The path ended not at a courtyard, but at the very lip of the world. Here, on the opposite side of the Veiled Silence Peak from the sect's bustling heart, the mountain fell away into a breathtaking chasm. The Reflection Pool lay nestled in a natural stone basin, shielded from the winds by a sweeping overhang of dark rock that reached like a sheltering hand towards the distant, soaring summit of the Sect Leader's personal peak.
The water was a perfect, mirror-still plate of liquid mercury, its surface shimmering with a faint, silvery luminescence that seemed drawn from the very essence of the twin moons now dominating the violet expanse of sky. Night had just begun to bleed the last remnants of twilight from the heavens, and the two celestial sisters, one slightly smaller than the other, cast their conjoined, ethereal light over the sacred ledge. The air was thin, cool, and carried the clean, sharp scent of wet stone and ancient minerals.
Lin Feng's footsteps, already silent on the mist-wreathed paths below, made no sound at all on the smooth, water-worn stone of this sacred ledge. He was the only soul, save for Elder Lan herself, permitted to tread here. He carried Meixiu as if she were fashioned from the same fragile light that danced on the pool's surface, his grip both unbreakable and infinitely gentle.
He did not simply set her down. He knelt, the pale grey of his new robes pooling around him on the dark stone, and lowered her with a reverence typically reserved for enshrining a sacred artifact. His hands lingered for a moment on her arms, ensuring her balance was sure on the smooth, cool stone beneath her slippers.
Meixiu did not bounce. She did not fidget. She was uncharacteristically still and pliant, a doll whose strings had been cut. Her lower lip was pushed out in a soft, unhappy pout, her usually bright eyes downcast and fixed on her own reflection in the impossibly still water. She stared into it as if the answers to all her fears—the brutal trials, the furious beasts—were written just beneath the surface, in a language she was desperately trying to decipher. Her knuckles were white where she clutched Mr. Bunbun to her chest, the worn plush rabbit seeming to share her tense apprehension.
The silence stretched, filled only by the distant cry of a hawk circling the valleys far, far below. When she finally spoke, her voice was small, a fragile thing that lacked its usual musical lilt. It was a whisper meant for him alone, a secret fear given voice.
"A-Li..." she began, the name a soft exhalation. "If you don't like it... you can skip it." She lifted her gaze from the water, her dark eyes wide and earnest, shining with a dread that was entirely for him. "I'll handle Elder Lan. I'll cause such a distracting fuss she'll forget all about it."
He did not rise. He remained kneeling before her, a steadfast monolith in the pale grey robes, his dark eyes level with hers. He did not brush aside her offer with a simple refusal. He heard the fear beneath it, the desperate desire to protect him that was as fundamental to her as breathing.
Slowly, giving her every moment to pull away, he reached out. His fingers, calloused from a lifetime of preparation, did not grasp or demand. Instead, they came to rest with infinite gentleness upon her own where they clutched Mr. Bunbun. He did not try to pry her grip loose; he simply covered her white knuckles, his touch a warm, solid weight over her cold fear. It was a silent language they had shared for two decades: I am here.
"I know what I am doing," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble that vibrated through the point of contact and into the very air around them. It was not the voice of a boy trying to sound brave; it was the simple, unshakable certainty of a man who had long ago accepted the contours of his own destiny.
He held her gaze, refusing to let her look away from his resolve. "This body," he said, his tone matter-of-fact, almost clinical, "it is the only tool I have. It must be strong. To make it strong, it must be tested. If the test brings pain, then that is the price. It is a price I am willing to pay."
He saw the protest forming in her eyes, the urge to argue against the necessity of such brutality. His voice softened, just a fraction, the way mist softens the edges of a mountain peak. "You do not need to fight this battle for me." His thumb moved, a faint, soothing stroke against the back of her hand. "You already fought your battles. The hard ones. The long ones. For me."
The words hung in the thin, sacred air between them. They were not a reprimand, but a remembrance. A sacred acknowledgment of every silent struggle, every lonely sacrifice she had ever made in the life they had left behind. It was a reminder that his strength now was built upon the foundation of hers. He was not a reckless youth charging into danger; he was a son, honing himself to be the unbreakable shield for the woman who had been his first and only fortress.
A deep, shuddering breath escaped Meixiu's lips, a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of all her fears out into the vast, open air of the peak. The frantic, protective energy that had crackled around her like a failing ward finally stilled, dissipating into the mineral-scented breeze. The fight drained from her shoulders, leaving in its wake a profound and vulnerable weariness.
She looked at him then, truly looked at him, and her expression underwent a subtle, seismic shift. The fear did not vanish, but it was subsumed by something far deeper, far more ancient. It was a look of raw, unguarded love, so potent it seemed to soften the very light around them. Her gaze traced the familiar lines of his face—the resolve in his jaw, the certainty in his dark eyes—and saw not just the disciple preparing for a trial, but the boy she had built her life around.
