He Yiming let out a long sigh toward the heavens. Could it truly be that fate was at work in the unseen forces?

Ever since he ascended to the sixth level of Inner Strength cultivation, every time he drew a technique while his eyes were closed, it had turned out to be nothing but a supportive Inner Strength art.

Not only was there not a single primary cultivation technique for Inner Strength, but not even a single battle skill manual.

If it had happened just once or twice, it could be dismissed as mere luck. But four times in a row...?

Even He Yiming, who did not believe in ghosts or gods, couldn't help but mutter to himself incessantly.

After a moment of hesitation, He Yiming still placed the manual onto the table in the main hall. He chose not to exchange the manual; if this was destiny, he would accept it with equanimity.

Of course, deep down, he understood this was mostly about luck, just his luck was exceedingly bizarre.

He smoothly spread the manual out before him, He Yiming stilled his mind and began the diligent process of transcription.

When copying a manual, no one dared to allow even the slightest lapse in concentration.

Although this was merely a supportive Inner Strength cultivation method, it was still the result of painstaking comprehension by past masters. Every single character within it was the essence of their lifeblood. A mistake made due to a moment of carelessness could lead to immense trouble during cultivation.

However, given He Yiming's current level of Inner Strength and his almost unbelievable resilience in his meridians, a mere supportive Inner Strength manual was unlikely to inflict fatal harm upon him. Still, nobody sought trouble unnecessarily, especially when it concerned Inner Strength cultivation—the need for precision only amplified.

Inexplicably, He Yiming’s entire consciousness converged onto the tip of the pen in his hand.

It was not a conscious effort; rather, without realizing it, he had slipped into a state he himself could not explain.

He seemed to forget the manual on the desk, forget the pen in his hand, perhaps even forgetting his own self.

In that precise moment, he suddenly experienced a strange sensation: that his physical self had vanished, replaced by the pen he held.

As all his focus poured into that single writing implement, the pen seemed to gain vitality, becoming miraculous, as if He Yiming’s life force and wisdom had transferred onto it, causing it to "come alive."

Had anyone been observing him at that moment, they would have been astonished to discover:

He Yiming’s wrist was as steady as Mount Tai, his brushstrokes guided as if by divine aid. Moreover, the characters and illustrations flowing from the nib were identical to the originals, without the slightest discernible difference.

For a seasoned scholar, achieving this level of precision would require decades of dedicated practice and formidable natural talent.

Yet, this bizarre transformation was occurring in He Yiming, truly a divine marvel.

Just as He Yiming’s spirit became mysteriously concentrated, entering this wondrous realm, He Quanxin and He Laobao, residing in the two side chambers off the main library hall, simultaneously awoke.

Their Inner Strength cultivation had reached the peak of the ninth level, granting them a subtle sensitivity to external changes in the flow of qi.

At this moment, they suddenly sensed a refined yet potent aura emanating from the central hall.

This aura was not challenging them; instead, it was pervasive, as if an omnipresent, all-encompassing, mysterious power.

An identical, peculiar feeling washed over them: they had been transported to a place of tranquil lakes and misty mountains, enveloped entirely by the beauty of a night lake, a scene so captivating it held them enthralled, making it impossible to pull away.

Moments later, their bodies trembled slightly, breaking free from the illusion. But the shock resonating in their hearts reached a depth indescribable by mere words.

As if drawn by an unseen thread, they simultaneously stepped out of their rooms and into the outer courtyard.

They knew perfectly well who was in the main hall, yet they could not fathom what change had taken place within.

However, the environment they had just experienced brought no negative repercussions; instead, it felt as if their spirits had been cleansed, leaving behind a sense of ethereal clarity. Furthermore, when they tried to withdraw from the sensation, they met no resistance whatsoever.

Under these circumstances, even an idiot would recognize that what they had experienced was no ill omen.

The two only ninth-level masters in He Family Estate exchanged glances, seeing in the other’s eyes a mixture of delight, shock, and bewilderment.

He Quanxin made a gesture, his voice barely a murmur: “Uncle Bao, look...”

