After a thousand years of cultivation, he returns at the pinnacle!

Jiang Chen pushed open the car door and stepped onto the cement ground of the Jiangzhou branch's courtyard. Su Ze followed behind him, while the secretary jogged to press the elevator button. The three of them entered the unassuming gray building. The moment the staff on both sides of the corridor saw Jiang Chen, some froze, some instinctively straightened their bodies, and some lowered their heads, pretending to look at the documents in their hands, but their eyes were still secretly glancing upwards.

The elevator doors opened on the third floor. Su Ze led Jiang Chen through a corridor covered with a dark gray carpet and stopped in front of a heavy, dark wooden door. A bronze plaque was embedded in the door, engraved with the words "Advanced Conference Room," and below it was an extremely fine rune pattern—a special barrier to prevent eavesdropping and energy spying.

Su Ze pushed open the door and stepped aside to let Jiang Chen go in first.

The conference room was large, with a floor-to-ceiling window facing the courtyard, letting in sunlight that illuminated the entire room. A long, mahogany conference table sat in the center, covered with a dark blue tablecloth and several cups of steaming tea. Five people sat behind the table.

On the far left is Chu Tianxiong. This deputy director of the Bureau of Extraordinary Affairs is wearing a formal dark blue uniform today, with a sword and gavel emblem embroidered on his chest. His hair is unusually neat, clearly having been tidied up while waiting for Jiang Chen. There are two cups of tea in front of him, one already cold, the other still steaming, indicating that he has been sitting there for quite some time.

To Chu Tianxiong's right was Ye Wuhen. The Sword Saint was still wearing that dark gray robe, gripping the longsword with only the hilt remaining. His posture was the same as always—his back straight, his hands on the table, his thumbs habitually rubbing the thirty-year-old wear mark on the hilt.

To Ye Wuhen's right was Zhou Tianze. Lei Di was wearing a dark blue military jacket today, zipped up to his chest, revealing bandages wrapped around it. The broken spear wasn't on the table, but leaned against his chair, the break carefully wrapped in silver foil, like some kind of keepsake he couldn't bear to discard. His left eye gleamed normally, humanly, and moistly in the sunlight, but his gaze towards Jiang Chen held a hint of excitement, as if he had waited a long time for this moment.

To Zhou Tianze's right was Luo Qinghe. The Ice Queen had changed out of her ice-blue combat uniform and into a plain white long dress, her long, silvery-white hair cascading over her shoulders. Her right arm had fully regained sensation, and she was currently holding a cup of tea, her fingers firmly gripping the rim, the water inside perfectly still. Seeing Jiang Chen enter, she nodded slightly, the movement extremely subtle, but the curve of her lips was slightly more pronounced than usual.

On the far right sat an elderly man. He appeared to be in his seventies, with completely white hair, neatly combed and tied into a small bun at the back of his head. His face was thin, with high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and thick, graying eyebrows. His eyes, however, were remarkably bright, like two smooth, rounded black pebbles polished by time. He wore a dark blue Chinese-style jacket with the collar buttoned up meticulously. His hands were clasped together on the table, his posture composed and dignified. The teacup in front of him remained untouched; the tea had gone cold, but he seemed completely unconcerned.

Jiang Chen didn't recognize the old man. But he could sense that the old man was the person of the highest status in the conference hall.

Because Ye Wuhen's hand had moved from the hilt of his sword. This sword saint had never lowered the hilt of his broken sword in front of anyone for thirty years, but now, his hands rested quietly on the table, his back straighter than usual, like a student waiting for his teacher to speak. Zhou Tianze abandoned his usual rugged smile, and Luo Qinghe put down his teacup. Even Chu Tianxiong pushed his cup of cold tea aside, his relaxed posture transforming into a standard official sitting posture.

"This is Chen Beiyuan, Elder Chen." Chu Tianxiong stood up and introduced him to Jiang Chen, "The true helmsman of the Awakened Affairs Management Bureau, and the one who established the Bureau from scratch. Sword Saint, Thunder Emperor, and Ice Queen were all picked up by Elder Chen from the battlefield."

