The deep, resonant quiet of the twin-moon night clung to Veiled Silence Peak like a second skin. It was the hour where the last vestiges of starlight bled into the promise of dawn, the world holding its breath in that sacred, liminal space. The ancient stones of the courtyard drank in the stillness, reflecting nothing, offering nothing.
A soft ripple disturbed the perfect, mirror-like surface of the Reflection Pool. Li Meixiu emerged from the harmonized waters, the movement itself a whisper against the mountain's immense silence. She did not break the surface so much as she was birthed from it.
The liquid warmth slid from her skin in rivulets that gleamed like quicksilver under the twin moons' gaze. The pool's profound energy still thrummed within her meridians, a gentle, radiant warmth that painted her skin with an otherworldly luminescence.
Her twilight-colored robe awaited her on a smooth, dry rock. But for a moment, she stood in the water, a figure of impossible youth carved from moonlight and shadow. The water droplets that clung to her lashes and to the ends of her long, ink-black hair each held a tiny, captive star.
She hugged Mr. Bunbun to her chest, the plush rabbit's fur darkened and heavy with the spiritual water. One button eye gazed out at the night with its usual patient solemnity.
A shiver, not of cold but of pure sensation, traced a path down her spine. With a swift, almost furtive movement, she darted from the pool's embrace. Her bare feet made no sound on the frost-veined stone as she slipped behind the gnarled, immense trunk of an ancient pine.
The rough bark was cool against her shoulder. She peeked out from behind her natural screen, her mischievous eyes finding him immediately.
He had not moved.
Lin Feng stood at the water's edge, a statue hewn from patience and pale grey silk. His back was to her, his posture ramrod straight, his hands loose at his sides. The high collar of his robe was a stark line against the corded strength of his neck.
He was a study in absolute vigilance, his gaze fixed on the distant, sleeping valleys. Yet his awareness was a tangible sphere that encompassed the entire peak, every shifting shadow, every sigh of the wind—and her.
"A-Li~... No peeking..."
Her voice was a melody spun from silver thread and playful affection, a sound so alien to the peak's austerity it seemed to hang shimmering in the air.
He did not startle. He did not turn. The line of his shoulders remained unchanged.
His answer was a low, resonant murmur, a stone dropped into the deep well of the quiet. It was flat, devoid of inflection, yet carried a weight of absolute truth.
"What do you mean… no peeking? I never peek."
From behind the tree, a soft, mock-defiant huff was heard. The ancient pine seemed to lean in, listening.
"Hmph, I know, but…" she drew the word out, a master of the dramatic pause. "I'm just reminding you."
There was a beat of silence. The wind chose that moment to stir, sighing through the boughs of the pine and rustling the hem of his pale grey robes.
In the half-light, the faintest, most spectral hint of a smile might have touched the corner of Lin Feng's mouth. It was there and gone so quickly it could have been a trick of the moonlight.
But the mountain felt the infinitesimal shift in the air around him—a softening, a warmth that had nothing to do with the coming dawn. It was the barest crack in the monolith, a flaw in the diamond, and it was meant for her alone.
The silence returned, but it was a different silence now. A shared, comfortable space between them.
Satisfied with her reminder and the familiar, comforting weight of her dry twilight-colored robe, Meixiu emerged fully from behind the pine. She gave a final, happy squeeze to Mr. Bunbun, his damp fur now a minor inconvenience against the thrum of pure spiritual energy vibrating within her. She settled on a low, flat rock to wait, her gaze turning expectantly toward the pool.
With a silence that was less a choice and more a fundamental aspect of his being, Lin Feng approached the water's edge. There was no ceremony, no preparatory breath. He simply stepped into the Reflection Pool, the charged water parting for him without a splash, accepting his presence as it would a returning depth.
The water, still shimmering with the potent, harmonized energy left in Meixiu's wake, did not react with tumult to his entry. It did not need to. For him, it was not a catalyst for change but a medium for perfection. The energy enveloped him, a dense, liquid warmth that seeped into him not as an invader, but as a welcomed reinforcement.
