He retrieved a small, tattered broom from beneath his desk, its bristles worn to nubs. With a sigh that stirred dust motes into tiny, glittering galaxies, he pushed his chair back. His plain linen robes rustled as he rose, a faint scent of aged paper and forgotten ink trailing him. He walked slowly to the heavy oak door, which groaned in protest as he unlatched it. Stepping outside, into the blinding afternoon glare, he found himself facing an ocean of glinting armor and enraged faces. Beneath banners emblazoned with the crests of the Verdant Bloom Pavilion, the Iron Citadel, the Obsidian Veil Temple, and dozens more, stood the assembled might of the Orthodox Alliance. Their ranks stretched back, a living blockade that snaked around the archive's perimeter. At the forefront, surrounded by a phalanx of stern-faced elders, stood Patriarch Kuang Ren, his eyes blazing with righteous fury. Next to him, Grand Elder Yan Fei of the Obsidian Veil Temple raised a hand, and a chorus of cultivators began to chant, their voices weaving into a resonant hum that vibrated the very air. Overhead, the sky began to shift. Wisps of Qi coalesced, dark clouds swirling into a vortex. Bolts of arcane energy, thick as ancient tree trunks, crackled and snaked within the nascent storm. This was the Heavenly Condemnation Array, a formation capable of wiping a small kingdom from the map. It was meant to obliterate the building, and whoever—or whatever—resided within. Old Wen adjusted his wire-rimmed spectacles, peering at the gathering storm with a distinct lack of awe. He glanced down at the ground, where the rhythmic pounding of boots had already begun to dislodge loose cobblestones. “Is this commotion truly necessary?” he asked, his voice reedy but clear, cutting through the rising chant like a needle through silk. He gestured with his broom at a particularly large crack forming in the path leading to the repository. “The structural integrity of the entrance path is compromised. We had planned to resurface it next spring, but at this rate, it will require a full replacement.” Kuang Ren, who had been channeling his profound Qi into the array, paused, his brow furrowed. “Librarian Wen! Step aside! We are here to purge the demonic presence that has corrupted this place and ensnared your disciple!” His voice boomed, amplified by his mastery of the Azure Gale Roar technique. Old Wen tilted his head. “Demonic presence? I assure you, the only thing truly out of order here is the overdue fines for the complete collection of ‘Discourses on Ancient Carpentry’ checked out by the Blazing-Cauldron Sect six months ago. The late fees alone have accumulated to three hundred spirit stones per day.” He held up a hand. “And frankly, the noise. The constant chanting is disrupting the delicate vibrational balance required for proper textual preservation. I simply cannot tolerate such a lack of decorum.” A ripple of disbelief, then outright scorn, spread through the assembled martial host. Overdue fines? Textual preservation? Was this old man mad? He stood before them, a simple mortal in threadbare robes, a flimsy broom in hand, lecturing them on archive policy while an apocalyptic array gathered above his head. Laughter, sharp and mocking, erupted from the ranks of the Verdant Bloom Pavilion. Grand Elder Yan Fei stepped forward, a sneer twisting his elegant features. “Foolish old man! You think to deter the might of the Orthodox Alliance with your petty complaints? We are here to eradicate the source of the vile spatial arts that threatens the very fabric of Canglan! We will not be swayed by the ramblings of a senile book-keeper!” His voice crackled with contempt. “Patriarch, unleash the array! Obliterate this den of iniquity!” Kuang Ren hesitated for only a fraction of a second, then nodded grimly. “As you command, Grand Elder!” He raised his hands, and with a guttural roar, poured his Qi into the Heavenly Condemnation Array. The vortex overhead intensified, crackling with blinding azure and violent violet energies. A massive, crystalline spear of pure destruction, easily a hundred yards long, began to manifest at its center, pointed directly at the Myriad Scroll Repository, and more specifically, at the seemingly oblivious Wen Qingshu. The air shimmered, thick with oppressive energy. The ground trembled violently as the array prepared to discharge its devastating power. A collective gasp rose from the onlookers as the spear of annihilation began its descent, picking up impossible speed. It tore through the air, carving a searing path towards Old Wen, who stood unmoving, the broom still in his hand, a solitary figure against the encroaching apocalypse. He simply watched the spear descend, a mild frown on his face. He adjusted his glasses once more, pushing them further up his nose. Then, from the folds of his plain linen robe, he produced something truly unexpected. It was a block of dark, polished wood, roughly the size of a small child, carved with a single, colossal character: ‘REJECTED’. With a practiced movement, he uncapped a small pot of vibrant vermillion ink, the color of fresh blood, and began to carefully coat the immense stamp’s surface.

Disturbing the Peace