Chen Beiyuan slightly raised his hand, signaling Chu Tianxiong not to say anything more. His gaze fell on Jiang Chen, and in those black eyes, smoothed and rounded by the years, there was no scrutiny, no probing, only a calm that had settled after experiencing vicissitudes.

"Jiang Chen." He spoke, his voice aged but not weak, like the deep warmth of a fire burning brightest in winter, "No need to stand, sit down."

Jiang Chen sat down at the other end of the conference table. He was facing the old man, separated by a long mahogany table, several cups of steaming tea, and a few open documents.

"Let's get straight to the point." Chen Beiyuan placed his hands on the table, looking calmly at Jiang Chen. "Yesterday in the Twelfth Apostle Hall, you said your power came from cultivating immortality. You called it True Essence, and you called yourself an Immortal Emperor. You lived in another world for a thousand years, cultivated to the peak, and then came back."

Jiang Chen nodded.

Chen Beiyuan nodded slowly, seemingly processing the fact. He picked up the now-cold teacup in front of him, took a small sip, his movements slow, as if he were using this action to gather his thoughts. Then he put down the teacup and looked at Jiang Chen again.

"Last night, on the plane here, I asked Wuhen a question." Old Chen glanced at Ye Wuhen. "I asked him how long he could last if he and you clashed swords in the Sword Domain."

Ye Wuhen was silent for a moment, then answered with a single word: "One move."

"One move." Chen Beiyuan repeated, his voice devoid of any emotion. "The strongest swordsman in the Dragon Kingdom, the man who survived the Thirteenth Apostle Hall, could only withstand one move from you."

He paused for a moment, his bright eyes looking at Jiang Chen, his tone sincere and earnest.

"So the reason I invited you here today is to ask a very important question—can we learn from this?"

The meeting room was so quiet that you could hear the rustling of the wind through the locust tree branches outside the window. The question was too direct, so direct that it lacked any of the usual bureaucratic groundwork or rhetoric; it was as direct as a sword without a scabbard.

Jiang Chen didn't answer immediately. He looked at Chen Beiyuan, at the still bright eyes of the white-haired old man, and suddenly felt that this old man was quite interesting.

"Old Chen, what you really want to ask isn't whether you can learn it," Jiang Chen leaned back in his chair. "What you really want to ask is whether humans can learn it."

Chen Beiyuan's eyebrows twitched slightly. Then he smiled, a soft laugh carrying a hint of composure at being seen through.

"Yes. Can humans learn?"

Jiang Chen remained silent for a moment. Everyone in the conference room held their breath. Ye Wuhen's fingers clenched and unclenched lightly on the table; Zhou Tianze crossed his arms, but his knuckles turned white; Luo Qinghe's hand, holding a teacup, froze in mid-air; and Chu Tianxiong's forehead was covered in a fine layer of sweat. Su Ze stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorframe, the other gripping the hem of his suit jacket, his knuckles bulging.

"cannot."

Jiang Chen's voice was very calm, as calm as if he were saying that the weather wasn't very good today.

The temperature in the conference room seemed to drop several degrees. Zhou Tianze lowered his hands from his chest, Luo Qinghe finally brought the teacup to his lips but forgot to drink, and Chu Tianxiong and Su Ze opened their mouths almost simultaneously, wanting to say something but unable to utter a word. Only Ye Wuhen remained in his original posture, but his right hand, gripping the hilt of his sword, trembled slightly.

Chen Beiyuan remained silent for a long time. He lowered his head, looking at the cold tea in front of him, his white hair gleaming silver in the sunlight. Then he raised his head, his voice even softer than before: "May I ask why?"

Jiang Chen looked at the old man, at his eyes that weren't overwhelmed by disappointment, but rather shone even brighter. He had expected this head of the General Administration to sigh in disappointment, to try and pressure him with grand principles, to use the fate of humanity to blackmail him, to try and persuade him with those pretty words he had heard countless times. But Chen Beiyuan didn't. He simply asked—"May I ask why?" His tone was even calmer than before.

Jiang Chen picked up the teacup in front of him, which had already cooled down, took a sip, and then put it down.

"There are two reasons," he said. "The first reason—this world lacks spiritual energy."