He did not undergo a flashy breakthrough; his cultivation base, though possessing a density of qi that would shame a beginner in the Foundation Establishment realm, was a paradox—a profound, bottomless well that had not yet been formally assigned a realm. His foundations were not impeccably laid; they were something else entirely, something preternatural and waiting, making the very concept of a "breakthrough" seem like a crude, mortal concern. For him, this was not an ascent, but a subtle, meticulous polishing of a blade that had never known a flaw.
The pale light of the waning moons, which had gilded Meixiu's skin, seemed to be pulled into the pallor of his. His skin drank the light, his meridians humming with a silent, efficient symphony of integration. The faint, almost invisible scars that traced the knuckles of his hands—tiny archives of past, pragmatic violence—lightened just a fraction more, as if the water could gently erase the memory of impact from his very flesh.
Time, in that sacred space, became meaningless. He remained motionless, a pale statue in a pool of liquid starlight, until the first true hint of the sun finally dared to gild the very highest peaks of the distant mountain range. A razor-thin line of fire ignited along the jagged horizon, a silent fanfare for the day to come.
As that first ray of sun touched the world, Lin Feng opened his eyes. He rose from the water, the energy now fully integrated, a settled, humming potential within his core. He was calm, centered, and perfectly, utterly prepared for whatever trials the day would bring. Water streamed from his robes, but he was already perfectly dry, the moisture seeming to retreat from the refined density of his being.
He stepped onto the stone, and his dark eyes found her immediately. Meixiu was waiting, just as he knew she would be, happily squeezing a now-slightly-drier Mr. Bunbun. Her energy buzzed around her in a visible, renewed aura of contentment and power.
Without a word, he gave a single, slight nod. His voice was flat, an understated compliment wrapped in pure pragmatism. "Nice work. You didn't explode. Let's go. Elder Tao's waiting." The session was complete.They were both ready.
The first true ray of sun, sharp and deliberate as a blade's point, finally pierced the veil of night, setting the highest spires of Veiled Silence Peak ablaze. In its light, they were a study in contrasts, yet a perfect whole. Lin Feng stood immaculate, the pale grey of his robes seeming to drink the dawn light rather than reflect it, every fold and seam perfectly arranged as if by an unseen hand. Not a droplet of pool water remained; his cultivation had seen to that.
Beside him, Li Meixiu practically vibrated with a soft, newfound energy. A subtle, healthy luminescence clung to her skin, the final gift of the Reflection Pool. She held Mr. Bunbun securely under one arm, the rabbit's fur now fluffed and dry, a silent witness to her renewed spirit.
Without a word, a glance, or any signal perceptible to anyone but them, Lin Feng extended his arm, his elbow cropped at a precise angle. It was not a question, but an immutable fact of their existence—he was her anchor, her guide.
Meixiu's fingers found the solid muscle of his forearm through the silk of his robe, her touch light and familiar. A soft, contented giggle escaped her, a sound that seemed to charm the very air around them. "So reliable, my A-Li," she murmured, though no response was needed or expected.
Their departure from the silent peak was as seamless as their arrival had been. One moment they were statues in the dawn light, the next they were moving, their forms dissolving into the lingering mist that clung to the mountain paths.
They did not walk so much as they were translated, their passage a silent glide that left the world undisturbed.
They arrived at the borders of Medicine Soul Peak as the sun fully claimed the sky. The change in the air was immediate and violent. The razor-clean silence of Veiled Silence Peak was replaced by a thick, living tapestry of scent.
The aroma of a thousand herbs hung heavy and complex in the air—a paradoxical blend of honeyed blossoms and bitter roots, of crushed petals and scorched metal, of life thriving and life distilled. It was a perfume that spoke of both growth and extraction, of nature willingly sacrificed on the altar of refinement.
Before them lay Elder Tao's courtyard, a realm of organized chaos built not of stone, but of ancient, dark wood. Tiered platforms and walkways, polished smooth by generations of use, climbed the mountainside like the gnarled branches of some immense, sleeping tree. Shelves carved into the living rock groaned under the weight of bubbling flasks and trembling vials, their glass sweating condensation.
