The golden pill pulsed in Meixiu's outstretched hand, a small sun radiating warmth. Lin Feng's gaze, usually as cold and impenetrable as glacial ice, softened, a flicker of something akin to pride stirring in their depths. His hand, long and pale, reached out, not for the pill, but for her cheek. His thumb, calloused from countless hours wielding a sword, brushed gently over the faint smudge of soot near her temple, wiping it away with a delicate, almost tender motion. The scent of her, subtle and sweet like freshly bloomed night jasmine, drifted to him, familiar and comforting.
"Your flame control was perfect," he said, his voice a low rumble, barely audible above the lingering buzz of the arena. It was calm, warm, a stark contrast to the usual crisp, almost detached tone he reserved for the outside world. "And that finish… no fluctuation. It's the cleanest refinement I've ever seen."
A wide, triumphant smile bloomed on Meixiu's face, chasing away the faint soot stain he'd just removed. She leaned into his touch, her eyes twinkling, cradling Mr. Bunbun closer to her chest. The plush rabbit seemed to sag contentedly in her embrace.
"Hehe~ A-Li noticed. I knew you'd be proud of me, baby."
Lin Feng's eyes softened a fraction, a barely perceptible shift in their dark depths. He ignored the playful nicknames, a familiar dance between them, a hidden dynamic that remained their secret. He simply met her gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between them, a shared understanding that transcended the chaos of the arena.
The outer sect elder, his emerald robes shimmering under the array of spiritual lights, stepped forward again, a new artifact scroll unfurling with a soft *WHOOSH* in the air before him. It hung suspended, glowing with intricate characters, displaying the results. A hush fell over the arena, the last whispers dying out as cultivators strained to hear their fates.
"The Foundation Pill Trial has concluded," the elder announced, his voice ringing with renewed authority. "The results have been meticulously verified."
He began to list them, his voice monotone, devoid of the earlier humor. "Third place: Young Master Tian of the Verdant Peak Sect, with a high-tier first-grade Foundation Pill." A smattering of polite applause. "Second place: Elder Qin of the Azure Cloud Temple, also with a high-tier first-grade Foundation Pill." More applause, slightly louder this time. "And tied for first place among the traditional refiners: Prodigy Li Wei, producing a flawless high-tier first-grade pill." A wave of murmurs, impressed.
Then, a pause. The elder's gaze swept over the crowd, lingering for a moment on the platform where Meixiu stood, still preening, the golden pill still in her hand.
"Next, we have a surprising entry," he continued, his voice tinged with a hint of bewilderment. "Ranked sixth overall: Mu Xiaohua of the Wandering Rhyme Sect."
Mu Xiaohua, who had been nervously gnawing on a loose thread of her oversized robe, froze. Her peach-colored eyes, wide with perpetual panic, darted to the elder, then to her own still-smoking cauldron.
"Sixth?" she squeaked, a high-pitched sound of disbelief. She clutched Master Huahua so tightly that one of his button eyes popped off with a soft *PLINK*, rolling across the stone. She barely noticed. "Oh, Master Huahua! They said my name! Did they… did they make a mistake? I only… I only heard what that nice gruff man was muttering!"
"...With a mid-grade, first-tier Foundation Pill," the elder finished, a slight cough escaping him.
A gasp, sharp and sudden, ripped from Mu Xiaohua's throat. "A mid-grade?!" she shrieked, bouncing on her heels, her pigtails flopping wildly. "Oh, Master Huahua, we did it! We actually did it! We didn't make soup!" A nervous giggle bubbled out of her, causing a faint shimmer of qi to ripple around her, making a stray strand of her hair float briefly.
The elder cleared his throat, regaining the crowd's attention. "And now," he declared, his voice rising, "for the overall first place."
The arena hushed. Even the most jaded cultivators leaned forward, anticipation thick in the air. This was the moment.
"First place: Unaffiliated alchemist… Li Meixiu."
A collective intake of breath. All eyes snapped to Meixiu, who simply smiled wider, her black eyes sparkling with pure, unadulterated smugness.
"Refined a mid-grade, second-tier Foundation Pill from a basic first-tier formula," the elder continued, his voice now laced with awe, a tremor running through the usually stoic tone. "Impossible by common theory."
*GASP!* A single, resounding gasp echoed across the arena, followed by a wave of stunned silence. Then, the dam broke. A cacophony of shouts, murmurs, and bewildered exclamations erupted, louder than before.
Lin Feng remained impassive, his dark eyes betraying nothing. He stood as a pillar of calm amidst the storm, a silent guardian. Meixiu, however, reveled in the chaos. She preened like a cat basking in the midday sun, her chin lifted, her shoulders back, radiating an air of utter triumph. She even gave a playful little *HMPH* of self-satisfaction.
