Even though He Yiming had finely tuned the Zhenqi within him to a level closely mimicking the power permeating the Tower, he could still sense a faint, restrictive force at play here.

Consequently, his movements were slow, yet merely gaining entry to the Tower made every effort worthwhile.

His vision brightened; most corridors within the Tower were illuminated by an oil lamp. Though the light was not strong, for these cultivators, it sufficed as daylight.

With a single step, He Yiming broke through the wall and entered.

A flicker of smug satisfaction and excitement crossed his face, and then, with the agility of a wild cat, he made his way toward the second floor.

Though he had only accompanied Jin Zhanyi here once, he had already committed every route to memory.

The fifth floor housed the Armory, but He Yiming did not ascend there. In the small room just outside the Armory, a Venerable-level expert was clearly keeping watch. He Yiming knew he lacked the skill to slip past under such scrutiny.

After lingering on the fourth floor for a good while, He Yiming finally arrived at a room—an obvious storeroom piled high with an endless assortment of junk.

All the way in, He Yiming had proceeded with meticulous caution, disturbing no one. Below the fourth floor, there were distinctly no super-expert presences, not even any first-tier experts.

He Yiming had a growing intuition: the Venerable-level powerhouses likely resided in the upper levels of the Tower, and those below the Venerable rank probably didn't even qualify for residence within it.

Thus, while moving stealthily below the fourth floor, he had virtually no concern about being detected.

Lifting his gaze, if his memory served him correctly, directly above this storeroom lay the Armory, specifically the very room Jin Zhanyi had entered to retrieve scrolls.

During the day, when Jin Zhanyi opened the door, He Yiming had used his Shun Feng Er marvelous technique to listen intently. He was certain that unless this room concealed an expert of the same caliber as the one guarding the outer chamber, it had to be empty.

Now that he had reached this point, He Yiming certainly wasn't going to leave empty-handed.

He took a deep, slow breath, and the heat radiating from his entire body vanished in the next instant; even his heartbeat nearly ceased.

This was the perfection of his concealment technique. When the Breath Stilling Art reached its zenith, especially upon reaching the Innate Realm, its manifested power exceeded even his own expectations.

His body lifted as lightly as a fallen leaf, weightless, settling onto the ceiling. He Yiming extended one hand, gently touching the room's surface, instantly adhering to it firmly.

A faint, distinct thread of Earth-element Zhenqi flowed out from He Yiming’s Dantian.

At this moment, the miraculous effect of his underwater encounter resurfaced. His chaotic-like Dantian could even simulate, to a degree, the incredibly potent and unbelievable power coursing through the Great Tower.

Although the underlying essence was different, and the disparity in might was vast, it was just enough for He Yiming to earn recognition from the Tower’s inherent force.

Naturally, because that power was so overwhelming, the speed at which He Yiming could employ his earth-burrowing technique was far slower than usual. It took the duration of a full stick of incense before he slowly transitioned from the fourth floor to the fifth.

Arriving in this specific room, He Yiming grew even more cautious. His ears subtly twitched; in this silent space, he felt he could detect the fall of a single speck of dust.

Finally, he confirmed it: there was absolutely no one in this chamber.

His gaze swept around the room, absorbing every detail within his vision.

It was indeed a library, an expansive one, housing over thirty large shelves. Each shelf held at least several hundred books.

These tomes were stored within individual wooden boxes, revealing the meticulousness of the person responsible for their preservation.

Yet, it was precisely this method of careful storage that maximized the preservation of the original secret manuals.

He Yiming frowned slightly. If he had to approach every shelf, open every wooden box to search, all while making absolutely no sound, he would likely be searching until morning and still fail to locate the manual for the Thirty-Six Styles of Mountain Splitting.

His focus sharpened again, and he inadvertently noticed small markings on the front of the wooden boxes. Approaching to look, he was overcome with immense delight.

Here, the names of the books contained within the wooden boxes were actually inscribed!

He instantly relaxed. It made sense; without these labels, anyone searching for a secret manual here would face an agonizing ordeal.

His eyes drifted across the inscriptions on every box on this shelf, but to his disappointment, his target did not appear.

Following the sequence of his entry, He Yiming began his slow search.

During this process, his speed was far from fast; in fact, it was considerably slower than what an ordinary person might manage.

However, throughout the entire endeavor, he made no sound whatsoever, not even disturbing a speck of dust.

It was as if he had merged completely with the space, becoming one with it.

It was only when he reached the final row of shelves that He Yiming’s eyes suddenly contracted.