At the heart of it all, the great alchemy furnaces exhaled serpentine coils of smoke, their undersides gilded by the sun while their crests remained the color of tarnished bronze. The air itself hummed with latent power, the very essence of the peak waiting to be shaped by a master's hand.
Elder Tao was a splinter of shadow against the sun-warmed wood of his courtyard, hunched on a low stool beside a wall lined with drying gourds. He scowled into a steaming cup of tea, his attention wholly consumed by a peculiarly shaped gourd he was turning over in his free hand.
The scent of their arrival must have registered, but he did not look up. His voice was a dry rasp. "You. The new disciple. A few days under my wing and you already believe you can skip a day? Foundational diligence is not a suggestion—" He finally turned, his grumpy lecture cutting off as his sharp eyes landed on Li Meixiu.
His teacup paused halfway to his lips. His critical gaze swept over her in a single, penetrating instant. It noted the renewed vibrancy in her skin, the new confidence. But most of all, it saw the faint, visible qi—a soft, pearlescent shimmer—that now swirled with gentle purpose around her meridians.
He lowered his cup with deliberate slowness. "How?" The word was flat, replaced by pure, grudging bafflement. "Your meridians were clogged with the spiritual equivalent of week-old tea leaves. How did you break through to the Meridian Opening realm in a single night?"
Meixiu's response was immediate. She puffed out her chest, holding Mr. Bunbun up like a co-conspirator. "This disciple would never skip, Elder! A-Li taught me what needed to be done. I just listened, and… pop! Next thing I knew, everything felt clearer!"
Elder Tao's bushy eyebrow twitched. His skeptical gaze slid from her beaming face to Lin Feng, who stood beside her, a pillar of silent composure.
"And you," the Elder grunted. "What did you do?"
Lin Feng met his gaze, his expression unchanging. His voice was calm, utterly matter-of-fact. "She asked what to do. I told her to stop trying to push. To just feel the energy and let it in. She did. It worked." He gave a slight, almost imperceptible shrug. "It was immediate."
Elder Tao stared for a long, silent beat, his face an unreadable mask of wrinkles and skepticism. Then, he let out a short, sharp snort. He turned back to his problematic gourd, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.
"Hmph. Fine. Don't waste the progress, girl. The cauldrons from yesterday's… incident… won't clean themselves. Get to work."
Elder Tao's dismissal hung in the herb-thick air, a grumpy but undeniable acceptance. Meixiu, still buzzing with triumph, turned to Lin Feng, her eyes seeking his approval more than the Elder's.
The faintest,most spectral hint of a smile touched the corner of his mouth—there and gone so fast she might have imagined it. "See? Once you actually focus on something..." He let the sentence hang,the unspoken "...you're incredible" lingering in the air between them like a shared secret.
A brilliant, uncontainable smile broke across her face, warmer than the rising sun.
With her mission for the morning complete—seeing her settled and acknowledged—Lin Feng's purpose here was fulfilled. His own path lay elsewhere, a rigid schedule already fixed in his mind.
As Meixiu took an eager step toward the waiting Elder and the soot-stained cauldrons, Lin Feng's voice, low and calm, stopped her for a final second.
"Don't set anything on fire," he said, the deadpan instruction a familiar and fond refrain.
She giggled, a sound that seemed to startle a nearby songbird into flight. "No promises!" she chirped back, her mind already racing with the possibilities of her cleared meridians. She could already imagine coaxing a flame from her own qi, just as Elder Tao had grumbled about—the first, crucial step toward truly crafting pills, not just preparing ingredients.
Satisfied, he gave her one final, slow nod. It was a transfer of responsibility, a silent wish for a productive day. Then he turned.
Without another word, he left, his form cutting a straight, silent path through the chaotic vitality of Medicine Soul Peak. The scents of honey and venom, of life and extraction, seemed to part for him, unable to cling to his pristine, pale grey robes. His destination was already fixed in his mind, his focus absolute once more.
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