Mu Xiaohua, still reeling from her own unexpected success, jumped up and down, clapping her hands together with frantic enthusiasm.
"She really is a pill goddess!" she squealed, her voice cutting through the din. Her peach-colored eyes, still wide with awe, fixed on Meixiu, then darted to Lin Feng. She blushed, a deep crimson spreading across her cheeks. "And that handsome senior… he must be blessed to know her!"
From her seat, Feng Yan let out another low, appreciative whistle, her red-gold hair shimmering under the spiritual lights. She nudged Lin Feng with her elbow, a wide, knowing grin on her face.
"What's her secret, hmm?" she purred, her voice a low, teasing whisper. "You do know her, don't you? Come on, spill. We won't tell."
Lin Feng offered no response, his gaze unwavering, fixed on the elder.
Across the observation deck, Jian Nian, the mute heir of the Rustless Blade Clan, watched with an unreadable expression. His battle-scarred palms rested on the cool stone, his eyes, dark and sharp, observing everything. He offered no movement, no sound, a silent statue amidst the burgeoning chaos.
Shui Daiyu, the slender girl with blue-green scales on her back, simply licked her lips, her silver eyes gleaming with a strange hunger as she watched Meixiu, as if trying to taste the essence of her impossible pill from afar.
Yan Lihua, her pupil-less white eyes fixed on the scene, remained utterly still, a faint shimmer of illusory light flickering around her lavender robes, her silence deeper than usual.
Jin Chen of the Frostblade Clan, his features sharp and arrogant, clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowed in undisguised jealousy as he watched Meixiu bask in the glory, then shifted his gaze to Lin Feng, a flicker of resentment in his frost-blue eyes.
Other cultivators grumbled, their voices low and angry. "Impossible! It must be cheating!" one rasped, slamming his fist on his workstation.
"A basic formula can't yield a second-tier pill!" another muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is an affront to alchemy!"
Even among the elders, whispers spread like wildfire. One elder, his face a roadmap of wrinkles, leaned conspiratorially towards another, his voice a low hiss.
"...We need to verify her background," he muttered, his eyes narrowed. "She didn't even use a soul flame. How could she have achieved such a feat?"
The outer sect elder, sensing the rising unrest, raised his hand once more, his voice ringing with authority, cutting through the clamor.
"With all results recorded and ranked, the Foundation Pill Trial is concluded. Outer sect ranking tokens will be distributed shortly to all successful participants. Those who failed may try again in three years." He took a deep breath, about to dismiss everyone. "You are all dismi…"
A sudden, crushing change in atmospheric pressure slammed down on the arena. It wasn't a physical force, but a distortion of the very air, an invisible weight pressing on every cultivator's spiritual core. The vibrant spiritual qi that had hummed throughout the trial now twisted, warped, and thickened, becoming heavy, almost tangible.
*CRACKLE!*
Silent cracks of thunderless light, like veins of pure energy, arced across the sky above the Celestial Sword Pavilion, followed by a sharp, unnatural stillness. The very wind seemed to hold its breath. The light itself seemed to dim, as if the heavens had decided to observe in hushed reverence.
The crowd, which moments before had been a cacophony of shouts and gasps, instinctively went quiet. All chatter died. Some cultivators, weaker in cultivation, fell to one knee, their faces pale, clutching their cores in reflex, a low groan escaping their lips. Stronger ones merely stiffened, their expressions grim, their spiritual senses screaming warnings.
Then, from the vast, empty expanse of the sky, a row of figures descended. They were not on flying swords, nor did they use any visible spiritual artifacts. They simply *walked* mid-air, their steps rippling through the spiritual veil itself, each footfall a silent thunderclap that resonated deep within the chest. They moved with an otherworldly grace, as if the very laws of gravity bent to their will.
The first figure to fully materialize was a woman draped in flowing white robes that seemed to flutter even when there was no breeze. Her pale skin caught the light, giving her an ethereal glow. Her black hair, long and straight, was pinned with a single bone-white swordpin that glinted faintly. She was barefoot, her silent steps leaving no trace in the air, yet radiating an aura of terrifying, absolute stillness. Her presence was like the calm before a devastating storm, a haunting elegance that promised lethal grace. She observed everything, her eyes, dark and fathomless, missing nothing. An aura of refined sword intent, so sharp it could cut through thought, surrounded her, making even the bravest cultivators instinctively avert their gaze. She was a ghost, beautiful and deadly, an embodiment of silent power.
Beside her, a man descended, broad-shouldered and loud even in his silence. Lightning-shaped scars snaked across his exposed arms, stark against his tanned skin. His robes, patterned with swirling clouds, constantly rippled with static electricity, a faint *CRACKLE* accompanying his every breath, a sound that seemed to be absorbed by the unnatural stillness. A wild, silver beard framed a face that seemed perpetually on the verge of laughter, yet his eyes, when they met anyone's, held a dangerous glint, a spark of unpredictable thunder. He radiated raw, untamed power, a madman's energy barely contained, yet undeniably respected. His aura was a storm waiting to break, volatile and terrifying.