Her free hand, the one not trapped beneath his, turned so her fingers could lace tentatively with his. Her voice, when she found it, was soft, a confession offered to the wind and to him alone.
"You know..." she began, her words barely a whisper yet perfectly clear in the immense silence. "I can't help but want to care for you, right?" It was not a question, but a statement of her most fundamental truth. "It's my job. It's always been my job."
A faint, wistful smile touched her lips, though her eyes remained serious. "Even when you became the giant who carries the sky... a mother's heart doesn't just switch off." She gave a small, helpless shrug, the gesture infinitely more eloquent than any grand declaration. "It just... finds new things to worry about."
The admission disarmed him completely. The cold, purposeful edge in Lin Feng's eyes—the look of the cultivator facing his destiny—melted away, revealing the deep, still well of devotion beneath. The transformation was slight, a mere softening around his eyes, a minute relaxation of his brow, but it was everything.
His gaze dropped to the threadbare rabbit still pressed between them. He released her hand, and with a tenderness that belied his strength, he reached out and gently adjusted Mr. Bunbun in her arms, tucking a flopping ear back into place with meticulous care. It was a gesture from a thousand quiet moments, a ritual of their shared history.
When his eyes met hers again, his voice was quieter, the low rumble now a soft vibration meant for her alone. "I know," he said, the two words holding an ocean of understanding. "And I am here because of that heart." He paused, letting the truth of it settle between them. "Let me do this."
It was not a command. It was a request. An acknowledgment that her permission was the final gate he needed to pass through.
The moment stretched, filled with a shared understanding that needed no more words. Finally, Meixiu gave a single, slow nod, reluctant but resolute. The last of her resistance faded. With her free hand, she reached for the simple, grey pill he offered her—the Spirit-Settling Agent. She leaned forward and let it drop into the center of the mirror-still pool. It struck the surface without a sound, dissolving instantly into a swirl of silvery-grey mist that spread through the waters, harmonizing their energy and readying the pool for their use.
A palpable quiet settled between them, the kind that comes after a storm has passed, leaving the air cleansed and still. The understanding that had passed from his eyes to hers was a balm, more effective than any pill. Meixiu's nod was the final seal on their unspoken pact.
Without a word, Lin Feng turned. His movement was not abrupt, but a smooth, deliberate pivot that placed his broad back to her, a living shield between her and the vast emptiness of the chasm. His gaze, now shuttered from her, swept over the breathtaking vista of valleys and distant villages far below, but his attention was not on the view. It was on the periphery, on the subtle currents of qi in the air, on ensuring the absolute privacy of this sacred space. In his hands, he held Mr. Bunbun with an unexpected tenderness, the ragged plush rabbit looking small and secure against his chest.
Granted this privacy, Meixiu moved with a soft efficiency. The twilight-colored outer robe, dusted with the iridescent powder of Elder Tao's peak, whispered away from her shoulders and pooled at her feet on the dark stone. Beneath, she wore a simple, soft wrap of pale linen, akin to a large towel, which she secured firmly around herself. The night air was cool on her skin, but it was a fresh, invigorating chill.
She stepped into the Reflection Pool.
The water was not cold, nor was it hot. It was a perfect, enveloping warmth that seemed to seep into her very bones. The moment her skin broke the silvery surface, which now shimmered with the dissolved essence of the Spirit-Settling pill, she felt its magic begin to work. It was not an invasion, but an invitation. The frantic, joyous energy of her newly awakened qi, which had been buzzing just beneath her skin like a trapped bee, stilled and settled. A profound calm, deep and heavy, washed through her meridians. It did not dampen her spirit; it simply focused it, gentling the rampant excitement into a smooth, flowing current.
A sigh escaped her, this one utterly different from the shuddering breath of before. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated contentment. The worry lines that had etched themselves onto her brow since Elder Lan's pronouncement finally smoothed away. She sank deeper into the pool until the water lapped at her shoulders, the linen wrap floating gently around her. She held out her hands, and Lin Feng, sensing the unspoken request without turning, passed Mr. Bunbun back over his shoulder. She took the rabbit, holding him aloft so only his head peeked above the water, his lone button eye staring serenely at the twin moons.
The tension of the morning, the fear for her son, the shock of her own breakthrough—it all melted away, drawn out by the pool's ancient, soothing power. In this state of perfect, weightless peace, her mind, no longer chained by anxiety, began to drift. It did not seek the future, but turned inward, and then backward, navigating the familiar pathways of memory. The serene environment and the resolved emotional strain became a gateway, allowing her consciousness to wander freely into the past, to a small apartment in another world, to the beginning of everything.
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