipe back into his mouth—"I've already re-registered everyone just now. Snatching is done according to the rules—not by age."

Blind Qian released his copper finger guards from the bamboo slip—his fingers hovering above it for half a breath—then turned to another stack—"Chain Explosion Talismans × 30 — 90 Contribution Points." He pulled this bamboo slip out from under the stone—the edge of the bamboo slip scraping against the stone surface with a very faint scratching sound as he pulled. He flipped the bamboo slip over—face up—confirming that it indeed read "thirty pieces, not thirteen."

He Pingchuan pulled the "Carve Mystic Ice Array Discs × 20" bamboo slip out from under the stone—pressing his finger against the contribution point number on the slip. One hundred points—exactly enough for the duration of two sticks of incense to study the Formation. He rolled up the bamboo slip and tucked it inside his belt—the leather of the belt bulging outward at a corner, stretched by the bamboo slip. Then he squeezed past Blind Qian—and pulled out two more bamboo slips—"Carve Spirit Gathering Formation Plates × 10 — 50 Contribution Points" and "Carve Defense Formation Bases × 5 — 50 Contribution Points."

He turned around—clutching the three bamboo slips in his hand—and glanced in the direction of the Formation Affairs Room. The door of the Formation Affairs Room had been closed again—the cold blue-white light beneath the door crack was still there, even brighter than it had been during the Mao hour—indicating that Elder Mo was once again using Spirit Marrow Fragments to illuminate the next section of the pathway routing.

He Pingchuan restacked the three bamboo slips in his hand—aligning their edges—and then walked toward the stone house. His pace was nearly twice as fast as when he came—the sound of his heels stepping on the stone slabs was no longer a loose tapping, but a hurried—almost like the rapid foot-tapping sound during a pre-run warm-up.

"Commander Cai—how many blank Formation Plates are left in the warehouse?"

Commander Cai looked up from behind his pipe—flicking the ashes onto the stone slab.

"We have stock. But if you ask me—I have to count them before I can tell you."

"Count them now," Leng Feng stood up from beside the bulletin board—hanging his Observation Glass at his waist. "This bunch won't sleep tonight—the blank Formation Plates will run out by the Chou hour."

Su Qingli poked half her face out from the Formation Affairs Room—her fingers still pressed against the Receiving Formation Plate, the new charcoal powder on her fingertips layering over yesterday's old charcoal powder.

"We're already digging out spares from the warehouse." Her voice sounded as if she were paying attention to three things at once—the spiritual energy fluctuations on the Receiving Formation, the numbers on the three bamboo slips in He Pingchuan's hand, and the fifth section of pathway routing annotations that Elder Mo was continuing to read out behind her. She turned her head to glance at the old Array Master crowded in front of the bulletin board—then glanced at Lu Changyuan.

"None of them slept all night. The first batch of blank Formation Plates that Commander Cai just sent in—twenty of them—were all taken in less than an hour."

Lu Changyuan stood outside the door of the Formation Affairs Room—the cup of tea in his hand had already gone cold. He set the teacup on the stone platform—and glanced in the direction of the bulletin board.

In front of the bulletin board on the Pier—He Pingchuan squatted next to the broken wooden table, dipping his Talisman Brush into the inkstone until it was fully saturated with cinnabar ink. Too much ink came off the tip—a drop of cinnabar ink dripped from the tip—landing on the stone slab—he wiped the ink mark away with the back of his hand—immediately leaving a vermilion smear on the back of his hand. He didn't wipe a second time—the tip of his brush had already landed on the first sheet of blank talisman paper.

The cinnabar patterns on the talisman paper extended outward from beneath his brush tip—every pattern drawn in a single stroke from start to finish, without pausing in between. His speed in drawing talismans was nearly thirty percent faster than usual—but the contact time between the brush tip and the talisman paper was longer than usual. Not to draw better—but to press every stroke deeper. So deep that the cinnabar ink could penetrate the front of the talisman paper—leaving a light red layer on the back of the paper as well.

Blind Qian squatted less than three feet away from him—pulling off his copper finger guards and placing it on the stone slab—pinching the carving knife directly with his thumb and index finger. The sound of the carving knife's blade scraping against the copper plate of the Formation Plate was extremely fine and even—the depth of each cut controlled to exactly half the thickness of the copper plate. His ears turned slightly along with the direction of the blade—he didn't look at the tip of the knife, but rather at the shape of the copper shavings turned up as the blade cut into the copper plate. Copper shavings curling into spirals meant the cutting depth was just right—copper shavings crumbling into powder meant the knife went too deep. The copper shavings he carved out were all spiral-shaped—each spiral curled evenly.

On the open ground in front of the bulletin board—the twelve old Array Master sat scattered on the stone slabs. No one spoke—there was only the sound of the wind gently rustling the corners of the talisman paper, the extremely fine scraping sound of carving knives on the copper plates, and the occasional dull thud of an inkstone hitting the stone slab when someone pulled a new one out of their Storage Pouch. Scattered on the stone slabs were newly finished talisman papers that hadn't been put away yet—the cinnabar patterns on the talisman papers gleaming with a moist, dark red reflection in the morning light. After being carved, the copper plates of the Formation Plates were piled beneath the bulletin board—stacked in three piles, with each pile already beginning to stack its second layer.

Leng Feng stood on the stone platform of the Pier—pointing his Observation Glass at the sea surface beyond the reef wall. Through the lens barrel—on the sea surface in the direction of the Dragon Burial Trench, the pathfinding vanguard of the second wave of the beast tide had already shown the first reflections of bone armor on the horizon.

Then he turned his Observation Glass nearly fifteen degrees toward the Pier. Through the lens barrel—Commander Cai was dragging the third basket of blank Formation Plates out of the warehouse. The sound of the bottom of the basket scraping against the stone slabs was even more hurried than the sound of shields dragging on the ground yesterday.

Leng Feng put down his Observation Glass.

"The second wave is here."