Following them was an elderly man, his long white beard so voluminous it nearly brushed his knees, and smelled faintly, yet distinctly, of exotic herbs. He wore plain brown robes, unassuming in comparison to the others, and a wide-brimmed hat that cast his eyes in shadow. In one hand, he clutched a simple clay teacup, from which a wisp of steam perpetually rose. He took a slow, deliberate sip even as he descended, his movements radiating a grumpy, cryptic wisdom. His aura was ancient, steeped in the essence of countless elixirs, a reclusive genius whose very presence seemed to refine the air around him.
Then came a woman, youthful in appearance, her black and silver robes intricately laced with shimmering spider-silk embroidery. A blindfold of black silk covered her eyes, yet she moved with an unnerving precision, as if she saw more than any sighted person. Her aura was sedate, elegant, yet laced with a subtle, chilling control. A faint, unreadable smile played on her lips, a smile that never quite reached her blindfolded eyes, making her seem like a beautiful, deadly puppeteer, her presence a silent web spreading through the air.
Next, a rotund, balding man descended, his jolly red nose a splash of color against his pale face. He carried not one, but two glimmering swords strapped to his back, their hilts peeking over his shoulders. His robes, unlike the others, were perpetually food-stained, a faint aroma of roasted meats clinging to him. He radiated a boisterous, friendly aura, yet his eyes, though twinkling with amusement, held a surprising sharpness. His movements, despite his bulk, hinted at incredible speed, a master of unpredictability, a chaotic uncle whose laughter could mask a sudden, devastating strike.
Close behind him was a statuesque woman, encased in crimson-red armor layered over her sect robes. Her eyes were like polished steel, unyielding and stern, betraying not a hint of emotion. Her black hair, thick and lustrous, was pulled into a tight braid that reached her waist. Her aura was one of unshakeable discipline, a battle-hardened matriarch, a drill sergeant of immense power. She moved with an unyielding determination, her presence radiating an aura of absolute zero tolerance for anything less than perfection.
Finally, the last elder descended, a figure of serene, unsettling grace. They were draped in layered robes of ink-black and moon-silver, which shimmered faintly with illusory light, as if woven from starlight itself. Their waist-length hair, soft silver like moonlight, was tied loosely with a translucent ribbon that shifted and flowed like mist. Their eyes were mismatched, one a deep obsidian, the other a pearlescent white, and seemed to reflect one's deepest hidden fears or desires if looked into for too long. They walked barefoot, their steps utterly soundless, leaving behind faint, shimmering lotus petals made of light that vanished after a single breath. Their presence was calm, meditative, hauntingly soft-spoken, yet possessed an eerie empathy that made cultivators feel utterly exposed. They were a dream made manifest, unsettling yet not unkind, their aura a subtle distortion of reality itself, making one question if they were truly awake.
These seven figures, each radiating an immense, terrifying spiritual pressure, landed silently on the platform before the outer sect elder. The very air around them vibrated, not with sound, but with power. They stood, a silent, formidable presence, the true might of the Celestial Sword Pavilion.
The outer sect elder, his emerald robes now seeming dull and insignificant, bowed low, his head almost touching his knees, his voice hoarse with reverence.
"...The Inner Council of Celestial Sword Pavilion… has arrived."
The arena remained gripped in awe, silence, and mounting pressure.The arena was gripped in awe, silence, and mounting pressure. No one dared to speak, to move. Every eye was fixed on the newly arrived elders, each one a legend, a peak of cultivation, their combined aura enough to make the very foundations of the arena crumble. Yet, Lin Feng stood tall, his black robes unruffled, his dark eyes fixed on the descending elders without a trace of fear. Beside him, Feng Yan's wide grin had faded, replaced by a look of intense contemplation, her eyes tracking the powerful figures. Jian Nian's stoic face remained impassive, but his grip on the pillar tightened almost imperceptibly. Yan Lihua, ever silent, watched with an unnerving stillness, her pupil-less eyes seeming to absorb every detail of the elders' auras. Shui Daiyu's silver eyes gleamed, a flicker of ambition in their depths. Mu Xiaohua, though still clutching Master Huahua, had stopped bouncing, her peach-colored eyes wide with bewildered reverence, a faint shimmer of qi causing her hair ribbons to float slightly.
Meixiu, however, seemed entirely unfazed. She simply hummed again, a soft, lilting melody, still cradling Mr. Bunbun, her gaze serene, as if the arrival of the sect's most powerful figures was merely an interesting interlude in her day.
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