There, on the very top shelf of that row, the tiny characters clearly read: "The Genuine Text of the Thirty-Six Styles of Mountain Splitting."

Though he was ecstatic, He Yiming’s external composure remained utterly unchanged; at this moment, he was perhaps even more disciplined than his moniker, 'One Hundred and Eight.'

With a slight twist of his wrist, he retrieved a Forked Sword from behind his back.

This object seemed neither entirely gold nor entirely iron, possessing a luster somewhat akin to human skin.

He gently placed the Forked Sword into the wooden box resting beneath the inscription. He did not even open the box, for he trusted that the item itself would differentiate and discern what he truly craved.

Slowly, after leaving He Yiming’s palm, the Forked Sword began to melt.

It appeared to transform into a pool of liquid mercury, completely integrating into the wooden box.

He Yiming shifted his gaze away, cautiously peering towards the room’s entrance.

After roughly the length of another incense stick burned, the pool of mercury finally began to change. It slowly receded from the wooden box, reforming itself into the shape of the Forked Sword.

A look of profound relief finally surfaced in He Yiming’s eyes.

Although this duration was not exceptionally long, in He Yiming's perception, every second stretched to feel longer than an entire day. If he hadn't pushed the Breath Stilling Art to its absolute limit, he suspected his entire body would have been drenched in a rain of cold sweat.

Finally, once the mercury returned to its original state, he allowed himself a measure of relaxation.

Strapping the Forked Sword back behind him, He Yiming slowly lowered his posture, extending one hand to press gently against the floor.

Zhenqi from his Dantian trickled down, slowly merging with the power of the Great Tower.

He Yiming muttered inwardly, finding the energy within this Tower far too bizarre. Even if he managed to leave successfully, the time expended would be increased a hundredfold.

He wondered if the Venerables residing in this Tower felt the same way about the drain.

His feet slowly began to sink into the ground, but just then, He Yiming’s movement abruptly halted. Then, his feet were silently withdrawn from beneath the floor.

A strange, powerful sense of danger emanated from outside.

He Yiming’s face paled slightly. If such immense pressure could be exerted without even meeting the source, it could only be a Venerable-level powerhouse.

Upon sensing this overwhelming pressure, He Yiming decisively abandoned the thought of using his earth-burrowing technique to escape.

After all, this Tower was unique; successfully utilizing the earth-burrowing technique required a considerable amount of time. By the time this person entered, he would likely only be halfway through the ground—stuck between worlds, becoming an easy target whose end he wouldn't even recognize.

Innumerable thoughts churned in his mind, and a thread of steely resolve finally appeared in He Yiming’s eyes.

If Jin Zhanyi could escape from the hands of a Western Venerable in the past, so could he.

With a subtle shift of his form, he moved away from the bookshelf to a corner of the room. There, he adopted a peculiar stance, and a power resembling swirling mist began to manifest around him, causing even the light to appear warped.

“Screeeak…”

The door opened gently, and a pair of gray-black cloth shoes stepped firmly inside.

It was an old man, gaunt as a stick.

Upon entering the room, his gaze swept around. In the darkness devoid of light, his eyes—sharp as an owl's—were chilling to behold.

Moments later, his brow furrowed slightly, as if questioning something.

He Yiming had guessed correctly: this was the Venerable who had been guarding the room outside.

His reason for entering the Armory at this particular moment was not because he had discovered anything specific, but rather a sudden, inexplicable impulse.

When martial cultivation reaches their level, individuals occasionally sense things during specific periods—feelings that are profoundly mysterious yet utterly illogical.

This man, naturally cautious and meticulous, acted upon this feeling and came to investigate.

His initial assumption was that no one could possibly sneak into the Armory undetected, so his plan was simply to glance inside.

That glance took in everything in the room; seemingly, everything was normal.

Yet, inexplicably, a strange, alien feeling arose in his mind, as if he had overlooked something crucial.

Hesitating, he slowly walked the perimeter of the room, the eagle-like sharpness of his gaze emitting a faint, greenish glow.

A moment later, he suddenly stopped, his eyes narrowing sharply, having locked onto a corner of the chamber.

There, positioned by the wall, sat a flowerpot holding a small, stunted tree.

From his vantage point, it appeared entirely unremarkable, yet in his mind, a surging tide of realization crashed.

As the guardian of the Armory, he knew every item within it intimately. In his memory, this spot had been utterly bare, yet the sudden appearance of such an object was undeniably abnormal.

The light in his eyes intensified, and he slowly exhaled three words: "Illusion technique."

P.S.: Five chapters tomorrow.