The heavy stone door slid shut with a soft, definitive thud, sealing them inside Wang Jian's secret cave dwelling. The world outside, with its bustling festival and the watchful eyes of the Mystic Peak Sect, vanished completely.
They were alone.
The air inside was cool and clean, carrying the faint, sterile scent of stone and the subtle, lingering aroma of powerful spiritual herbs. A single, ever-bright spirit lamp cast a soft, unwavering glow over the simple chamber, illuminating a small alchemy bench, a plush meditation mat woven from beast furs, and a low table with two cushions.
Liu Ruyan stood hesitantly just inside the entrance, her veiled form a study in quiet apprehension. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that seemed far too loud in the profound silence of the cave. She knew she had crossed a threshold, not just a physical one, but a moral one.
