"The gate of hidden vitality?" Wei Zhao was taken aback for a moment.

"Do you know that every technique and discipline of our Leaf Spirit Sect springs from a single source—from the most ordinary thing in the world, and yet the least ordinary?" Duanmu Yu said, guiding him along.

"Leaves," Wei Zhao said, his eyes lighting up. It was not hard to guess; the very name of the Leaf Spirit Sect said it all, and every one of its signature moves bore the word *leaf*—One Leaf Signals Autumn, A Leaf as Heavy as a Mountain, Withering Leaves in Spring.

"Indeed, leaves. The leaf's growth and fall embody the world's cycle of rebirth. Common folk see green leaves and perceive vitality; they see withered leaves and perceive death. Little do they realize the two give rise to and check one another—even green leaves may harbor killing intent, and withered leaves too may have their spring of renewal." Duanmu Yu paused there, drew a withered yellow leaf from her bosom, and handed it to Wei Zhao. "Feel it."

Wei Zhao took the withered leaf and examined it for a while. Unlike what he had imagined, there was nothing unusual about it, nor any concealed spiritual energy—it was simply an ordinary dried leaf.

Yet after mulling over Duanmu Yu's words for a moment, a flash of insight struck him. "You mean there is vitality on this withered leaf that ordinary eyes cannot see?"

At that, a trace of astonishment surfaced on Duanmu Yu's face. This one's comprehension was truly mad—when she herself had received the withered leaf, it had taken her a full day of contemplation to grasp this principle, and even that had been fast compared to her fellow disciples. Some had pondered for a whole month without grasping a thing, lacking even the qualification to study Withering Leaves in Spring.

Of course, having just witnessed Wei Zhao unravel the mirror world from start to finish, she was not overly surprised. Comprehension and insight went hand in hand; a man of Wei Zhao's almost mad powers of perception would hardly be weak in comprehension.

"Correct. Though the leaf has withered, it is not truly dead. A mighty vitality still lies dormant within it, merely sealed off for a time by circumstance. If we can open that gate sealing the vitality, it will flourish anew—that is the Withering Leaves in Spring you witnessed," Duanmu Yu explained.

Wei Zhao nodded. The words were not hard to understand; it was a lesson drawn from leaves to people. When a person is utterly spent, they may appear to have reached their limit, but that is merely the body's instinctive mechanism of self-preservation. They have not truly come to the last drop of oil and the dying of the lamp.

"Then how does one open that gate of sealed vitality?" Wei Zhao asked. This was the crux of the matter.

Duanmu Yu was silent for a moment. "Two things suffice: first, self-hypnosis; second, driving true qi into the acupoints."

Strictly speaking, those words already revealed the method of cultivation; she could say no more, or it would amount to personally instructing Wei Zhao in Withering Leaves in Spring. Even as the Leaf Spirit Sect's senior disciple, she had no right to do that.

But Wei Zhao needed nothing more from her. With his comprehension, those two pointed sentences were quite enough; how to proceed afterward he could work out entirely on his own, sparing Duanmu Yu any dilemma.

"My thanks." Wei Zhao cupped his hands in gratitude. His question had been purely for reference and study; never having tried it, he could not yet tell how much of value might be mined from it, but one thing was certain—every word she had spoken was essential truth, worthy of deep thought.

"Now can we talk about your affair?" Duanmu Yu asked, rather expectantly.

"Very well. As you just saw, I have a private space of my own. With a mere thought I can easily stow things from the real world inside—though only plants and ordinary objects; humans will not do. Of course, a primal spirit can enter." Wei Zhao explained. As for how this jade pendant space had come to be, he could not go into detail: for one, it concerned his origins; for another, he had only heard Lin Dongfang mention it in passing and did not know clearly himself.

"A private space of your own?" Even having witnessed it with her own eyes, Duanmu Yu was still dumbstruck at the phrase. Such a thing was unheard of and unseen; surely even the old Nascent Soul monsters of the ancient petty martial world had no such divine artifact. She could not help but ask in shock and doubt, "Just who in the world are you?"

Wei Zhao rolled his eyes. The Guardian of the Sleeping Lotus had reacted this way, and now Duanmu Yu too. He could only say patiently, "I am no sacred being—just a lump of primal spirit."

"Are you truly nothing but an ancient elder of the Cangwu Sect of North Island?" Duanmu Yu did not quite believe it. "But why are your techniques utterly unlike the Cangwu Sect's? They are not of the same lineage at all."

From ancient times to the present stretched an immense span; even a single sect passed down through the ages would surely see no small change in its disciplines and techniques. Yet not to the point of a wholly different lineage—that would amount to founding a new sect. The three sects of North Island were acknowledged in the ancient petty martial world as the lineages with the deepest heritage; the records told of no catastrophe such as annihilation, so there should not be such a vast divergence even in the most basic disciplines and techniques.

There could be only two explanations. One, Wei Zhao had learned too much from too many sources and had founded a lineage of his own. The other, Wei Zhao was no ancient elder of the Cangwu Sect of North Island at all.

The Leaf Spirit Sect prized above all the instinctive perception of the subconscious. As its senior disciple, Duanmu Yu was second to none in this regard; a woman's intuition is keen to begin with, and hers far surpassed that of most women.

Her intuition told her Wei Zhao belonged to the latter case, for he did not seem at all like an elder of great antiquity, but a young man in the flesh—one whose true age was very likely far younger than her own.

"Oh, I never was one," Wei Zhao admitted frankly.

"What? Then why do they all call you Grand-Uncle-Master?" Duanmu Yu asked in astonishment. If it were only the ordinary disciples of the Cangwu Sect who acknowledged it, well and good—they were relatively easy to fool—but Xin Yi'an was an expert of the Golden Core stage. How could Wei Zhao possibly deceive him?

"That is a long story. Though I am not their grand-uncle-master in the proper sense, there is indeed a connection in that regard, so it is not wrong for them to address me so." Wei Zhao smiled. Since the talk had come this far, he might as well be clear about it. "Do you know of Cloud Terrace Island?"

"Of course I know of it—though in the ancient petty martial world it is only a vague legend," Duanmu Yu said. During this year in the secular world, she and the other disciples of the Ancient Alliance had in fact heard rumors that Cloud Terrace Island truly existed; but their old understanding had long been deep-rooted, and on hearing such tales they had instinctively scoffed and paid them no mind. (To be continued.)