He Laobao shook his head without hesitation, his voice equally faint: “Do not disturb him.”

Nodding gravely, both men understood each other’s intent. They subtly separated, maintaining a respectful distance, monitoring the entire courtyard.

They already understood that something extraordinary was happening to He Yiming inside, and since this event could only benefit him, their duty was to ensure he remained within this state for as long as possible.

※※※※

After a long while, He Yiming let out a long breath and slowly placed the pen down.

He had transcribed an entire book with strokes so swift, he hadn't taken a single breath in between.

Although he had practiced Breath Retention Art, employing it forced the practitioner’s spirit into a hazy state, precluding any significant physical movement.

If one were fighting while using the Breath Retention Art, it would be tantamount to inviting death.

Yet, even though He Yiming had not been engaged in combat, the energy expended in copying the manual was considerable. Even so, the single surge of qi within his Dantian had circulated ceaselessly, without the slightest slackening, until the entire book was finished before it finally subsided.

He exhaled all the stale air from his body in one continuous, seemingly endless stream.

Only after this breath was fully expelled did he raise his head, his mental awareness slowly returning to his physical form.

And the mysterious power and aura that had permeated the surroundings vanished completely at that instant.

Looking at his hand, and then at the pen, He Yiming unconsciously rubbed his scalp. His memory of what had just transpired was strangely vague.

Though he faintly recalled entering some kind of peculiar state, what vexed him was that the feeling was like moonlight reflected on water—utterly intangible.

“Good.”

A resonant voice drifted from outside the door. The voice was somewhat unfamiliar, yet He Yiming’s heart stirred, and he instantly recognized the speaker.

He hesitated for a moment, then swiftly went forward and opened the door.

Eldest Uncle He Quanxin and the old retainer He Laobao stood side-by-side outside. That exclamation of approval had come from He Laobao.

For this elder who held such a revered position within the clan, He Yiming dared not show the slightest disrespect. He bowed deeply: “Grandpa Bao, I am truly sorry for disturbing you.”

He Laobao waved his hand, smiling broadly: “Sixth Young Master, you are too polite.”

He had never married and had served He Wude for decades, retiring to the He Family Estate in his old age. To him, the younger generations of the He family were no different from his own grandchildren. The stronger He Yiming became, the happier He Laobao naturally felt.

He Quanxin, however, raised his eyebrows slightly and asked, “Yiming, what were you doing just now?”

He Yiming did not hide anything, as he himself did not fully comprehend what had occurred.

“Eldest Uncle, I was copying a manual.”

“Copying a manual?”

He Quanxin and He Laobao exchanged a glance, their eyes quickly sweeping over the table in the main hall.

Indeed, there was a manual and some papers on the table, and the ink on the papers was still wet—it was obvious at a glance that someone had indeed been transcribing something moments before.

Both their brows furrowed. Could copying a manual actually trigger such a bizarre event?

Especially He Laobao; he had guarded this place for decades, and most of the library's collection had been transcribed by him from the originals. Yet, in all his memory, he had never encountered anything this uncanny.

After pondering for a moment, He Quanxin inquired, “Yiming, when you were transcribing, did you encounter anything...”

He frowned, genuinely unable to articulate the sensation he had just felt.

He Yiming nodded repeatedly: “Eldest Uncle, your nephew did seem to enter a peculiar state while copying, but once I stopped, I could not re-enter it.”

He Quanxin asked a few more astonished questions before confirming that the incident was indeed connected to Yiming. But regrettably, this strange state was beyond his control, which caused him deep regret.

The two elders offered some encouragement before retreating. He Yiming, unwilling to give up, returned the Bone Dissolving Art to its place and took out the manuals for Rolling Stone Fist and Soft Palm. He transcribed the contents of the final, tenth layer of both these manuals.

This time, He Yiming tried repeatedly to merge his spirit with the pen tip while copying, but regrettably, he failed to succeed even after finishing the transcription.

With no other choice, He Yiming took the three transcribed manuals back to his own courtyard.

However, he harbored a vague premonition: sooner or later, he would surely enter that magical state again and gain complete mastery over it!