152: Chapter 151 The Ten-Meter-High Skill Ceremony! (Too lazy to read, just tossed it into the ring.)

The door to the third floor was very light; a gentle push opened it.

There was no creaking sound, no resistance; it was like pushing through a layer of air.

Behind the door was a small room, much smaller than the second floor, only a few dozen square meters.

But it was not empty.

There were bookshelves—not many, just three rows, but every row reached the ceiling.

Books were placed on the shelves; these were not the rotten, ruined books of the second floor, but complete ones.

The book covers were of various colors: blue, cyan, white, and gray.

Some were thick, some were thin; the thick ones were as chunky as bricks, while the thin ones had only a few dozen pages.

Words were inscribed on the spines—not carved into the wood, but written on paper.

They were very clear, stroke by stroke, neat and tidy.

Lin Feng stood at the entrance, looking at those books.

The jade pendant on his chest was still spinning, the black fish and white fish drawing circles over his chest.

He stepped inside, his footsteps echoing loudly in the quiet room, like walking on the surface of a drum.

He walked to the first row of bookshelves and picked up a book.

The cover was blue and very smooth, like silk.

A few characters were written on the cover: "Taixu Sword Art · Insights."

He opened the first page.

The paper was pale yellow, very thin but tough, unlike the books on the second floor that shattered at a touch.

The characters were handwritten in calligraphy, stroke by stroke, very powerful.

He read a few lines; this time he could understand them.

It was not some "Water and Fire in Harmony" or "Dragon and Tiger Converging," but genuine Cultivate insights.

"Taixu Sword Art: Controlling the sword with Qi, Qi flows through the hundred meridians, the sword moves with the heart.

Beginners must first practice Qi; if Qi is sufficient, the sword is sharp; if Qi is weak, the sword is dull..."

He read a few lines, closed the book, and put it back.

He picked up another one: "Taixu Alchemy · Insights."

He opened it; it was also handwritten.

"The Dao of Alchemy: Heat control comes first.

If the heat is insufficient, the Medicinal Pill will not form; if the heat is excessive, the Medicinal Pill will be completely destroyed.

Beginners must first practice fire; if the fire is pure, the Medicinal Pill will form; if the fire is impure, the Medicinal Pill will be ruined..."

He closed the book and put it back.

He picked up another one: "Taixu Formation · Insights."

"The Dao of Formation: Yin and Yang are the foundation.

There is Yang within Yin, and Yin within Yang; Yin and Yang complement each other, and all techniques are warded off..."

One after another, he flipped through a dozen or so.

They were all insights, all handwritten, and all complete.

There was no rot, no missing pages, and no blurring.

The handwriting was very clear, and the content was very detailed, as if the person who wrote it had just put down the pen yesterday.

He stood in front of the bookshelves, looking at those books.

Three rows of bookshelves, five layers per row, several dozen books per layer.

Added together, there were at least several hundred books.

He took a deep breath and began to take the books off the shelves, one by one, and put them into the wanxiang ring.

His movements were fast, like harvesting crops.

Left hand takes, right hand puts; one after another, the books flowed through his fingertips like water.

The first row of bookshelves was empty.

The second row of bookshelves was also empty.

The third row of bookshelves was also empty.

In less than ten minutes, hundreds of books were all in the wanxiang ring.

He stood in front of the empty bookshelves and looked around.

There were still things in the room—in the corner, there was a table, and on the table was a lamp; the lamp was already extinguished, and the lamp oil had long since dried up.

Next to the table was a chair; the chair was wooden, very old, but still usable.

On the table was a book—not insights, but notes.

The cover was white, and a few characters were written on it: "Taixu Dojo · Miscellanea."

He picked up the book and opened the first page.

"Taixu Calendar, Year 3800, Spring, March, 5th day.

Today, I accepted three disciples, one male and two females; all are intelligent and talented, materials worthy of molding..."

He flipped through a few pages; it was a diary.

It was all about daily trivialities: accepting disciples, giving lectures, Alchemy, gathering herbs, planting trees, and raising cranes.

The handwriting was very neat but somewhat scribbled, as if the person writing was very busy.

He flipped to the back.

"Taixu Calendar, Year 3900, Autumn, September, 18th day.

The eldest disciple went down the mountain and never returned.

The second and third disciples also left.

The Dojo is empty, only I am left alone..."

He closed the book and put it into the wanxiang ring.

He looked at the table again; there was still an inkstone, a brush, and an ink stick on it.

The inkstone was stone, very old, with rounded edges.

The brush was made of bamboo, the tip already dry and hard.

The ink was pine soot ink, shiny black.

He also put the inkstone, brush, and ink into the ring.

It was not to use them, but to keep them as a memento.

The things that person used to write the diary had accompanied him for hundreds of years; they should not be left here.

He turned around, preparing to leave.

After two steps, he stopped and looked back at the empty bookshelves.

The bookshelves were wooden, very sturdy, not rotten or decayed.

He thought for a moment, walked to the front of the bookshelves, and put the bookshelves into the wanxiang ring as well.

The bookshelves were large and tall, but the wanxiang ring had even more space and could fit them.

One, two, three—three rows of bookshelves, all collected.

The room was completely empty, leaving only dust and cobwebs.

He looked at the empty room, and a strange feeling welled up in his heart.

That person had written so many insights, kept so many diaries, planted so many trees, and raised so many cranes.

And in the end?

The disciples left, the trees withered, the cranes flew away; only these books and notes remained.

He sighed and turned to walk out of the room.

While going downstairs, the wooden boards creaked, like an old man sighing.

He walked to the first floor, stood in the center of the hall, and looked up at the painting on the ceiling.

The young man in the painting was still there, standing on the mountaintop, facing east, sword pointing to the sky, radiating brilliant light.

He looked at that painting for a long time.

Then he lowered his head and walked out of the Library Pavilion.

Outside, the wind was strong, and sand grains hit his face, stinging painfully.

He narrowed his eyes and looked into the distance.

The desert was still that same desert, gray and lifeless.

But deep in the desert, something was flashing.

It was not the light of the sun, but another kind of light—very faint, very soft, like moonlight, like candlelight.

He stared at that light for a few seconds, then withdrew his gaze.

He found a place sheltered from the wind, sat down, and dumped those books out of the wanxiang ring.

Hundreds of books piled up into a mountain.

Large and small, thick and thin, blue, cyan, white, and gray—all sorts of colors, like autumn leaves.

He divided the books into two piles—one pile of insights, one pile of diaries.

There were over three hundred books of insights and dozens of diaries.

Looking at those two piles of books, a thought occurred to him.

Instead of reading them one by one, he would fuse them together.

His Fusion Talent could fuse everything.

Fuse Medicinal Pills, fuse equipment, fuse skills, fuse books.

These books were also objects; why could they not be fused?

He took a deep breath, held his hands over the two piles of books, palms facing down.

"Talent—Activate."

Pale golden light surged from his palms, enveloping the two piles of books.

The books floated up in the golden light, one by one, like birds in flight.

They rotated, collided, and fused, as if dancing, as if fighting, as if devouring each other.

[Detectable items for Fusion: Cultivate Insights × 347, Diary × 58]

[Ancient Book Fusion]

[Warning: There are many types of items to be fused, and the amount of information is huge; the Fusion process may take a long time]

[Recommended consumption: 2 million - 3 million Mana]

[Fusion direction: Knowledge integration]

Lin Feng looked at the recommended consumption and gritted his teeth.

Two point five million Mana; he currently had over 2.8 million, which was enough.

He took a deep breath.

"Inject 2.5 million Mana!"

The golden light surged violently, stinging his eyes and making him squint.

The books spun crazily in the golden light, spinning faster and faster, becoming denser, like a colorful whirlwind.

The pages flipped—rustle, rustle—like the sound of rain, the sound of wind, the sound of a waterfall.

The characters floated out from the pages, like butterflies, like falling leaves, like stars drifting in the air.

Black characters, blue characters, red characters, dense and overwhelming, covering the sky and earth.

They gathered together, rotating, colliding, and fusing, as if weaving a huge net.

The net was contracting, compressing, and condensing.

From a pile, it became a mass; from a mass, it became a block; from a block, it became a book.

The book slowly took shape in the golden light, getting bigger and thicker.

The golden light lasted for about five minutes, then slowly dimmed.

The book fell from mid-air and slammed into the ground with a boom, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Lin Feng looked down at the book, his eyes widening.

The book was too big.

It was taller than him, bigger than any book he had ever seen.

He stood up, walked to the front of the book, and looked up.

The spine reached his chin; the cover was dark blue, like the night sky.

A few large gold-stamped characters were written on the cover: "Taixu Dojo Skill Compendium."

He reached out and touched the cover; it was very smooth, like jade.

He opened the first page; the paper was pale gold, very thin, very tough, like a cicada's wing.

The characters on it were very small, dense, but very clear.

He read a few lines: "Taixu Sword Art: Controlling the sword with Qi, Qi flows through the hundred meridians, the sword moves with the heart.

Beginners must first practice Qi; if Qi is sufficient, the sword is sharp; if Qi is weak, the sword is dull..."

It was exactly the same as the previous insights, but more detailed and complete.

He flipped through a few more pages: "Taixu Alchemy, the Dao of Alchemy: Heat control comes first.

If the heat is insufficient, the Medicinal Pill will not form; if the heat is excessive, the Medicinal Pill will be completely destroyed..."

It was still the content of the insights, but more systematic and organized.

He flipped through one page after another; the whole book was an integration of those insights.

Over three hundred books of insights and dozens of diaries were all fused into this one book.

Not a single passage was missing, not a single word was lost; it was neat and clear.

He closed the book, looked at the huge book that was taller than him, and was silent for a few seconds.

Then he laughed.

"Ten meters tall... how the hell am I supposed to read this?"

He shook his head and put the book into the wanxiang ring.

It was not that he would not read it, but he would not read it now.

The content of hundreds of books fused into a ten-meter-tall tome; it would take forever to read through it once.

It was better to store it first and wait until he got out.

He stood up and brushed the dirt off his body.

He had been to the Library Pavilion, the insights were fused, and it was time to go.

He looked around; the desert was still that same desert, gray and lifeless.

But he knew that in this desert, something else was waiting for him.

The light deep in the desert was still flashing, very faint, very soft, like moonlight, like candlelight.

He narrowed his eyes, looked at that light for a few seconds, then took a step and walked toward that light.

The wind blew from behind, blowing his hair up.

He did not look back.